#i promise that a nation on the other side of the globe

[necronomeconomicism]

Ok gotta talk about it.

As a Jewish historian, I fucking hate Israel in ways most probably will never be able to comprehend. I'm going to try and explain it anyways. The central creation myth of Israel is that it is Jewish, and then consequently, that Israel is a part of Jewishness. Its easy to simply state this is false, but fully comprehending this and putting it into practice in thought and deed seems rare to me.

The evil at the heart of this violence predates the recent acceleration of genocide. Israel is a colony, and more than that, an antisemitic fraud itself. After WW2, when Israel was being founded, the Jews of Europe generally did not wave goodbye to their neighbors and head to the promised land. Many were expelled from their homes. Zionism itself, as an action, was a false choice at the time. A mere excuse to place an ally in the middle east, and an excuse to complete the expulsion and destruction of the European Jew. The Zionist Jew is more than complicit in this, they actively seek the destruction and assimilation of all other Jews.

Many fail to realize, and largely because of Israel, that Jews are not inherently white, Ashkenazi, European-descended people. Our faith and culture has an immense variety that is spread all across the globe. Jewishness, in population and volume of culture, exists more so outside of Israel than within it. Israel is for a very specific kind of Jew. The kind that lets Yiddish die, that attaches themselves to European things, that makes themselves and their practices as white as possible.

And they have the nerve, the fucking belligerent GALL, to frame themselves as the necessary saviors of our people. To the Zionist, questioning Israel is to question Jewishness itself. They bake adoration for the colonial machine into their very prayers, and push them on us even as children. To *not* oppress, to *not* kill, to *not* genocide, is to invite death. This is the core of fascistic thought, of course. "Kill them before they kill us." And they KNOW this too, they really do. The truth of that irony does not matter, because as is true for all fascists, the truth itself does not matter to them. They wanted this, they wanted this even before the British saw it in their best interest to give them the land. Any excuse to RETVRN, as the neo-nazis say of Rome, or the German Empire, or whatever the fuck stupid country they want to poorly animate the corpse of. Some select Zionists even *sided with the fucking Nazis* in agreement they should abandon Europe to colonize Palestine. (Haavara Agreement)

My people have proved time and time and time again you don't need a nation state to have an enduring culture. We have protected ourselves for thousands of years without the help of these spiteful, doom-saying maniacs. I was going to post something like this on Passover, but that would be hypocritical. The state of Israel doesn't actually have shit to do with Jewishness. שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְה Vi tsu derleb ikh im shoyn tsu bagrobn. [my best translation] Hear Israel (beginning of a prayer in Hebrew) I should outlive him long enough to bury him. (an old Yiddish curse)

Free Palestine. Donate what you can, they need it right now.

[intern-seraph]

if your activism can be significantly disrupted by a few hours of award show, you're just a bad activist

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Girlbosses~

Skater Wars- Profiles Pt 2- Y/N's friend group

masterlist || home

Girlbosses+ Aether- Y/N's friend group

ABOUT:-

[Y/N L/N]- College student, has had skating as a hobby for a LONG time. Is the top skater in the Skating Championships from ever since her second time in the tournament, earning her a multitude of fans all across the globe. Tickets to her competitions sell out in literally seconds, that’s how popular she is. She loves stunting too, and somehow she manages to pull off the craziest ones safely right in the middle of a heated race. It’s safe to say that when she’s on the track, the crowd goes wild. At school also she is badgered for autographs and stuff, so she got it over with, so that she is finally left in peace

Lumine- Y/N’s bestie. Incredibly sassy and competitive. Excellent skater too, she also takes part in the championships but for fun only. Does pretty well in studies too. Loves bullying her brother Aether but if anyone else even dares to harm him, they’re literally dead. Very protective of her friends. 

Aether- Lumine’s brother. Sunshine of the group. Always makes sure everyone’s well and happy, but do NOT ask him for homework, or you’ll see his dark side. Very competitive with Lumine, but you know, its just sibling stuff, their way of showing their love for each other ;P

Yae Miko- She’s the eldest in the group, and the most teasing as well. She has a natural flair for speaking and winning minds, so she works as a part time reporter in the Skating Tournaments, but people can catch a glimpse of her bias towards [Y/N]. Obviously.

Hu Tao- Part of both friend groups, made Childe pay up to keep his admiration for Y/N a secret. Always acts like there is some secret only she knows. VERY mischievous. Spends a lot of time in detention with Venti. 

Venti- Again, part of both friend groups. He is just sooo wholesome, like Aether, makes sure the mood of the group is always happy. But if he’s not being wholesome, he’s helping Hu plan out another prank. Adorable little menace. Also spends a moderate amount of time in detention for helping in Hu's plans, doesn't regret it at all

taglist:- [open, send an ask or comment to be added] @duckyyyx @hanilessa @suzzscri

summary:- It's the National level Elimination Rounds for the World Skating Championships. You, [Y/N L/N], are the No. 1 skater in the Championships for a long time. It was effortless, really, since you had been skating from a young age. Naturally, you were rather pissed off when some random annoying ginger shows up out of literally nowhere, and soon threatens to steal your No. 1 spot. He rose up the leaderboards pretty quickly, much too quickly in your opinion. He was already at No. 2, for heck's sake! And that attitude of his... Good gods, don't even talk about it- he was simply insufferable. Not to mention that sky-high ego of his. You didn't hesitate to deem him your rival and enemy the moment you met him, and yet he kept trying to constantly befriend you. How irritating. Not to mention, you were juggling this entire skating thing with your school too. What happens when only one of you two can go to the international rounds of the Championships, and you both are determined to be the one? The tension between you two is higher than ever, but can something more possibly bloom from this simmering heat and rivalry?

a/n- im SO sorry for my unofficial hiatus i had a bunch of irl stuff going on, i promise ill try to update more often

[cityoftomorrow]

LOCATION : NEW TROY .

I . HISTORY the beating heart of metropolis . one of six boroughs of metropolis , serving as the central business district . established in 1775 , situated in the state of delaware . new troy is home to many established businesses and technology companies . new troy is now a huge competitor for one of most recognised cities on east coast including gotham city and new york city .

ii . NOTABLE BUSINESSES new troy is home to an up and coming technology centre of science and industry . businesses include : lexcorp , wayne financial , wayne technologies , kord industries , s.t.a.r. labs , magnus labs , goldstar inc. , hamilton technologies , stagg enterprises , project cadmus , ivo labs & metropolis financial .

iii . MEDIA OUTLETS metropolis is home to key media organisations and has the most respected publications in the world. media includes : black beacon , bridwell communications , daily planet , daily star , galaxy communications , metropolitan.com , metropolis daily news , metropolis eagle , metropolis 8 news , metropolis today , newstime magazine , the whisper , wgbs-tv , wjab-tv , wlex-tv , wmet-tv & ubc .

iv . DISTRICTS new troy is divided into eight districts , all promising something different that will attract tourists from all over : arts district , chinatown , lower east side , midtown , hob's bay dockyard , suicide slum , upper east side & upper west side .

v . LANDMARKS new troy is unlike any other city , interesting and modern architecture and home to superman . new troy boasts landmarks which tourists flock to every year such as : avenue of tomorrow , city hall , heroes park formerly known as centennial park , lena luthor science explorarium , lexcorp plaza including the lexcorp tower with an observation deck , metro palace theatre , metropolis museum of art , superman monument & the daily planet globe .

vi . WATERWAYS new troy is surrounded by different waters , home to some interesting and stunning marine life . with gotham city across the bay , new troy has a stunning view of the seas and is the beating heart of the east coast trade route which increases metropolis' economy each year . waterways include : hob's bay , metropolis bay & the west river .

vii . BRIDGES new troy sits on an island , but it's not alone . connected by a series of beautifully built bridges which connects the centre of metropolis to other boroughs of the city . these include : bakerline bridge , clinton bridge & queensland bridge .

viii . SPORTS metropolis is home to many sports teams who have a global fanbase . new troy is home to metropolis' baseball , football and basketball sports teams . baseball : metropolis blue stockings , metropolis meteors ( national league ) , metropolis metros , metropolis mets , metropolis monarchs & metropolis twins . basketball : metropolis comets , metropolis generals & metropolis spartans . football : metropolis spartans , metropolis meteors ( national conference ) , metropolis metros , metropolis sharks , metropolis tigers & metropolis university bulldogs .

ix . HOME OF HEROES the main attraction to the city of metropolis is the variety of heroes that live amongst us . new troy boasts a roster of exciting and brave heroes including : agent liberty , argent , atom , black lightning , booster gold , gangbuster , guardian , joto , prysm , risk , superboy , supergirl , superman & thorn .

x . NOTABLE RESIDENTS it's not just the heroes that have an impact on the city . new troy also boasts some popular residents that you may know from various news outlets or their award winning works : anthony gallo , bill henderson , bobby "the don" gazzo , cat grant , clark kent , dirk davis , dan turpin , emil hamilton , frank jackson , gretchen kelley , henry ballard , hope taya , jenny jurwich , jimmy olsen , joshua coyle , justin moore , lana lang , lex luthor , lola barnett , lois lane , loren jupiter , lucy lane , maggie sawyer , mercy graves , morgan edge , oscar asherman , perry white , ron troupe , steve lombard , sydney happersen , toby raynes , trixie collins & vincent edge .

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

André-Philippe Côté, Le Soleil (Québec)  ::[Scott Horton]

* * * *

Volodymyr’s triumph, Vladimir’s humiliation. ::  December 22, 2022

Robert B. Hubbell

         On Wednesday, the presidents of Ukraine and Russia addressed the world about the existential struggle between the nation of Ukraine and the tyrant of Russia. The Ukrainian leader spoke with strength and confidence to a US Congress momentarily united by a man whose manifest courage melted partisan divides and galvanized the reluctant hearts and minds of wary politicians. Volodymyr Zelenskyy’s address to Congress was a triumph for Zelenskyy, Ukraine, and the global defense of democracy.

The video of the speech is here; President Zelenskyy Address to Congress (beginning at the 35-minute mark). I urge you to watch the address in its entirety.

         On the opposite side of the globe, the tyrant of Russia was forced to concede that his depraved assault on the Ukrainian people has been a disaster for the Russian military. Putin delivered his remarks to the Russian Parliament, whose members are political hostages that dare not speak the truth about Putin’s blunder. But the blood of dead and wounded soldiers returning to small towns and villages across Russia has seeped through the warp and weft of Putin’s shroud of censorship.

         In his speech, Putin boasted of materials and support that will be provided to Russian soldiers in the future—an admission that those items are in short supply among troops already deployed in Ukraine. The list of missing items is pathetic sign of a shocking lack of military preparedness in Russia’s once-vaunted army: boots, food, helmets, medical kits, and bulletproof vests. See NYTimes, Putin Concedes Military Failings, but Insists Russia Will Fight On. Putin’s promise to provide better equipment and training for troops engaged in combat is like promising to repair a Boeing 747 mid-flight. It can’t be done.

         Zelenksyy’s visit to Washington was remarkable and historic. It is beyond my ability to summon relevant comparisons. I will leave that commentary to historians and give you my real-time impressions of Zelenskyy’s speech. (The quotations below are based on notes and may not track the official transcript.)

         The essential fact is this: Zelenskyy is a masterful communicator and a charismatic, courageous leader. He entered the House chamber bearing a battle flag signed by Ukrainian soldiers deployed on the front lines. He presented that flag to Congress as a symbol of Ukraine’s gratitude. He left the chamber holding an American flag given to him by Speaker Pelosi as a sign of America’s respect for Zelenskyy and Ukraine. If that were all that had happened, it would have been a diplomatic triumph. But there was so much more.

         The House was packed with Representatives and Senators otherwise distracted by last-minute negotiations over the 2023 appropriations bill. To their credit, members of Congress gave Zelenskyy dozens of standing ovations accompanied by cheers. For once, Republicans and Democrats were united in common purpose. (The exceptions were Matt Gaetz and Lauren Boebert, who remained seated beside each other, smirking and whispering while their colleagues applauded Zelenskyy.)

         Zelenskyy delivered his speech in English, a powerful yet endearing effort to speak directly to Americans at an emotional level. It worked. At least it worked for me. In earnest tones and plain words, Zelenskyy spoke of the suffering of the Ukrainian people. But he said that Ukrainians do not feel sorry for themselves or resent those not facing similar challenges. In a moving passage, he spoke about celebrating Christmas by candlelight, not by choice but because Iranian-supplied drones had targeted the electrical grid. Zelensky said,

In two days, we will celebrate Christmas by candlelight. Millions will have no heating or running water as a result of missiles and drone attacks on infrastructure. We do not complain; we do not judge or compare whose life is easier; your well-being is the product of your many struggles and victories. We will go through our war with dignity and success.

         Zelenskyy spoke of America and Ukraine as allies in a global fight against anti-democratic forces. (“Our two nations are allies in the battle.”) He said that the struggle “will define in what world our children and grandchildren will live. Will it be a democracy of Ukrainians and Americans?” And Zelensky cautioned that America should “not make the mistake of believing that an ocean will protect America because the world is too interconnected to allow anyone to feel safe.”

         Zelensky invoked American history. He compared the early battlefield success of Ukraine to the Battle of Saratoga, a decisive victory for the Continental Army in the Revolutionary War. He quoted the words of Franklin D. Roosevelt after Pearl Harbor, saying that Ukraine would “fight through to absolute victory.” He said that “Just as brave American soldiers fought Hitler’s forces during Christmas 1944, so Ukrainian troops are fighting Russia this Christmas.”

         Zelenskyy sought to put Putin on the defensive. He said that Ukraine had already won the battle for the hearts and minds of the world. And he warned that the war might not end until Russians had freed themselves of control by the Kremlin.

         Finally, Zelensky called for unity in Congress (“bi-partisan and bi-cameral”). He assured the lawmakers that Ukrainians did not need American troops but instead needed additional military and financial aid. In a memorable line, he said that “Your money is not charity; it is an investment in global security that we will handle in the most responsible way.”

         The speech was remarkable, brave, and historic. Professor Timothy Snyder of Yale provided his thoughts on Lawrence O’Donnell’s show, explaining why and how Ukraine’s defense against Russia benefits America far beyond the military and financial support we provide to Ukraine. Snyder made similar remarks in his Substack newsletter, Gratitude to Ukraine - by Timothy Snyder. I have previously linked to Snyder’s essay on gratitude to Ukraine. If you haven’t read it, now is a good time to do so.

         In the end, the most important part of Zelenskyy’s speech is that it reminds Americans of the sacrifice necessary to defend democracy—one that prior generations willingly made for us. We should not take that sacrifice for granted nor defile it by turning our backs on liberties redeemed with blood and suffering. Today’s challenges are daunting, but it is our duty to overcome them. To do so, we must embrace the example of courage and determination on display on the floor of the House chamber today. Today, all Americans should join in saying, “Slava Ukraini!”

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]

[tokyo-tower-symbolism]

duuude, i just read your whole essay about maya and claudine's revue lmao you were so n point! i love them so much and i was so excited for them on this movie. now id like to ask you something if you feel like answering lmao how you think their story could develop further? in your ideal world. what would happen with them after the events we see on the movie? - thanks for your analysis btw :) it was a really cool read

Thanks! I'm glad you liked it! I learned a lot about the two them while writing it, so I'm happy it felt accurate!

As for their future after the movie, I'm also really interested their ending. I kind of like the parallels of Maya and Claudine at the end of their Revue with Hikari and Karen at the end of the series. So if anything, I kind of want to see Maya and Claudine have the latter's kind of relationship. Only unlike how Hikari and Karen kept that distance because they were scared that the other didn't remember their promise, Maya and Claudine have this absolute trust that the other won't forget them.

Like they have their own lives on opposite sides of the globe now, they meet new people and have their own struggles. Sure they'll keep in touch, but it's can't be nearly as often as when they were younger.

But they'll still be in each other's lives.

They'll keep up on the news about each other, since Claudine has this amazing new role at her French Troupe but she refuses to tell Maya about it because it would blow whatever role Maya's gonna get out of the water. It's an unspoken challenge. They'll constantly compete even though there's no real way to choose a winner.

Even if their partner isn't there, their presence is still pushing them on.

It won't be the same, though. Like Maya will go into a practice room late at night and be disappointed that she must have missed Claudine, but then realize that Claudine has literally no reason to be in the New National Practice Room, but it's just ingrained in her.

But on the rare occasion when their busy schedules give them the chance to meet in person, the two of them just click. There's no need for awkwardness or getting used to each other again. It'll feel like no time had passed since they graduated. They'll be just as close, like they never even left Seisho. Because in a way, they've always been together, even when separated.

[n080dy-creates]

I didn't have the time for a creature drawing today, so I've decided to do something a little different. This'll be a Beldon map explanation!

(This'll be a bit long, so I'll go ahead and add a page break.)

I'll start at the top and work my way down. So, first up is:

Sabyechi

This is the northernmost continent! It is home to Muwatypinfe, the Palace Above It All, which holds the end of the chain that tethers the Caged Sun to Beldon. Since the orbital axis is this far north, the sun never fully sets on Sabyechi. I'll explain this a bit better in a later post, I promise.

The land itself is mainly sprawling grasslands. Most of the population lives on the coast. The land further inland is considered holy land for the Gods of the Sky and Sun, and it stays untouched.

Wenditu

This is the largest continent on Beldon! It's home to over a 1/3 of the population, and home to some of the largest cities and kingdoms. These cities are known for their advancements in technology.

As a comparison, I would say Beldon's tech is equivalent to Earth's in the 1400s. This is a bit of a temporary placement until I figure out the smaller details of how far they are tech/scientific research-wise.

Minepe Tetitos ik Ihwental

This name translates to the 10,000 Islands of the Unstable. Although not officially considered an independent nation (they are part of Wenditu), many refer to these islands as separate from the other continents.

In the center of the islands is a massive crater deep beneath the surface of the water. This crater, named Buinaven, is one of the largest physical marks left after the cosmic deity, the Ancient of the Unstable, came into contact with the planet. The full story for this is a bit long, so, again, I'll save that for another post.

Mobvel

This is considered the center of global trading! Most sea trades go through or come from here. The lands have extremely fertile soil, which leads to Mobvel exporting many high value crops.

Otheplum

Otheplum has the most diverse range of climates out of all the continents: from deserts, to snow-topped mountains, to temperate jungles. This has also lead to a high variety of flora and fauna.

Intek

Intek is covered nearly entirely in thick jungles! Many towns and villages are built up in the trees. The Pelramos that live there are culturally tied to the land, the animals, and the resources, and they're very protective of it. It's not very often that they'll let outsiders stay for long.

Dedantinku

Dedantinku is a collection of volcanic islands created by the same event that created Buinaven. The highly active volcanoes have led to the flora, fauna, and civilizations to develop extremely unique ways to thrive in the environment.

Lonjun

Opposite to Sabyechi, the sun never rises on this continent. It is completely covered in ice and snow. Very little is capable of living here. Any civilizations that form mainly stick to the coastal islands.

Muwaninfe, the Palace Below It All, is located at the center of Lonjun. It's home to the God of the Underworld.

~~~~~~~~~~

I'll try and do more text-centric posts like these on days I know I'll be too busy to draw! I also think they'll help me flesh out areas that I haven't really focused on.

As a bonus, here's what this map looks like as a globe!

Side note: I do plan on redrawing this map sometime soon, so I'll be sure to update this post and all of the creature maps to match!

[emletish-fish]

Hey! I’m rereading worst prisoner and I was wondering if you had any plans for it? Also if there is any way to get you the rights to atla so that you can be in charge of cannon since your version is the only one I am willing to accept lol

Ah, The Worst Prisoner!

I do love it.

I want to finish it.

I know exactly what is going to happen.

But, full disclosure - I've hit a wall of writer's block with the next Aang-centric chapter. We've spent a lot of time with the Fire Nation kids, and I got many queries/requests to catch up with the gaang, so I promised I'd write the next chapter from their POV...

(and I normally try and keep my promises, and I knew what was going to happen, and all these events were happening concurrently, so I figured it would be easy)

And...

Nothing

I love Aang as a character. It's a pivotal chapter for him when it comes to reconciling himself with his past/his beliefs/how he wants to BE as an avatar... so I really want to get it right. It's a chapter I probably feel more perfectionist about.

(And this is probably due to the 10+ years of Aang discourse. So I do want to be really clear in this chapter. I love that lil dude, and he was done so dirty by canon. Aang is a character were you can clearly see that there were huge squabbles in the writers room about him because the end of his story does not match the set-up AT ALL, and I have never seen a character be done a greater disservice whilst being given their so called happy-ending.

Like, wants and needs Bryke?!

It's a super basic story-telling construct.

What the character wants vs what the characters need are meant to be two different things, and the narrative tension comes from them being pulled between the two. Shoving what they want in their face and never giving them a skerric of what they actually need isn't a happy ending.

Aang wants katara.

Aang needs to forgive himself and get closure on the loss of his people, reconcile himself with his beliefs, gain some self actualisation and control over himself and his powers, rebuild his found family (because the air nomads weren't 1950s american boomers all about the nuclear family. found family was their whole jam?!) and be able to confidently move forward in his role as the avatar rather than running away from it.

but sure, lets give him NONE of that. Aang gets not one ounce of closure, not a single drop of working through his fears and doubts to overcome them and become stronger for it. Aang gets a magic rock and a kiss then Bryke call it a happy ending?!

And that's not even my biggest gripe!

My biggest gripe is that Aang was the character I actually saw a lot of myself in. I'm a pacifist. I will build my own canoe and paddle to the other-side of the globe to avoid an awkward conversation with someone. I totally got that aspect of Aang's character and between season 1 - 3 and a half, I didn't actually mind the way he would run away from problems because the narrative was clearly set up to DEAL WITH THAT AS A CHARACTER FLAW. Like, I was pretty sure there was going to be a satisfactory resolution.

I'm a pacifist but I totally support BLM, and the Eat The Rich Brigade and Extinction Rebellion, even when they aren't using pacifist means. Without any exaggeration - billionaires are completely happy for a shit ton of us to die just so their stock portfolio can go up a quarter of a percent. Systematic Racism isn't going to be solved by a gentle approach because white-supremacists/facists want to kill everyone who isn't like them. How do you embrace non-violence in a very violent system?

It's the tolerance paradox in a children's show.

It's really meaty, weighty stuff that Aang's entire story was set up to deal with.

He is a pacisfist who is shoved against his will into a situation were he has to kill a dictator or the whole world will burn.

like wow, what a conundrum.

Damn, I was expecting some really great self-discovery and philosophy and drama and beautiful coming of age/coming into his own for Aang.

and instead...

magic rock.

An emotional, spiritual, meaningful and impactful personal conundrum with extremely high stakes all revolving around the pacifist dilemma that was set up from the very beginning of the entire show - pretty much something that could have been the centrepiece of the entire series. The main philosophical questions of ATLA - how to choose peace in the middle of a war? what is the price of justice? what is the importance of mercy?

and the answer we were given was ....

No think to hard... No life lesson for you here. Magic turtle and magic rock solve all your problems. by magic.

Like, Damn.

Yeah, I'm still salty about this.

Aang was done so dirty, y'all.

But do you know how hard it is to be a Zutara shipper and an Aang fan?

Like, I genuinely like Aang.

And I honestly feel that so much Aang criticsm/Aang hate is railing against Bryke shoving their creepy nice-guy fantasies onto the character and completely derailing his story so they could animate their weird creepy fantasies...

That's a rant for another time.

But anyway, the Aang-hate seems more about the weird writing than Aang himself, and people can't seperate the character from the writing. (and like, fair. I get that. Bryke couldn't either, because they animated older Aang, AN ASIAN MONK, to look exactly like one of them - a midwestern white dude. Like, we knew they were over-identifying, but c'mon people! seriously. I'm pretty sure that's racist.)

But anyway, the ATLA fandom is still WILD.

For saying things like "Aang should have gotten what he needed, not what he wanted. I think it would have been a better story if Aang was allowed to work through his grief and build a found family/ Aang's story would have been better if it dealt with his spiritual conundrum/ Aang's beliefs are closely modelled on buddism and so an american style nuclear family as a happy ending doesn't make much sense for him. Aang was a 12 year old child who's entire narrative was about coming into his own as the avatar and having him french kiss someone as the end point was a disconcerting choice for me," - has gotten my inbox overflowing with hate. I've been called a nazi, told to kill myself and had someone try to dox me.

all from Aang stans?!

So yeah, writing Aang-centric chapters makes me apprehensive.

Like, I'm a person too?

Dealing with an inbox overflowing with unhinged hate stresses me out.

Like, I still have the occassional Aang stan getting all up in my grill on my Cobra Kai fanfics comment section yelling at me?!

(Cobra Kai is a VERY different story to ATLA. Yeah, they both have martial arts in them and talk about balance, but.... beyond that, the characters/story-structure/arcs are very different. Like, these characters would not fit into each other's worlds.

Like, can you imagine the sheer amount of chaos Johnny Lawrence could create if he had bending?

my god. the mind boggles.)

So yeah. Whenever I have an Aang-centric arc, I get nervous about pressing 'post' cause I don't want to invite an avalanche of weird abuse.

But you asked if I have plans for worst prisoner and damn straight, I have PLANS!

So many PLANS

And one of those plans was to start to un-tangle Aang's spiritual conundrum in a way that I felt was personally satisfying.

(Spoiler alert - The Worst Prisoner will contain no magic rocks. Aang is going to have to work through this problem on his own).

But because these plans involve Aang not always getting what he wants and having to work for what he needs - I've hit a bit of a block. Past drama/discourse/series of unhinged abusive messages has made me a little wary of opening the can of worms again.

So there has been a massive delay in chapters because I really don't want to be misunderstood this time.

But I know exactly what I want to say about pacifism/justice/mercy/Aang's dilemma this time.

But, yeah, writing it is hard because every second sentence I'm like 'Is this going to bite me in the ass?'

I'm toying with the idea of just finishing Zuko-Finally-Escapes/Fire-Sibling Dysfunctional Relationship Shenangins Arc instead.

That one is easier to write now.

(To be honest, everyone bags Azula fanatics, but I have only ever been threatened with violence from Aang stans? And there is like a weird ironic disconnect for me there because Aang is the easy-going, happy-go-lucky pacifist and Azula is.... the very opposite of that. But yeah, I'm less nervous about writing fire nation drama, simply because people who really jive with Zuko, Azula, Mai or Ty Lee seem to have mastered the art of reading something they disagree with on the internet and then scrolling past and continuing with their day?)

So if the next chapter is Zuko-centric, you will know what I have decided to do.

(Honestly that is looking more and more likely at this point).

But if the next chapter is Aang centric, then... um, three cheers for me.

I would have solved one of Aang's challenges from the series, and stopped avoiding the unpleasant drama.

So that would be some fun character growth for me.

If you have made it to the bottom - my apologies for the rant.

[decaysate]

from @ruinedheart​​’s koushi,    to  touru.    (    ♡,    always accepting.    )    “    i’m expecting letters,    you know.    &.    texts.    &.    souvenirs.    especially souvenirs!    ”    is he using comedy to cope with the fact that tooru was flying to the other side of the world?    uh──    yeah!    “    i’ll be watching all your matches,     so try to look as cool as possible!    ”

the words are bittersweet to the taste,    touru thinks,    but lately,    everything has been.    he knows it’s outlandish──    the idea of travelling across the globe to chase his childhood dreams,    to take that leap of faith,    is harrowing.    it knows its juniors whisper about it,    it knows how its friends feel,    it knows──    even through his smiles,    his playful jokes──    how koushi feels.    touru’s been flitting between fear    &.    hesitation    &.    doubt all these weeks.    but in the same way blanco had seen through him,    touru sees through himself. 

it’s nothing more than an act.

“    whaaaat,    you think that i’ll stop even texting you?    kou-chan,    you know you’re never getting rid of me!    ”    it laughs along,    arms wrapped koushi’s neck in a mockery of affection,    it plays along with his jokes instead of facing the inevitable truth.    iwa-chan hates when it gets like this,    it thinks duly,    even as it prattles on.    “    even if it is a shame that you aren’t continuing volleyball,    ”    touru muses afterwards,    &.    with startling coldness it understands it’s for the best.    (    hunger,    for that bright stage──    where he will stand    &.    look down at everyone else,    his own moment as king of the court.    he’s always wanted more,    more,    more,    breaking bits of himself    &.    his bones    &.    his heart for a mere chance.    would koushi ever truly understand that?    )    “    you think you’ll ever truly forget?    how to play.    ”

when touru comes back──    (    if,    its mind supplies unhelpfully,    still holding onto childish dreams of playing under blanco,    of learning under the man that had inspired it all,    &.    to do so    ...    )   ──    it wants,    it thinks,    to play with koushi.    setting for him,    being set for,    all of it.    you think you’ll ever truly fall out of love with it?    the sport we met in.    it can’t bear to imagine a life without volleyball,    but that’s what sets them apart.    it’s for the best.    it’s for the best.    “    because i’d like to play with you someday,    you know.    have you spike my set.    have you set for me.    ”    fingers link at the nape of koushi’s neck,    tugging at soft strands as it thinks of where to go next.    what to say,    what else it can do.

(    he still remembers the very first match of high school,    watching karasuno live up to their name as the flightless crows.    &.    then again,    in their second year,    when that libero had joined    &.    set in motion a new movement.    now──    with tobio,    &.    hinata,    with karasuno going to nationals──    )

our spring is over,    he wants to say,    because it’ll never happen.    he’s made up his mind,    they’ve made their choices,    they’ll live their lives.    we should break up,    he wants to say,    because it would be for the best.    maybe i should stay,    he wants to say,    if only to hear koushi tell him to go.    he’s cruel.    he’s selfish.    but most of all,    he wants all of koushi for himself.    so touru doesn’t say any of it.

“    but you have to promise to send me pictures,    too.    &.──    what was it you said?    letters,    &.    souvenirs?    i don’t know about souvenirs,    though,    when i already have a home here!    ”    it laughs,    as if the thought doesn’t make it homesick already.    “    maybe you should send them anyways.    remind me that you’ll always be my number one fan,    hm?    ”    the teasing lilt to its voice is another reminder of its selfishness;    my number one fan,    my boyfriend,    my koushi.    (    &.    who was the one who hesitated for so long in the first place?    he’s laughable.    he’s pitiable.    iwaizumi was right to call him shitty.    )    “    i’ll treasure anything you give me,    ”    touru says,    but this time──

──    (    it’s quieter.    vulnerable,    soft in the way it matters.    he can’t help but press his forehead to koushi’s,    the desperation he feels for him.    his koushi,    &.    touru will be his,    too,    for as long as he’ll allow it.    as long as he’ll let touru stay around,    even with its cruelty    &.    selfishness    &.    the distance that will be between them.    it’s for the best.    it would be for the best,    if he let touru go completely.    a high school fling across two rival schools,    setter versus setter,    but touru──    wants,    with every selfish    &.    cruel    &.    loving fiber of its being.    touru loves koushi,    too much to bear,    to let him choose for the better──    )    ──

“    ──    so you better tune in to every one of my matches,    you hear?    ”    he leans away    &.    breaks his hold to intertwine their hands together,    as if he can’t bear    /    to waste a second,    be parted for a heartbeat    /    when there will be a chasm between them soon enough.    he’ll be gone too soon but oikawa still glows with affection,    smiles turned soft    &.    honest in the way only koushi can bring out.    as if remembering that it loves koushi is enough to put away    ‘  it-would-be-best  ’s    &.    the    ‘  what-if-?  ’s    in the making,    as if being honest will be enough to shorten that gap.    &.    it has to be.    it has to be enough. 

he’ll make it enough.

“    i’ll only come back to japan,    with all my medals,    if you watch every one,    ”    it says,    preening already.    it squeezes both of koushi’s hands,    stil rough with all the callouses he’s earned from volleyball.    it wonders,    when it comes back,    if they will have faded,    before putting the thought firmly to rest.    (    koushi is koushi.    that’s all that matters.    )    “    &.    then,    i’ll get that match where you’re by my side,    &.    it’ll be just like old times.    ”

old times.    old times.    right now is what he calls old times,    touru realizes with    ...    acceptance.    peace?    something neutral,    that it’s the inevitable truth.    if even a year from now,    their beloved volleyball teams wouldn’t be the same as when they left it    ...    perhaps the same should apply to them.    old times.    old times.    the words are nostalgic already,    sweet more than bitter.    “    just wait for a few years,    ‘kay,    kou-chan?    then i’ll be all yours the second i’m back.    ”

(    i’m already yours.    )

[silverlanghoff30]

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[josephsen72field]

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[frymalloy2]

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[reidecorating]

Like Ivy

Request: “Being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me.” and “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you.” I’m thinking something Christmas-y with Reid - Anon

A/N: I do apologise for procrastinating on getting this out, but I wanted to make sure it wasn’t terrible. Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it, my present to you is the longest fic I have ever written. I had so much fun writing it so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! Happy holidays <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAUFem!Reader

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Best friends yearning & best friends pining - but make it festive. Entails Secret Santa, the classic penny behind the ear and waltzing.

Warnings: Fluff, proceed with caution :)

The Cathedral of Santa Maria. Spencer had finally put his finger on it. The small glass dome encasing a building, with doors small enough to allow entrance to ladybugs who may practice religion, adorned unmistakable timely Italian architecture and ornamented pine trees, all dusted with flitters of snow. For the past week, Spencer had caught sight of the trinket each time he wandered past where it sat, as one of the few other decorations surrounding the name plate displaying in gold Times New Roman ‘DAVID ROSSI’, on the often unoccupied desk. So, he gathered that it must be important. Filing away his final stack of paperwork for the night, a silver paperclip glistening in the artificial light, Spencer made a mental note to ask the man about it the next morning. Standing from his usual office chair slouch, he stretched his limbs, feeling a series of clicks in his back as he regained his posture, only to bend back down in reach of his satchel. He made his way home giving tight lipped smiles of encouragement to the few agents sprinkled about the room, working over time. Haphazardly, he pushed the arrow pointing downwards with a cardigan clad elbow. As if on queue, his phone buzzed to the simultaneous ‘ding’ of the lift. 

I understand you’re nocturnal, but I hope you’ve gotten home by now! If not, text me when you do so, safely :) 

He didn’t realise he was grinning from ear to ear until an aggravated looking bureau member from a floor above, evidently itching to get home, cleared his throat to gain Spencer’s attention. “Sorry,” he grimaced. Noticing the button for the ground floor having already been lit up, Spencer stepped inside and stood as far away, as was possible in the small space, from the rankled looking man and his briefcase. A dimple appeared on his cheek as he remembered you, two years, three months and seventeen days ago - not that he was counting - offering him cherry scented hand sanitiser from a small bottle, and, only after he’d nodded, gently grasping the tips of his fingers to steady his shaking hand as you poured the gelid liquid into his palm. The act was so pure he chose against telling you that while alcohol based hand sanitisers reduce the number of microbes on hands in some situations, they don’t eliminate all types of germs - making soap and water the most effective way to go. Since then, you occupied his thoughts in the same way ivy grew along bricks of long forgotten towers. In abundance, in the most beautiful way. He turned his attention back to the tiny mobile he was holding. 

On my way right now. I have a date with microwaved leftovers at midnight, can’t miss it. Will do. 

The next time his phone buzzed was when he’d dozed off on the way home, using the concave pane of a metro window as a shoulder to lean against. He waited until his feet landed on the uneven pavement of his stop to open it. 

Tomorrow you have a date with a properly cooked meal, at mine. What is it that Hotch always says? That’s an order, not a request. 

Spencer’s heartbeat quickened as he read what you had written, his brain immediately carrying variables in an effort to slow it down by convincing himself that friends make each other feel this way. However, when he counted the rose flush on his cheeks and nose whenever you were around, the looks you shared which said more than words ever could and the way you held each other nearer than the distance between the sky and the ocean where they met at the horizon after close calls and mentally grappling cases, it didn’t quite equate to being just friends. Dwindling leaves clinging to their branches shuddered as scissors of winter wind pruned the trees scattered about. Spencer’s pale hands slid into his coat pockets, hiding from frostbite. On the short walk to his apartment, he admired the twinkling lights on either side of the streets, feeling as if he were a plane which had just landed upon a runway in the night. Candy canes, reindeer and eccentric portrayals of Santa Claus glowed amongst bushes and on porches, making Spencer wish you were there to see them too. It wasn’t rare he found himself wanting to share everything he did with you. Pretty things made him think of you. Eventually reaching the familiar building, tiredly, he followed wreaths and holly all the way to his undecorated apartment door. 

You? Cooking? I’ll bring a fire extinguisher. Home safe. Goodnight, sleep well. 

He kept his promise, despite seeing the time was nearing to one in the morning and being doubtful you were still awake. 

Hilarious :/ and I will, knowing you’re alive. Goodnight Spencer :) 

Spencer coveted for nights when he could tell you goodnight from right beside you, perhaps with his hand draped around your waist while yours tugged at his hair. He wanted to fall asleep to the scent of your skin and whatever soap you’d picked up from the store that week, not the quiet hum of his vintage fan. His microwave beeped, acting as an alarm to return down to earth from the clouds, presenting him with far less than gourmet potatoes. Realising he would take your burnt cooking over this any day, he settled for a sandwich.

 ∗∗∗

“Did you know that snowglobes were invented in France. They were first introduced as ‘water globes’ at the Paris Expedition Fair in 1889, and, to no surprise, the first snow globe actually contained a tiny scaled Eiffel Tower covered in snow,” Spencer lectured, almost putting the two agents who had struggled enough to get out of bed, back to sleep. The days were slow. Annual leave for a majority of the bureau was looming nearer and files kept them busy as the jet gathered dust. “Glad to hear the French contributed something, other than their opprobrium of a language, to this world,” Emily complained, from her desk. “Well, baguettes… Croissants, parachutes… Aspirin-“ Spencer was halted by the unimpressed look on Rossi’s face, as he hovered on the edge of Spencer’s table, a bushy eyebrow raised in vexation. “What’s with all this talk of snowglobes, kid?” The older man squinted at Spencer, craning his neck towards this, the way he did to suspects behind the glass of an interrogation room. “Since you brought it up,” he smiled smugly, swivelling in his chair from one side to another. “What’s the story behind the Santa Maria sitting on your desk?”

“Yeah, the eighties have come and gone, Rossi, isn’t it a bit late for repentance?” Emily let out a sly smile, walking over to also lean against Spencer’s desk with a steaming mug in hand. “It was a gift from my grandmother, handmade, I take it out every Christmas to help get in the festive mood,” Rossi explained. “Also, that was very funny Emily but now… I can’t help but recall what Garcia told me about the time you got a little tipsy and licked peanut butter off J-” 

“No one told me it was National Congregate Around Spencer Reid’s Desk Day today.” The three agents turned their heads in unison to find who the voice belonged to, Spencer’s breath hitching at the sight of you. You stood before them, an upturned magician’s hat in hand, semi-curious as to what the ending of Rossi’s sentence would have been if it weren’t for you interrupting. “Y/N!” Emily waved, flashing a smile. “You’ve taken an interest in magic and didn’t even think to tell me,” Spencer feigned a hurt look. “Spencer, I knew magic wasn’t for me after I did the card trick you taught me, wrong . Six times,”

“It was seven. Plus, the student is never as good as the teacher,” he suppressed a smile. “Or maybe the teacher just isn’t good,” you raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s a little hostile, someone didn’t get enough sleep last night,” Spencer defended himself, putting his hands in the air. His eyes held a glimmer of mischief as if to say ‘we know something that you don’t’ when they met yours. Emily’s jaw dropped. “That… Didn’t sound suggestive at all,” Rossi pursed his lips in concern, looking back and forth between the pair of furiously blushing agents. “Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” you winked at Rossi. Basking in the radiance of your laughter washing over him like the sun, Spencer chuckled along. “Anyway, what’s with the hat?” Emily questioned. “This,” you shook it by its brim, “contains the remaining names for this year’s Secret Santa, courtesy of Miss Penelope Garcia. I was just ordered to present it to you all. She calls it being her ‘little elf’ - I call it unpaid manual labour - but pick a name, any name,” you encouraged. You watched as Spencer’s tongue comically poked out as he eagerly concentrated on picking a name, elbow bent at a worrying angle. “I just want to say that every time I get a gift that isn’t alcohol, I’m slightly disappointed,” Emily turned to you as it was her turn to fish for a piece of paper. “I’ll keep that in mind,” you grinned at her. You watched Rossi’s expression as his eyes skimmed the name in his hands. “Oh, and Rossi, yes, there’s a budget,” you called over your shoulder, causing them to laugh as you gave them a wave. Slinking away from the comity of the bullpen, back to Mrs Claus’ lair, you retrieved the only remaining name. You paused in the hallway to double check if you’d read the glittery scrawl correctly. Spencer Reid. It was just your luck. You were prepared to engage in hand to hand combat with Garcia, seeing her office looming ahead. “Penelope. I hate you. I love you,” you kissed her cheek, placing the top hat on her curls, “but I hate you.” She recognised the tone, beaming at the implications. “Thank me later, beautiful!” She called after you as you rushed away to get started on completing the mountains of reports you had been avoiding thus far. 

The day had come to a close, a headache making a home for itself in your head. Scanning the, now, mostly empty room, you caught sight of the back of Spencer’s uncombed head. Double checking that not enough people were around to be reprimanded by HR for misconduct, you inconspicuously made your way over to him snaking your arms around his neck and burrowing your nose in its crook. “Hi,” he chuckled, amused at the sudden affection, his unoccupied hand immediately reaching to grasp one of your wrists. Spencer had followed your strict, but coffee induced, orders earlier that morning telling him not to distract you unless, one, he was dying, or two, something was on fire, because you were determined to finish the numerous write-ups you had left until today. “Hi,” you mumbled into him. “Ready to go home?” You asked sweetly, arms still slung around him, pulling your face away to get a glimpse of his soft features. Your heart stopped for a little while, at the beauty of him. He was breathtaking. You refrained from tracing the small bump of his nose with your own, and settled for admiring the five o’clock shadow presaging a hidden jaw. The part of Spencer that craved domesticity was enchanted by your simple question, the word home resounding in his head, acting as an old film reel for projections of images of the two of you together; leaving work together, going home together. Little did he know that, as if through an unnoticed telepathy, just a few inches away, the same images occupied your own head. Coming home to an empty apartment had become tedious. You allowed yourself to give into your daydreams of returning home to Spencer - with Spencer. Spencer, with his warm eyes and words that drip like syrup from his tongue. You wanted nothing more than to revel in him filling your senses once the cologne from the day had been washed away, and hear him harp on about the history of mattresses, attempting to retain questions to ask him later in your memory bank, as you capitulate to sleep. “As a matter of fact, I finished most of what I had to do last night so I am ready to go… home,” he tested out the word, to which you had assigned a brand new connotation, feeling a flutter in his chest. You quickly rescinded your arms as you peripherally detected a flock of agents returning from what you assumed was an afternoon break. Spencer suddenly missed your body on his. Having already packed your things, feeling accomplished noticing that the pile of folders on your desk had shrunk significantly, you packed Spencer’s things to save him time, aimlessly throwing the strap of his satchel over his head for him once he had ungracefully shoved his arms into a blazer. “Hang on,” you gently pulled at his shoulders to meet your height, carefully fixing his tag and creased collar. The blush on his face, at the feel of your cold fingers brushing the nape of his neck, said everything he didn’t - save a meek, “Thank you.” You smiled at him in return. “Wait,” his eyes widened, “I need this,” he mumbled, reaching into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a large black bag, decorated in gold intricacies. He didn’t explain it, but you knew that if Spencer had something to say, he would come out and say it, just all in good time. “Now are you ready?” You eyed the thing curiously, and glanced back at him. “Let’s go,” he motioned his arms in front of him, with a small nod, letting you lead the way. 

Afternoon rays of sun fought their way through clouds, battling with the winter air to warm the people mingling outside as you made your way towards the crowded station. “Penny for your thoughts?” You asked, intuitively slipping an arm through his when the sun began to disappear altogether. Your cheeks grew warm as you realised your compromising position, feeling your heart rate return to its usual pace once he relaxed into your touch. “Hm?” He turned to look at you, letting his river coloured eyes unabashedly scan your face. “You look like your mind is far away,”

“What’s on my mind is definitely not very far away,” he said, quietly. That glimmer had returned. You noticed that the crease between his brows had disappeared, indicative that whatever thoughts were rattling through his brain, were good ones. You hummed a smile, content with his contentedness. “So… Hand it over,” he extended a palm a second later. “Hand what over?” You asked, genuinely confused. “A penny,” he said as if it was obvious. You blinked up at him, unfazed by the joke, as he bit his lip provokingly. All of a sudden he stopped walking, eyes still on you. “Just… Hold on a moment,” he whispered, squinting at you as he reached a hand towards your cheek. You remained still, thinking that Spencer had finally lost his mind. “Here it is!” He exclaimed, breaking out into a smile as he retrieved a one cent coin from behind your ear. “What!? You’re kidding! That was brilliant,” you beamed at him, eyes wide in bewilderment. “For a second there I thought you had gone crazy,” you teased. “Magic does that to people,” he nodded, satisfied with how impressed you seemed. “Ah, but alas, you gave me a very ambiguous answer, so I,” you snatched the penny from his fingers, “am entitled to a refund.” Spencer shook his head with a soft smile. “You might need to use that for the bus if we miss the next train,” he informed, hurriedly examining the watch on his upturned wrist. 

No trains were missed, that day, the two of you arriving at your door in time for the six o’clock news. “Here, let me take your coat,” you offered, putting it on the small rack beside the door, placing yours adjacent to it. Spencer relished in the warmth of the place, setting his things down. “So, I’m thinking we get a proper meal in us, and then you can help me decorate this dreary place,” you instructed. He wanted to let you know that anywhere you are is far from being dreary, but something told him that was far too sappy, so he settled for a simple, “Sounds good.” He took in the familiar apartment, its walls embellished in old paintings snagged from secondhand stores and books scattered about on almost every horizontal surface, in a certain disorderliness that said, yes it’s messy, but everything has its place. “Also, I hope you know that you’re only leaving in the morning so make yourself at home.” It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence for the two of you; you falling asleep at his apartment out of feebleness, him at yours, and more often than not, it involved discarded games of Scrabble as the two of you settled for debating the rules instead of actually playing. Lately, he’d been craving it more and more - and so had you. Spencer would never say no to that offer, but he was taken aback. “But I didn’t pack- I don’t have-“

“Eidetic memory is slipping I see,” you giggled at his flustered state. “I told you, I kept finding toothbrushes, sweaters and socks here every time you left, so I made a drawer full of your things, since you practically live here anyway,”

“An entire drawer? I didn’t think I was missing a whole lot,” he responded, nose tinted red. “I have to water my plants quickly, before I put dinner on, but feel free to shower,” you said, still laughing quietly. “Let me help cook, first. You need someone to disassemble the smoke alarm,” he raised an eyebrow at you. One ‘KISS THE COOK’ apron and half an hour of seasoning a chicken, spilling sweet potatoes and bumping elbows later, the two of you stood back from the counter, you boasting to Spencer about how nothing had turned to ashes, and him pointing out that the oven hadn’t been turned on yet. Soon after, you put the oven on high, humming an indistinguishable carol over the shower that could be heard running from the next room. A warm, tingling feeling overcame you.

By the time you had showered, Spencer stood serving - a well timed and flawlessly cooked - chicken, wearing mitts matching the baggy flannel pyjamas keeping him warm on top of the open oven. “Smells good,” you complimented, slightly startling Spencer. He stood at the small wooden dining table, mouth agape at the sight of you. He was sure his heart was a puddle. “I like your sweater,” he praised. You glanced down slightly confused, shortly realising that your sweater, with its much too floppy sleeves, reaching a little way above your knees, was actually his. “Oh, I’ll wash it and give it back to you at some point,” you said shyly. “I was wondering where it went, but don’t worry about it, the colour looks nicer on you than it does on me,”

“Nonsense, you know that’s not true.” Soon enough, you found yourselves digging in - not before you expressed your gratitude towards food that wasn’t charred for the first time in months. You sat across from each other, your reindeer sock clad feet occasionally tapping his beneath the table. Spencer’s heart was full, marvelling at you from where he sat, wishing this could be something he could experience forever, much preferring it over a stale sandwich. You watched him intently through your eyelashes, chin resting on your interlaced hands while he taught you about how the thalidomide scandal emerging from Germany led to safer drugs in the pharmaceutical industry, the lecture prompted by an article he’d read recently. It continued into getting the dishes cleaned up, his rambling only being interrupted by your intermittent questions which incited further tangents, or requests to pass the tea towel. His voice was a ruffled silken sheet, on which you would like to lay for eternity. Admittedly, you found it difficult to focus on retaining any more information than the odd date, due to being too focused on the way his lips moved to form every word he said, hopelessly enamoured by the overly enthusiastic expressions he made to match the tone of what he was saying. Eventually, he wandered towards the living room as you stacked away the final plate, butterflies still spurring in your stomach from when his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you.

“Spencer Reid effortlessly navigating technology, Christmas miracles really do exist, huh?” 

“Actually, I just remembered watching you choose music, instead of paying attention to the road, that one time you drove me to work,”

“I was most definitely paying attention,” you huffed out a laugh, slightly bashful at the thought of him remembering small things you do. “You hit the kerb four times! That was the day I vowed to never let you transport me anywhere,”

“I see your argument, and I raise you with the counter argument: the kerb hit me.” Sitting with his back against the couch, legs sprawled out over the rug beneath your coffee table, Spencer couldn’t hold back his laughter. After watching you disappear into the kitchen, he busied himself with reading the holiday edition of Reader’s Digest laying on the table. He recounted you telling him that you had accidentally  drunkenly subscribed to it, and never bothered to cancel the subscription, the first time you’d caught him reading an issue. You emerged a short while later, with drinks in both hands. “Bonjour monsieur, on tonight’s menu, we can either open this Merlot or, drink Capri-suns like the sophisticated adults we are. Your pick,” you said, hiding the juice pouches behind your back and noticeably waving the bottle of wine in front of you. “I have a feeling it isn’t my pick,” he let out a laugh, “so just fill a glass with enough Merlot for two,” you were on your way to get a glass before he had the chance to finish. “Your wish is my command!” You called. Spencer put down his magazine once he saw you rushing towards him with a large glass of wine in hand. “Of course you opt for Christmas Jazz over Mariah Carey,” you teased, hearing the music he’d queued floating from the withering speaker in the corner of the living room. It was the kind of music that would play in the diner of an expensive hotel, you noted. “I can change it if you’d like?” He began reaching for your phone, when you halted him by grasping his arm. “No, it’s good, I like your taste.” Spencer grinned sheepishly, taking the glass from your hand as you sat down beside him. 

Hours of conversation and decking the halls with tinsel later, with wine flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes you moved the furniture to cater for your very own dance floor. Carefully, Spencer placed a hand below your ribs, touching you like new glassware, lacing the other with yours. Your unfettered hand, replaced the weight of the world as it rested on his shoulder. You recognised the look on his face as he settled into the close proximity, it was the same look that painted yours when you admired him whilst he failed to notice. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the man you held, making an indistinct halo of golden light appear above his unkempt hair. “I apologise for any damage caused to your feet,” you giggled, struggling to find a rhythm. “Here, follow my lead,” he looked down at your feet. “The Waltz?” Dazzled, you raised an eyebrow, a few seconds after recognising the box-like steps in unison. Spencer tried to focus on anything but your lips, glistening in the dull light, so close to his. “Mhm, I’m not exactly the most co-ordinated-”

“You don’t say?”

“That’s tough talk for someone I’ve seen fall up a flight of stairs,”

“That sounds made up, but as you were saying,” you laughed into his chest. “It’s simple because its a repeating pattern. Did you know that name of the dance comes from the German word waltzen, which means to turn, or to glide? Some say the dance itself comes from the folk music and dances of west Austria, but others debate that it’s a variation of the Volta, from the 16th century,”

“Interesting, makes sense to debate that though. I’m pretty sure volta means ‘a turning’ in Italian - although that’s mostly in reference to the turn of a new thought or idea in sonnets… I’m thinking of Shakespeare,” you chimed in. “Sonnet one-hundred and thirty being a classic example of that,”

“Of course you would know that,” you shook your head in awe, cheeks hurting from grinning too wide. The incandescence of the smile that hadn’t left his face all day was mesmerising, the honeyed expression tied together with the dimples on his cheeks and creases around his eyes. “What would you like for Christmas?” He mumbled, lifting a moment of peaceful silence. “If you pulled my name out of the hat today you’re going to have to be a lot more subtle than that,”

“Unfortunately not,” he pouted. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, but I have Rossi,” he whispered the words into your ear, neglecting that no one else was around to hear. “What do you get a man who already has everything money can buy?”

“A new wife,” you joked, causing him to scoff. He studied your visage as you pondered his earlier question, still swaying to the soft piano sounds. “Honestly Spencer, being able to see you smile, being in your vicinity, just that is enough for me,” you finally answered, tilting your head up at him. Spencer thought his knees would give way. He thought his knees would give way, and he would hit the ground with enough impact to implode through the earth’s crust. In reality, he only stumbled over his feet momentarily, regaining his composure before you noticed him slowly becoming unhinged. “If that’s the case, I wish I’d picked your name,” he managed to utter, breathlessly.

The music which continued to play was drowned out by the sound of steady breathing, you were too caught up in each other to pay attention to the world. Wordless, you looked into his eyes, his actions parallel to yours. “You look beautiful right now,” he sighed. “Of course, you always look beautiful but, you know.” You shook your head, refraining from averting your eyes from his. He wished you believed it, promising himself to never abstain from letting you know until you saw yourself the way he did. “It’s funny you say that, because I was thinking the same thing. About you of course,” you rushed out the last part, realising the potential for miscommunication. “I love seeing you happy,”

“Well, as long as you stick around, you’ll be seeing a lot of that,” he spoke lowly, on the verge of telling you about all the things he felt for you. You hadn’t realised, but you had unconsciously moved closer together. You could feel his warm breath on your skin, lighting a fire inside your lungs, as he took yours away. Spencer saw all of the signs; the signs that this was not usual for a friendship. Maybe, if it weren’t for his defeated battle with fear, and doubt, he would have told you by now that he had fallen desperately for you. Spencer knew there wasn’t a drop of insincerity behind any of the kind words you spoke into him, he understood that you were his person, but he found it difficult enough to comprehend that someone could feel this strongly for someone. So, the implausible idea that someone could feel this way about him, was one he was not even prepared to entertain. “Y/N? I, um,” he tried, wearily. You gave him a soft smile, both tired arms laced behind his neck now as his rested on your waist. He dropped his sword. Once again losing the fight against his unreasonable insecurities, changing his mind at the last second. “I need to give you something,” his demeanour changed and he vanished from your line of vision. Your heart sank, hopes of hearing him say that the love you had for him was requited, fallen. Before you got too lost in your head, he emerged from the doorway with the same black bag you’d been inquisitive of. “Uh, here, this is for, uh, you,” he tucked his lip beneath his teeth. “Spencer…” you trailed off as he handed it to you. You sat yourself on the carpet, patting the spot next to you for him to join. “I thought I should give it to you now, since I’ll be in Vegas for Christmas,” 

“Spencer, you really didn’t have to-“

“Go on, open it,” he ignored your humility. You gave him a look as you opened it - it being replaced with a look of elation as you realised what it was. In your hands, you held a scarf, long enough to hit the floor, striped in all your favourite tones. “I had to ask my mom for help with the tassels, but-“

“You took the time to make this? For me?” You exclaimed. Without thought, you draped it around his neck to tug him closer to you, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you so much,” you lauded, refusing to let go of him. “I think it was last winter, we were walking back to our hotel in Minnesota during a case, and you insisted that the both of us use my scarf to keep us warm, because you didn’t have one,”

“Ah, I remember that, except it ended up being one of the top ten worst disasters in U.S. history due to the height difference, and we both ended up falling face-first into the snow,” you giggled, recalling the way you had used up most of the hotel’s hot water afterwards. “Exactly,” he matched your expression, “seeing as you still haven’t bought one for yourself, even though we lose eighty percent of our body heat through our head and neck, I thought I would take matters into my own hands,”

“Well, I love it. You’ll have to tell your mother I said thank you and that I’m sending my love,” you finally dropped your arms from around him, out of fear of crushing his shoulders. 

Once the zeroes had lined up on the twenty-four clock, Spencer sat where he usually resided on your bed, ardently admiring you as you folded away his gift. “Wait! Spencer close your eyes! Please!” You squeaked, immediately shutting the cupboard doors, realising your unwrapped present for him was hidden within. “Y/N? Is everything alright?” He asked, eyes now sealed shut. “I didn’t want you to see what I’d bought for Secret Santa,” you let out, too exhausted to form a coherent excuse. “We only got those names today - well, yesterday, now - so how did you manage to-”

“Shoot,” you cursed to yourself, knowing his unintentional profiling would lead him to the conclusion sooner or later. Spencer’s eyes slowly opened. “Okay, let’s say if, hypothetically, I had intended on giving you something for Christmas anyway, but then drawn your name today, would you, hypothetically, be able to act surprised when you receive it from me at work?”

“Hypothetically speaking, I would?” He squinted at you, stifling laughter. Your hair was slightly messy and your drowsy eyes were visible to Spencer even without his contacts in. He thought you just looked so adorable, wanting nothing more than to hold you and share your warmth. “Anyway, come to bed,” he beckoned, his voice gravelly, giving way for the day. Obliging, you shuffled towards your bed before sliding your cold feet beneath the covers. Spencer turned to face you, resting his cheek on an upturned palm. “Sorry for ruining the surprise,” you whispered, tucking the duvet under your chin, bright eyes looking through him. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he assured, treasuring the sight before him. There had been a shift in the air between the two of you. Spencer held the wine accountable, but he could sense that you felt it too, a level of intimacy that you had not quite reached during previous nights like this. “Come closer, I need to exploit your body heat while I can.” Spencer listened to your instruction, inching nearer to you, his heart rate so high he was sure you could feel it when you nuzzled your head into his chest. “Goodnight,” you felt his chest rumble. “Hang on, the night isn’t over yet,” you mumbled, “talk to me,”

“About?” He asked, amused by your grit to avoid sleep. “Anything you want,” you yawned. “You’re sleepy,” he stated, coaxing you into getting some shut eye. When you tilted your head up and continued to blink at him, he gave in. “Have you ever wondered why a lot of our most vulnerable conversations happen  at night?” You nodded in response. “Well, a study done by the University of Colorado a couple of years ago concluded that natural light from the sun actually regulates your circadian rhythm, or internal biological clock, which standardises your sleep cycle. According to their study, this sleep cycle coincides with sunrise and sunset, meaning that if you regularly expose yourself to sunlight, your body enhances its internal clock to align more closely with the natural light cycle,” 

“Based on that,” you contended, words slightly jumbled, “our circadian rhythm would vary between seasons, right? And yours would be different, since you’re a literal vampire, to say... someone who surfs down in Florida because of disparity in sun exposure?”

“Precisely,” he raised his eyebrows, “I’m impressed you’re still paying attention, you look like you’re already dreaming.” Spencer nudged your forehead gently with his own, causing you to breath out a laugh. “Alright, so how does all of that relate to being more vulnerable at night?”

“It relates in the sense that the rise and fall of the sun reflects in our physiological, as well as emotional behaviour. During the day, we’re a lot more active, and at night, we become more relaxed and receptive. Hence, since your mind is at ease, all the thoughts and emotions that might have felt jumbled up during the day become clear, making them a whole lot easier to express,”

“Mhm,” you managed, eyelids growing heavy. “Do you… have anything to say now,” you whispered drowsily, eyes now closed, “that you can’t say during the day?” Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore. He was already so fond of you but as his hand settled to rest around your waist, feeling your warmness, he believed his ribs could collapse from the way he felt inside. As you dozed off, gradually, winter became less cold in his arms and dreamscapes of his tea leaf eyes. “And, she’s asleep,” he whispered, minutes after silence, into your hair, “but to answer your question, yes,” his lips planted a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love you.” Of course, unbeknownst to him, you weren’t asleep just yet.

∗∗∗

A couple of days went by, and as more time went on, the less certain you became as to whether Spencer had really even said the words, wondering if the whole thing was just a fatigue driven hallucination your lovesick mind had conjured up. Waking up beside him the next morning however, tangled in a warm cocoon of cotton and limbs, had left you feeling giddy, smiling like a fool with heart shaped eyes as he attempted to feed you the waffles he’d made - which the two of you gulped down far too quickly than sanctioned, to avoid being late for work. When you didn’t succeed, and the clock had beaten you by ten minutes, you both wrestled past evocative looks from the rest of the team for the remainder of the day, JJ even singing something about the two of you ‘sitting in a tree’ . The soft, shared, smiles and light brushes of fingertips when he handed you coffee in the mornings left you wanting to concede; let him know that you would walk on burning coal for him, the more logical side of you reminding you that professing your devotion to him over an open case file consisting of a double homicide, three days before Christmas, was far from ideal. Spencer wanted the kind of love only the poets could express. This had become evident the evening you took him to a midnight screening of ‘Un homme et Une Femme’. You recalled leaning into him to translate, catching sight of his welling eyes glimmer in the dim lit theatre. Believing his love should be celebrated, you decided to withhold the unsurfaced feelings a little while longer.

Later that week, you all gathered around the BAU tree, a small framed picture of Derek decidedly hanging from one of its upper branches after Garcia had to be heavily persuaded, and eventually bribed, to not place it at the top, arguing “But he’s my star.” Spencer snuck behind you, subtly placing a hand on your back to glide through and place Rossi’s gift under the tree. “I want to let you know that I’ve been practicing my ‘surprised’ face in the mirror,” he discreetly whispered against your neck, making you roll your eyes. “Okay super sleuths, I know we’re all itching to fly away for a break, but hold your reindeer, because we are yet to kick off our annual Secret Santa,” Garcia excitedly exclaimed, shuffling in with two large sparkling bags. “I thought there was a budget?” Rossi quirked. “Yes, sir,” she looked smug, “for you.” The team shared smiles at Rossi’s perplexed look. “So, who wants to start us off?” Garcia chirped. With that, the festivities were under way. You held tight an abnormally large heat sensitive mug, which you were sure would also reveal a promiscuous image once warm - a gift from Emily, who gave herself away by insisting it would help your caffeine dependency - watching as the others tackled ribbon wrapping paper. You threw an impressed look Spencer’s way, that glint of knowing something the universe doesn’t returning to your eyes, when Rossi opened a small portrait of what looked to be a Venetian cathedral, the Santa Maria to be exact. Once the banter and excited chatter had died down, everyone turned to the recipient of the final gift, neatly labelled Spencer Reid, enveloped in brown paper and tied with deep purple ribbon. Penelope looked as if she were about to pass out. Spencer’s shifting eyes landed on JJ as she mouthed a small ‘you’re up’, causing a smile to tug at his lips when he eyed you gazing at him with the soft look he adored. Your eyes lingered on his hands as they swimmingly untied the mauve knot and tore open the paper to reveal a large leather-bound journal. He examined the old looking thing,  trailing his fingers along the convoluted golden details of the artistic interpretation of a moon calendar adorning its umber covers, partially covered by thin leather straps. His mouth was slightly agape, shaking a little at how well you knew him, clumsily catching the matching novelty pen before it slipped out of the wrapping and onto the floor. You had picked it up at a forlorn occult shop after it had caught your eye while looking out of place as it lay surrounded by large crystals. Knowing in an almost divine way that it should belong to Spencer, you had bought it. He couldn’t help but look at you briefly, communicating a silent gratitude. “This is amazing,” he ogled, “I love it.” Your heartbeat was in your throat. He was yet to find out you’d filled the first page for him.

Shouts of Merry Christmas, long hugs and season’s greetings were thrown around the room before, one by one, everyone slowly bade their goodbyes. While helping JJ clear away torn reds and greens of gift wrapping, you caught sight of Spencer, ears and cheeks scarlet, with his nose buried in his new, opened, journal.

“We are asleep until we fall in love," you looked up from Leo Tolstoy’s one thousand page book and recited to me, once. Since you walked into my life, I’ve been wide awake. You know that I’m never far away, but this is for the days you need to let out some of what you hold in, without saying it aloud. 

I love you too, Spencer.

Spencer read and re-read the words until he was sure he could recite them like the Lord’s Prayer. It was commonly Spencer who remembered small details and remembered paltry quotations, but this time, it was you. Sitting in the glow of the afternoon sun, one October, he had been reading War and Peace, and couldn’t help but share the line with you as you sat across from him, chewing through a much smaller number of pages and reading a collection of poetry. The woman he had been so captivated by, admiring from afar that day - and all others, felt the same way he did. In disbelief, he began breathing manually. Making sure he was deciphering the cursive lettering correctly, he scanned the page again. While his eyes were definitely not deceiving him, they remained glued to one word. Awake. The havoc caused in his heart by the train of thought hitting him so brutally, rivalled only Gare Montparnasse. You must’ve heard his confession nights ago. It was the only explanation for the ‘I love you, too’. You most definitely were awake. Profiling tendencies overcame him. With his basic background of graphology, he could make out that the last line had been written in fresher ink than all the others, confirming his hypothesis. For the first time in a while, his mind was quiet, the uncertainties which fought to float in, unable to make their way through as if the thee simple words you’d handed him were a barrier for them. He needed to talk to you.

Walking quickly towards the elevator, an overwhelming wave of anxiety crashed over you. You had subconsciously been avoiding Spencer for most of the evening, second-guessing whether or not you’d heard him correctly, whether he’d even meant the words in the way you’d interpreted, wondering what you would do if this friendship were to ever end. However, a more hopeful side of you contended to quiet those thoughts. He had to feel it too. There was no room in which you hadn’t shared a longing look. The feather touches, and dancing. So badly did you want to believe that he thought this too. A slender arm appeared through the closing elevator doors, tugging you back to reality, causing you to jump before quickly pushing the open button. “Spencer! You could’ve lost an arm!” You yelped. “It’s okay, I have two of them,” he huffed. He avoided your eyes for a moment, before inhaling half of the oxygen in the small lift and turning towards you. “I wanted to say thank you, for this,” he held up the book, “it’s gorgeous, and sort of… exactly what I needed - and not just the book itself but what you wrote… inside it,” he nervously looked at you. “Did you- do you mean what you wrote?” His tone of voice syringed into you a drop of hurt. “Spencer, I never want you to think that I don’t mean it,” your let out in a shaky voice, gently grasping his elbow. You visibly saw his body ease, a smitten smile replacing the lip being chewed at. His throat bobbed as he gulped before he spoke again, heartbeat in his ears. “I want you to know that I’m in love with you, Y/N. I don’t want you the way I want a best friend, I want you in a-” he sighed, clenching and unclenching his fist trying to find the words, “I want you in a way that means I want to fall asleep beside you, and wake up to you the next morning, for as long as the sun rises. I want you. I want you - no, need you, the way the tide needs the moon to rise and fall, I want you-” he swallowed, furrowing his brows at his feet, “I want you, like this.” Hazel eyes fluttering shut was the last thing you saw. Large hands lightly caressed your face, one travelling behind your ear, brushing your neck to delicately tangle in your hair. After years of wondering, you finally knew what his lips felt like on yours. His nose bumped yours lightly as you tasted his soft lips, their slight chap reminding you that winter had kissed them first. Your hands wrapped around his wrists, before one settled on his tilted jaw and another hid in his chestnut hair. He felt warm, everywhere you touched setting electricity through him. Even after you pulled apart, his arms remained on either side of your face, holding you like you were fragile. His breath fanned over your face, as you shivered, the fluttering in your stomach unsubdued. The elevator had long reached the ground floor, causing the two of you to bashfully laugh concurrently. You thought to yourself that Spencer’s crimson flush and wide grin was a sight you would lose sleep to gaze at. “All this time, I’ve been missing out on that,” you teased, watching him shyly bite his lip as he waited for you to say something else. “I’m very glad you said all of that because I’m very much in love with you, Spencer Reid, and, if you’ll let me, I want to love you, the way people love in all the books you’ve lent me,” you told him. At that, he was sure his heart was yours, fearlessly. So, making afternoon plans and debating which train to take, neither of you really caring as long as you were in the other’s company, you finally stepped out of the elevator, oblivious to the mistletoe that was hanging within it, but more than mindful of what was to come.