#FLAGPOLES // WRITING. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fortheloveofwonderland · 1 year ago

Text

My Reply | S.R

This one was a request from the lovely @reidsaurora-replies for my milestone celebration which got wildly out of hand. I think I damn near used every lyric of the song in this one. Also, Maeve does not exist in this universe. I felt like his phone calls with her were too similar to the letters with reader and not needed

Summary - Spencer writes his deepest tragedies down on paper for his pen pal. After ten years of exchanging letters and some divine intervention from JJ, the two of you finally come face to face.

CW - this one covers most of Spencer’s canon storylines including Tobis Hankel and his drug addiction, his moms illness, his fathers abandonment, getting shot in the knee, his headaches, Emily’s “death”, prison arc, Mr Scratch and Emily’s kidnapping, angst, interfering friends, lots of literary quotes.

WC - 6.3k

Making friends was always something Spencer Reid had been inherently bad at. He was always too young or too smart which always seemed to put people off of forming friendships with him.

When he joined the BAU, his team called themselves his friends. But Spencer knew if he’d met any of them outside of work he would have nothing in common with them.

They were simply friends by proximity, which admittedly was better than having no friends at all. But he couldn’t talk to them about everything, afraid to scare them away with talk of his mothers illness or his fathers abandonment.

And sometimes he just needed to talk to someone.

It was Garcia’s idea that he sign up for a pen pal. When she found out about his mom during the course of the fisher king case, he’d confessed that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to the team about such things.

At first she’d actually suggested talking to someone online, she had many online friends who she talked to in various chat rooms. But after almost an hour of trying to explain that to the technophobe doctor and getting little more than a deep frown in response, she changed tact.

A pen pal appealed to Spencer greatly. He already wrote daily letters to his mom and found it somewhat cathartic, getting his thoughts down on the page, but he never bothered her with the darker stuff.

The idea of a faceless person he’d never meet reading his deepest, darkest thoughts was actually intriguing to him. And so with the help of Penelope he found himself a pen pal.

In his first letter he’d just introduced the basics, his name and age, what he did for a living and that he lived in DC.

He went on to explain how hard he found it to make friends and the difficulties of talking to his already established friends about the darker parts of his life. He ended the letter with a quote from To Kill a Mockingbird.

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view…until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” - Harper Lee.

He received a reply little over a week later.

Your name was Y/N and you were twenty two, three years younger than him and a grad student at Columbia University. You told him you would be happy to read whatever he sent you, that you were more than willing for him to write to you about the things he didn’t tell his friends.

You signed off with a quote of your own quote from the book Infinite Jest.

“You will become way less concerned with what other people think of you when you realise how seldom they do.” - David Foster Wallace.

And so he did just as you said and he wrote another letter.

His second letter to you was five pages long. He went into great detail about his mothers illness, how he’d been left to deal with it alone at ten years old. He wrote about how he’d made the decision at eighteen years old to have her committed to a sanitarium.

He told you about growing up as a child prodigy in Las Vegas and how hard that was. You were the first person he ever told about Alexa Lisbon and being tied naked to a flagpole.

He spoke about the events surrounding Elle leaving the team and how it didn’t feel complete without her.

He ended the letter by apologising profusely that he’d wasted your time with his long winded rambles and said he hoped to hear from you soon and scrawled a quote from The Great Gatsby.

“The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly.” - F. Scott Fitzgerald.

He said he would understand if you didn’t reply. But you did.

The letter took two weeks to arrive and you explained that it was because you wanted to really process his words and give each and every one of them the time they deserved. He read the last few lines of your letter over and over again in a loop even though they were etched into his memory after only one glance.

I wish there was something I could say, to erase each and every page you've been through,

even though it's not my place to save you.

“When I get lonely these days, I think: so be lonely. Learn your way around loneliness. Make a map of it. Sit with it, for once in your life. Welcome to the human experience. But never again use another person’s body or emotions as a scratching post for your own unfulfilled yearnings.” - Elizabeth Gilbert - Eat, Pray, Love.

He wasn’t familiar with the book and so he’d gone out and brought it and read it cover to cover within an hour.

Reading your letter made Spencer feel understood for the first time in his young life. You didn’t pass judgement on him. Spencer found that between the pages of your letters he found a kindred spirit.

The letters continued back and forth for several months until one day you didn’t receive a reply. His last letter had been penned to you on route to a case in Atlanta, which you’d responded to the day you received it. But there was radio silence from Spencer.

You shouldn’t have been as worried as you were, but you couldn’t help yourself. His letters had become such a huge part of your world, often rereading them hundreds of times just to make sure you didn’t miss any little nuance on the page.

His handwriting was ingrained within you, his scrawly, sometimes barely legible penmanship danced behind your eyelids every time you closed your eyes. His letters had rapidly become the best part of any day. And for over a year you didn’t receive a reply.

After a while you’d stopped holding out hope every time you collected your mail. Eventually you gave up ever expecting to hear from him again. Maybe he didn’t need you anymore. Perhaps he’d made a real life friend, maybe even a girlfriend and you’d been rendered ineffective.

But then little over a year after you sent your last letter, you found an envelope in your mail slot with the familiar handwriting you adored so much and the DC postmark.

Y/N,

I don’t really have any excuses, all I can say is I’m sorry. I have written you fifty three letters over the course of the last year but never mailed a single one. They are piled up on my desk, addressed and even stamped, but I couldn’t bring myself to mail them.

I’ve been struggling, I can’t lie to you. I can’t even lie to you through a letter and tell you I’ve been fine because I haven’t. I think you would see through my prose, know that I wasn’t being truthful. And you’ve never given me a reason to be anything but honest with you.

The case in Atlanta was one of the hardest I’ve ever worked. I’m not going to beat around the bush, I’m just going to tell what happened and hopefully this letter will end up with you and not in the pile on my desk.

I was kidnapped by the man we were hunting down. I spent two days tied to a chair being beaten within an inch of my life but a man with multiple personalities. In fact, that’s not strictly true. I wasn’t beaten within an inch of my life; one of the personas killed me.

I’m not entirely sure how long I was technically dead before he revived me but obviously not long enough to cause permanent neurological damage. Irreversible brain damage occurs after four minutes without oxygen so it stands to reason it was less than four minutes.

But during that time, my life flashed before my eyes, including every single word of every single one of your letters.

One of the alter’s drugged me in his own way of trying to save me. Drugging me was supposed to help with the pain, both mental and physical. I fought it at first, desperate for him not to stick that needle in my vein. But after that first hit, I stopped resisting.

I think you can probably already see where this is going. You’re incredibly smart and you seem to know me so well. After I shot Tobias Hankel dead I took three vials of dilaudid from his corpse.

I should have prefaced this by saying I am now ten months sober, and offered up the good news first. But there were several months that I continued using the drug in secret, hoping it would aid in erasing the memories of it all.

It took a case in New Orleans in which I met up with an old friend Ethan and ended up almost destroying my career for me to decide to get sober. I’ve had a lot of difficulties in my life, as you know, but getting clean is the hardest thing I have ever done.

And now for the first time in months I’m craving again. Maybe that’s why I’m writing to you, determined to send this letter this time. I need to know that everything is going to be ok and you are the only one that I will believe it from.

My team tries. Now it's all out in the open, they try to help. But you don’t even need to try. Your help is so effortless, so easy and I’m in real need of that right now.

His letter went on in this vein for another six pages. He also included several pages of handwritten poetry which he had copied out of a book to send you. With each word you consumed you felt your heart breaking for him a piece at a time.

And he signed off with a surprising choice of quote from The Lorax.

“Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It’s not.” - Dr Seuss.

You spent the next month or so trying to cultivate the perfect reply, but for the first time in your life, words failed you.

It was three days after Spencer received his one year sober chip that your letter arrived.

I got your letter and the poetry you sent me, postmarked in December of last year. I really hope you’re doing better, all your friends close by your side, one step closer to recovery.

I hope by the time you receive this you are close to one year sober, but if you didn’t make it you need to know that’s ok too. Life is full of ups and downs Spencer. If you didn’t make it this time you will the next time. Or the one after that.

If you relapsed I need you to not beat yourself up over it. You will be ok, Spencer Reid, for that I am certain.

“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” Maya Angelou - I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.

***

When he got shot in the knee, he wrote to you from the hospital. He told you how hard it was for him to turn down pain medication when he was in so much agony. But he was over two years sober now and he wouldn’t do anything to risk a relapse.

Your reply spoke of how proud of him you were and how you knew it couldn’t have been easy for him but you hoped the fact you were proud went some way to aid him.

He told you it meant more to him than you would ever know.

Then he started having headaches and the letters became sporadic. When he did write he told you how painful it was for him to try to focus on the words in front of him.

I’ve seen so many doctors and no one can tell me what’s wrong with me. It’s like they think I’m making it up, like this pain isn’t real.

On my good days it’s a dull throb but on the bad days it’s nearly paralysing. I’m so scared that this is a precursor for schizophrenia. I'm still young enough for my first break, and it is a genetic illness.

I love my mom but I can’t turn out like her, Y/N, I just can’t. I'm so, so scared.

But your letters are the greatest comfort to me. I don’t think there are words to describe how much they mean - I will try to surmise it with a quote from Charlotte's Web -

"'Why did you do all this for me?' he asked. 'I don't deserve it. I've never done anything for you.' 'You have been my friend,' replied Charlotte. 'That in itself is a tremendous thing.'" - E.B White.

You could feel his fear through the pages. His handwriting was somehow even harder to read than usual and sentences often tapered off with no ending. There were whole passages scribbled out so violently his pen had ripped the paper in places. There were crude drawings of brains and dark rain clouds in the margins.

Spencer,

I am so sorry you are going through this and that no one can give you the answers you seek. But this isn’t the end for you, even if it is schizophrenia, you can still live a full and normal life.

If you'll just hold on for one more second, if you just hold on to what you have, you will wake up tomorrow. Behind every rain cloud lies the sun. As Victor Hugo said in Les Miserables -

“Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.”

In his next few letters he seemed to be getting better, his headaches slowly dissipating until they only hassled him every once in a while. Things seemed to be looking up for him.

But then one of his best friends died.

His detailed letter told you all about Ian Doyle and Emily’s history with him and went on to conclude how she died on the operating table.

I’ve been through a lot of trauma in my life, lost a lot of people close to me but never like this. I’ve never had to bury someone I love and honestly I don’t know how to move past this.

My initial reaction has been dilaudid. It's the only thing I can think of to take the pain away.

Tell me not to do it, Y/N, please. Please tell me that this grief will get better and that using drugs again is not the answer. Please help me stay clean.

"When someone you love dies, and you're not expecting it, you don't lose her all at once; you lose her in pieces over a long time — the way the mail stops coming, and her scent fades from the pillows and even from the clothes in her closet and drawers.” John Irving - A Prayer for Owen Meany

It took you longer than it should have done to formulate a reply. You felt pressured, like his sobriety hung in your hands. You hated that his friend had died but you didn’t think it was fair of him to put this on you. And you told him such.

Spencer,

I am sorry to hear about Emily, I know how close the two of you were. I’m no expert on grief, I can’t tell you how to deal with this.

You know full well that using dilaudid again is a bad idea, you really don’t need me to tell you that. Honestly, I’m a little frustrated at you for putting this on my shoulders.

I am always here to help Spencer, in any way I can but sometimes I think you expect too much from me. We’ve been trading letters back and forth for the better part of five years and I don’t think you’ve ever really asked me about myself aside from those first initial letters.

And it’s fine, you needed this friendship more than I did. But over time this has started to feel so one sided and I don’t always look forward to your letters as much as I once did.

I realise this is not the best time for me to be saying these things but I can’t hold back any longer. I’m glad I can be someone you can turn to but I have my own life, my own issues and I have no one to talk to about them.

You put too much pressure on me Spencer and it’s a lot to take. I’ve tried to help shoulder your misery all these years but it’s starting to bring me down. All I can say is you need to wake up, you've gotta believe; you can't give up. Time keeps going on without us, long after we're dead and gone.

And you finished it with a simple quote from After You by Jojo Moyes.

“No journey out of grief was straightforward. There would be good days and bad days.”

It was no surprise to you that you didn’t receive a reply.

***

Y/N,

It’s been two years and I’m sorry for that. Two years, one month and eleven days. The truth is your last letter was hard for me to read as you can probably understand.

The hardest part of reading it was the fact that I knew you were right. I’ve been selfish all these years. I’ve treated you like a sounding board for my problems and never once asked how you were.

It's taken me time to write this because I wanted to get to a better place before I responded. I was angry at first, I felt like I was being abandoned again and my anger would not have been conducive.

Then I was hurt, hurt that the one person I thought would always be there for me had turned their back on me. I displaced my grief over Emily’s death onto you and anything I would have written in that time would have only been the rage fuelled epitaph of a grieving man.

And then once I dealt with those emotions, life simply got away from me. Emily was alive and well, her death was faked to get Doyle off of her back. Again I was angry about being lied to by my friends but eventually I was just happy she was alive.

Then I turned thirty and had a crisis of faith I suppose. I guess with my intellect I always assumed I would be doing something more with my life and turning thirty kind of threw me through a loop.

We had some changes to the team, new agents coming and going. All in all things have been somewhat hectic.

But that’s not why I’m writing.

I am writing because I really do want to know everything about you. I want you to be able to open up to me the way I always have to you. I want to be your shoulder, your repreve. I really hope I haven’t completely blown our friendship and I hope to be the kind of person who you can talk to.

These arms remain stretched out to you and maybe someday you'll accept them. Maybe it's too late to save a young girl's heart that's long stopped beating. But I hope that it isn’t.

“You have been in every way all that anyone could be…if anybody could have saved me it would have been you.” Jennifer Niven - All the Bright Places.

You wanted to tell him it was too little too late, that after two years of silence you weren’t interested anymore.

You wanted to simply not reply, ignore him entirely like he’d done to you.

But you couldn’t. And so you replied.

It was your longest letter to date, depicting in great detail how he’d made you feel over the years and all the hardships you’d faced without having someone to vent to.

But getting to write it all down had been purifying, and by the time you were finished you weren’t mad anymore.

I am willing to give this another shot, but things have to be different. If we’re to continue this friendship then it has to be a two way street.

But I can’t pretend that I haven’t missed your letters because I have. I see pieces of you between the words, parts of yourself I’m not sure you realise you leave on the page.

I’ve painted a picture of you in my mind's eye and even after two years with no letters, I’ve carried that picture with me wherever I go.

I feel like I somehow know you better than I know myself and I hope going forward you can start to know me the same way. Charlotte Bronte once said -

“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear.” - Jane Eyre.

***

Spencer didn’t know how it happened, he only knew that it had happened. Over the course of all the years writing to you it was almost a surprise it hadn’t happened sooner. Or maybe it had and he just didn’t realise until now.

Spencer Reid had fallen in love with the woman who wrote her prose to him.

It had been ten years of letters, every single one of which he kept in their envelopes in date order in the bottom drawer of his desk at home.

Those letters were his lifelines on bad days, the one thing that kept him tethered. He didn’t even know what you looked like, even what you sounded like but he loved you. He loved you with every fibre of his being.

And he couldn’t stop himself from telling you exactly what you meant to him. Even if it inevitably destroyed what the two of you had, he couldn’t stop the words from flying across the page.

So that’s pretty much everything that’s happened these past few weeks. Mom’s doing ok but obviously it's a huge adjustment for her and I’m not entirely sure how long I can keep her living with me but for now it works.

How did the interview go? I have absolutely no doubts that you blew them all away with your presentation, you’re a hard person not to fall in love with.

Your presence in my life has brightened my every waking minute. You once told me that behind every rain cloud lies the sun; you are the sun behind my clouds. Your letters bring me back to life, your handwriting penned onto my soul.

Is it foolish of me to be in love with someone I have never laid eyes on? William Makepeace Thackery said in Vanity Fair -

“It is better to have loved wisely, no doubt: but to love foolishly is better than not to be able to love at all.”

I suppose that’s as good of an answer as any.

***

Five days after he penned his love confession, he was arrested in Mexico. Once all the drugs had left his system, only after he was extradited and arraigned and placed at Milburn was he able to dwell on the fact he never received your reply.

And being trapped in a cell gave him way too much time to think about that.

It was possible you had replied, maybe even just to tell him he was crazy to even think he could be in love with someone he had never met. But he was sure you wouldn’t have even bothered to respond, thinking him a lunatic you needed to cut ties with.

After a month in prison on one of JJ’s visits she brought a letter with her which she had found in his apartment. She recognised the handwriting on the envelope from several she’d seen him reading over the years.

She wasn’t allowed to give him the letter but she offered to read it to him. At first he’d declined because he had no idea what to expect from your reply but after several long minutes he’d decided to let JJ read it to him.

Spencer,

I am pleased to hear your mom is doing well but I do think you know that this solution won’t work in the long run. You say you live in a one bedroom apartment? You and I both know that you can’t sustain having your mother live there permanently. But I know you and I know you will figure out what’s best for you both.

The interview was amazing and they offered me the job on the spot. If it wasn’t for all your help with the presentation there is no way I would have gotten it, so thank you so much for that.

As for the other thing…

For some time now I have been wondering about feelings I didn’t understand. You’ve been such a large part of my life for so long and even though we’ve never met I feel like we have, if that makes sense? I feel like in my heart I know you. My heart knows your heart.

Falling for you was as inevitable as the sun rising each morning. Perhaps it is foolish but I believe Thackeray knew what he was talking about. And I also believe Emily Bronte was talking about me and you when she said, “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Spencer had interrupted JJ then, when she was smiling from ear to ear as she read your words out loud.

“That’s enough.” He cut her off, burying his head in his hands.

“Wow, Spence, I had no idea you’d met someone.”

“I haven’t met anyone. She is simply a woman at the other end of a series of letters.”

“How long?” JJ placed the pages down in front of her.

Spencer looked up at her, a small blush on his cheeks. He didn't want to be talking about this, least of all on the other side of a plexiglass screen with his other inmates nearby but he responded all the same.

“Ten years.” He shrugged.

“Ten years?” JJ sounded incredulous. “Ten years of letters and you’ve never met? Why?”

“I, uh, it never really came up.” It wasn’t a lie, you’d never once discussed meeting in all those years.

“Is it like a distance thing? Does she live far away?”

“No,” He sighed with a shake of his head. “She’s in New York.”

“New York!” She huffed. “New York is a five hour train journey, Spence!”

“Jennifer, now is really not the time for this.” He lowered his voice as JJ’s had garnered eyes in their direction. “There is really no point in discussing this as we have no idea when or even if I’m going to get out of here.”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head.

“It’s true.” He shrugged sadly. “I really can’t think about all this right now, ok? Just take the letter back to my apartment and pretend you didn’t see it. Please?”

If it weren’t for the desperation in his eyes she might have argued it. But she didn’t want to waste what little time she got to spend with Spencer fighting.

“Ok.” She relented with a small roll of her eyes.

“Thank you, JJ.” He offered a tight lipped smile. “How are the boys?”

JJ filled him in but she wasn’t really focused anymore. In her head, she was already penning a letter of her own…

Y/N,

My name is Jennifer Jareau, JJ, and I work with Spencer at the BAU. I’m not sure if he’s mentioned me to you or not. He hasn’t really told me too much about you if I’m honest. But I have learned that he has strong feelings for you and you for him. I’m wondering if I can make a suggestion…

***

When you received the strange letter from Spencer’s friend JJ in response to yours, you’d been initially extremely confused as to why he was letting his teammates read your secret correspondence.

But when she’d gone on to tell you that Spencer had been arrested along with all the details surrounding his incarceration and how she’d read your letter to him during their visitation, you started to understand.

But then a few days later, before you had a chance to reply to her, you received another letter from Spencer with a postmark from Milburn Correctional Facility.

Y/N,

Maybe Thackeray and Bronte were right or maybe they were wrong, I can’t say for sure. What I can say with certainty is that I can’t carry on like this a moment longer.

Something has happened to me, it won’t be hard for you to figure out what as soon as you see the postmark. I am not willing to get into it or explain how I ended up here. But I have no idea how long I am going to be inside and I don’t want the rest of our communication to be sent through a string of guards who will pick apart each tormented sentence.

I ask you not to write me back. This has to be the end of the road my dear. This letter has to be our last. I don’t know how much longer I will continue to be able to live like this. Each day my hope dies a little more and I’m sure I won’t make it out of here alive.

I am writing simply to say thank you. Thank you for all your years of listening, for all your patience and kind words and your hopeful prose. In my darkest hours you have shown me the light, dragged me out of the shadows of my own creation.

I love you for all that you are and all that you have done but even you can’t save me this time. This really might be the end for me and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You are the only reason I made it this far in this treacherous game we call life.

Take care of yourself, continue to live your absolute best life. And in time I pray that you forget me and are able to love someone far more tangible.

All that is left to say can be summed up by a quote from The Miniaturist -

“You are the sunlight through a window, which I stand in, warmed. My darling.” Jessie Burton.

You replied firstly to Spencer, his heartbreaking words more pressing than JJ’s letter. You kept it short and to the point, knowing that various other prison guards would read it before it even made it to his hands.

I appreciate but can't accept this thank you note that's sealed with your last breath and I won't stand aside and listen to you give up.

You are stronger than that Spencer Reid and if I know anything about your team from all the years of hearing you speak of them it’s that they are the best at what they do and they will prove your innocence.

Just remember what Ernest Hemmingway said in A Farewell to Arms -

“The world breaks everyone and afterward many are stronger at the broken places.”

You will be stronger at those broken places, Spencer, I have no doubt about it.

And besides, if you don’t make it out of there, how do you propose to ever meet me?

Whilst on a role, you grabbed a clean sheet of paper and started scrawling again.

Jennifer,

Thank you for your letter. I have spent some time musing on your suggestion and I think you might be right.

I think it's time for me to take a trip to DC…

***

Spencer never opened your last letter because he had no intention of replying to it. If he didn’t read it, he could pretend you had never sent it and he wouldn’t be tempted to write a response.

Instead he stuffed it between the pages of his book and tried not to think about it.

After two and half months his team proved his innocence and he was released but he was thrown into the deep end of trying to find his mother.

And even once he found her unscathed, he was rapidly thrust right into Scratch’s web after he kidnapped Emily.

Taking the elevator back up to the BAU alongside JJ after they’d escorted Emily to the hospital it already felt like a lifetime had passed since he left prison. And all he wanted to do was chronicle all of it to you.

Maybe once the dust settled, once he’d wrapped his head around everything that happened he would open your letter and send you a reply.

But for the first time in ten years, Spencer didn’t want to drag you into his mess.

JJ was strangely quiet as the elevator made its ascent. He didn’t even want to be here, he’d planned on going straight home after leaving the hospital. He hadn’t slept in his own bed for two and a half months and he couldn’t wait to collapse into it.

But JJ had insisted that instead of him getting the metro home, if he popped back to the BAU with her to collect some paperwork, she would drive him home.

And honestly he was just too exhausted to decline.

JJ’s eyes were hyper focused on the digital floor numbers as they got higher. A few seconds after it displayed number five, one floor below the BAU, she turned and looked at him.

“Don’t hate me for this.” She blurted out.

“Excuse me?” Spencer frowned, too tired to try to understand what she meant.

“I couldn’t just let it go.” She shrugged, a guilty smile on her lips.

“Let what go?” His frown deepened.

Her eyes flicked back upwards as the number five rolled into the number six and the elevator started to judder as it prepared to stop.

“Just remember I love you and that’s the only reason I interfered.” She shrugged as the elevator stopped entirely and soon the doors were peeling open.

Spencer looked away from her and out of the open doors to where someone was standing just a few feet back.

Spencer’s eyes landed on the stranger only it wasn’t a stranger. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew exactly who this person was standing on the BAU floor.

He remembered the way JJ had read him your letter and how you’d told him your heart knows his heart.

Well his heart knew yours too. And he knew the heart beating a few feet away from him was yours.

“Y/N?” He croaked, slowly stepping out of the elevator but not too close to you.

“Spencer?” You smiled at him, the kind that reached all the way to your eyes.

Neither of you noticed JJ slipping quietly away, wanting to give you some privacy.

“What are you doing here?” His brows were furrowed and he was rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“You’re friend JJ wrote to me. She told me everything that happened to you. And she made me realise that ten years is too long to wait for a first meeting.” Your voice was like honey to Spencer’s ears.

Your prose was beautiful, but hearing the words from your lips as you stood in front of him in all your ethereal glory was more than any letter could convey.

“I…I am actually speechless.” He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.

“You? Speechless?” You giggled and Spencer felt the sound all the way to his heart.

“You’ll come to learn I am much more of a wordsmith on paper. In person I am incredibly awkward and often trip over my words. I ramble when I’m nervous or clam up entirely, no in between. I spout facts and statistics rather than have a meaningful conversation. I am much more comfortable writing my words down on paper than speaking them out loud.” He let the words spill out of his mouth, proving his point entirely.

“I’ve waited ten years to hear your voice. Please never stop talking.” You smiled so brightly at him he felt like he was floating.

You were here in front of him, not just hidden between pages of letters. You were real, tangible; within his reach.

And suddenly the last thing Spencer wanted to do was talk.

He took a few tentative steps towards you and cautiously raised a hand to your cheek. You sighed in content when he cupped your face and nuzzled against his palm.

“I could talk to you about anything and everything all day long, my love.” He smiled, inching his face closer to yours. “But at this moment in time I have one slightly more pressing desire to do with my mouth rather than speak.”

“Oh yeah?” You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

The warmth of your body and your smile encompassed him. As he looked into your eyes, finally looked into your eyes, every bad thing that had ever happened to him slipped away.

“Love starts as a feeling, but to continue is a choice. And I find myself choosing you, more and more every day.” He quoted Justin Wetch’s Bending the Universe.

“Spence?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“As sweet as that is, I thought there were more pressing desires to use your mouth for?”

“If you insist.” He smiled and quickly closed the small space between you.

When his lips finally met yours it felt like all the pieces of the universe were falling into place.

For ten long years you’d communicated in the pages of letters, constructing replies to what felt like one sided conversations that were confined to only live on paper.

As the kiss deepened every single one of those words seemed to float in the air around you, spiralling like a tornado made of a decade worth of missives.

He swore he could hear each and every word whispered to him in the voice he’d longed to hear all these years as he kissed you like you were the most important being on the face of the earth.

And when he pulled back and mumbled I love you against your lips, it was the easiest reply you’d ever given.

#milestone celebration #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

1K notes · View notes

blueironywrites · 3 months ago

Text

Title: From a Distance

Rating: M

Prompt: Flag from @wolfstarmicrofic

Word count: 298

Summary: Remus commentates the Opening Ceremony where Sirius is the flagbearer. He does not do a very good job.

I am writing a fic for each of the prompts this month. You can read all of them here.

+ + +

“…and here he is, four-times medallist and gold medal hopeful, our flagbearer, Sirius Black!” said Peter, Remus’s long-time friend and fellow commentator.

The two were seated next to each other, monitors in front of them and papers strewn everywhere. Peter, who had followed Remus’s sporting career for many years, had originally pitched the idea of Remus commentating the Olympics over a dinner the year prior, and Remus had immediately agreed. Since retiring, Remus had felt distant from the sporting world, and being a commentator seemed like an easy path forward.

Over the course of the morning, however, Remus was quickly realising that his skills in the swimming pool did not translate to providing a running commentary about things he knew very little about.

Remus cleared his throat, once, and once again, and shuffled the papers in front of him. “Yes,” he said, coughing slightly, ignoring Peter rolling his eyes next to him. Looking at the monitor in front of him that was zoomed in on a smiling Sirius, waving their country flag proudly and smiling at the crowd, Remus started speaking.

“This is Sirius Black,” he said, “Who, uhhhh…” Remus’s voice trailed off as he became transfixed on the way that Sirius’s forearms flexed while he held the flagpole. His cheeks heated as he thought of those very forearms flush against their bedsheets that morning and swallowed against a dry throat.

Shaking his head, Peter leaned over and turned Remus’s microphone off while he continued his commentary.

A few minutes later, Peter turned his own microphone off, threw his headphones on the desk, and turned to Remus. “I hope you know the two of you are as revolting now as you were at your wedding,” said Peter, after a moment.

“Yeah,” said Remus, sheepishly. “People keep saying that.”

#ao3 #harry potter fanfic #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar #peter pettigrew #flag #opening ceremony #olympics #drabble #microfic #series: wolfstar olympics microfics #forearms

47 notes · View notes

elismor · 2 years ago

Text

Approximately 5000 years ago, I was one of the mods for the writers_choice community on LJ and I found myself wondering if there might be any interest is starting it again here on Tumblr/A03.

The idea is in the original tagline: Pick a genre, pick a character, pick up your pen!

Weekly prompts that are fandom-generic, so writers can apply them where and how they like. Min-words 100, maximum...whatever you can or want to write in a week, but the idea was ficlets/oneshots, etc...not epic pieces (though those are awesome too).

If you see this, pass it around to your writer friends and let me know? There might not be a market for this sort of thing anymore given all the bingos and exchanges and the like now...just running it up the flagpole.

#i will probably regret this #but i'm having so much fun writing again and i want to give back #fanfic

418 notes · View notes

luminouslywriting · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 29 (Mastermind)—MOTA Fic

A/N: I'll just leave this as a small gift to all of you....enjoy! And as always, let me know what you think!

It took two more days before her uncle and cousin were sent on their way—with passes straight from Sink all the way back to England and to Thorpe Abbotts. Ruth was grateful for the passes and the additional help. She wasn’t sure if she would be able to take the heartbreak of having to fight for visas at a time such as this.

And then after those two days, she was on her way to the last standing Stalag in Germany. The only place where Abe or Robby could possibly be—and her heart just felt like a weak and fragile thing.

Ruth hadn’t spoken since leaving those camps. She couldn’t find the proper words. But she had been writing. Writing like she was running out of time and there was no tomorrow. Because for every single one of those people in the camps, they might very well pass from sickness or malnutrition—and they deserved justice. They deserved the opportunity to live and to love and to thrive and to find their families and to be somewhere safe.

She was hell-bent on ensuring that at least.

Further into Germany, it was cold and there was still snow on the ground in some parts. Shouldering her coat tighter around her shoulders, Ruth tried not to focus on the fact that Abe could be mere miles away and freezing. Starving. Bleeding. Or already dead.

Overhead, the planes went shooting by. Ruth resided at the very back of the procession, a borrowed man from Easy Company at her side for the time being—she wasn’t sure how she had convinced Lew to come with her for at least a day or two—but here he was, sitting at her side and shaking his head.

“It’s about to get loud,” he warned her.

That was what Ruth had been counting on. In the distance, she could see the Tower of the Stalag. Residing just beyond the treeline and in a clearing, Ruth could almost taste the victory that the Allies were about to achieve. As the shots opened up on the Stalag, Ruth covered her ears and ducked her head down in the car.

It was the strangest feeling—this was the closest to combat Ruth had ever been but she felt calm as a summer’s day. As if nothing were wrong and people weren’t about to surely die. She just felt at peace.

Lew’s elbow nudged her from her thoughts and she glanced up. “We’re entering the clearing. Well, the front is.”

Ruth kept a steady gaze on the camp ahead of her. She was almost scared of what she would find once she was there. “And into the tanks it is,” Ruth murmured as they carefully climbed down inside of the rolling thing. They had been watching long enough and now they were going to engage with the enemy.

A silent and never-ending prayer was in Ruth’s heart as the tanks rolled their way across the field. Lew kept a steady hand on her shoulder. He was acting as an anchoring force to her at the moment. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what she would have done without him. She knew that she was lucky Sink had even allowed him to leave for a few days—given his vital intelligence that he was keeping up with.

But he was one of the closest friends she had ever had. And she trusted that if she was with him, then everything would work out fine. And that’s what she was hoping for at the moment.

Her lunch almost came up as they rolled over another bump and Ruth just tightly clung to her seat, waiting for the entirety of this shit-show to be over. She had no idea how photographers for the military did it—or reporters—or nurses. There was a reason why she had never been to the front. She wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing and everyone knew it.

“Please, please, please,” Ruth chanted the words under her breath like some sort of prayer.

Let it be over soon.

Let Abe be there. And let him be okay.

Let us come out of this together.

It didn’t really stop until the flag had been placed atop the flagpole in the Stalag. And not just any flag. But the American Flag. “Holy shit,” Lew mumbled, gazing through the guns. “They got a flag up. We’ve taken the Stalag.”

Ruth’s head shot up. “We did it?”

“I mean, in a manner of speaking, yeah.”

Her heart felt like it was going to wildly beat out of her chest. It threatened every breath of hers and she knew that until she was on the ground in the Stalag and able to look at the men in there—until her gaze had found her youngest brother—she would not be able to breathe properly. She wouldn’t be able to do any of it.

Lew took her hand in his. Immediately, the tremors and the shaking just stopped. “Let’s go find your brother.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t until the German Commander had surrendered that Ruth even began looking around the place. The only problem was that she wasn’t all that tall compared to most of the men in the camp and there were so many people—it was going to be impossible to find anyone in this mess of people.

Frenchmen, Americans, British—how the hell was she supposed to find Abe in a place like this?

Ruth glanced over at Lew and then over at the tanks. “I have an idea.”

“Something tells me I’m not going to like it very much, am I?”

“Probably not.”

A few minutes later, Lew had begrudgingly boosted Ruth atop a tank. As soon as her feet were on the solid metal, she was on her feet and ripping her helmet from her head. Damn the fact that she was a woman and she wasn’t meant to be here.

“Abe! Abe!” Ruth shouted out the name.

But it just drowned as though it was caught in a wave itself. With the cheering and the way that everyone was gathered to see the Germans march out of the camp, it would have been a damn surprise if anyone had heard that. Ruth began to feel a pit of desperation growing in her chest like a damn weed.

Come on, come on—

Just as her hope was dying out in her chest, Ruth heard a loud whistle that caught her attention. Her head snapped around and when she turned, she found a group of familiar faces sitting atop a roof. “RUTH!”

And right there was Abe.

Ruth didn’t even hesitate in leaping from the tank and sprinting through the crowd to get to her brother. She shoved and pushed and he did the same. Ruth ran—she ran as though the war had ended and everything was suddenly going to be alright. And it wasn’t until she had collided with her brother and felt Abe in her arms that she let out a sob.

“Oh you stupid, stupid—underaged—high-school dropout—shithead!” Ruth exclaimed, shoving at his arms and then taking his face in her hands to look him over. He had a few bruises on his face and a cut near his eyebrow, but other than that, Abe Sharpe looked absolutely fine. Better than fine—though he was crying just as much as she was at the moment.

“How the hell are you—”

“I missed your birthday!” Ruth realized in horror, pulling him in for another hug. “You’re 18 now, you stupid, stupid—”

“Well there’s a sight I thought I’d never see again.”

Ruth couldn’t help the fact that she froze on the ground at the sound of the voice. The sound of her brother John’s voice. John, who she hadn’t seen since 1942—John, who was supposed to be KIA. John, whose locker she never picked up in London. John Sharpe, her other brother—who was standing a few feet away, a tired grin on his face and bundled up in a coat.

“Oh my god!” Ruth scrambled to her feet and pulled John into the fiercest hug of his life. He had gotten taller and bigger since the time she had seen him last—and given the fact that it had been a few years, she wasn’t altogether surprised by that. He just held onto her so tightly, head buried in her mass of curls. “How the hell are you here?” She demanded through a choked sob.

John just gave a grin. “Made it to a lifeboat and got picked up by a German U-Boat. I’ve been here for a while. Not as long as David though.”

If Ruth thought for one second that she was done being surprised, she was sorely mistaken. Because the next person who pulled her into a fierce hug was her cousin David, who she hadn’t seen in years. He and Abe were roughly the same age and she thought for certain, he had been lost in the mass of executions in Europe.

“How—” Ruth breathed out, just holding onto the three boys in utter relief and shock.

“I made it out of Germany back in 40. Traveled up to Denmark, then to England—took a while to get my citizenship for England but I was part of the RAF,” David explained, a beaming grin on his face. “Imagine my surprise when John here shows up and then Abe!”

“And now you!” Abe added.

“OH!” Ruth exclaimed. “I found Uncle Yosef and cousin Sveta!”

“Seriously?” John blurted, eyes nearly the size of saucers. “You found more of us?”

“I found you,” Ruth couldn’t help but letting the tears stream down her face. And then the thought that she had not seen Robby yet occurred to her. “Where’s—”

“He made it onto the Russian side,” Abe explained. “He’s probably back at Thorpe Abbotts right now wondering where the hell you’re at.”

“Well I’ll be damned,” A new voice joined the conversation. And whether it was because she was feeling utterly sentimental and over-emotional, Ruth wasn’t sure. But she sprinted straight at Bucky and hugged the living daylights out of the man.

“Thank you for taking care of Abe.”

He just grinned into the hug and gave her an awkward pat on the back. “I mean—I figured if he showed up here, you weren’t going to be far behind. I gave it, what? 40 days, gentlemen?”

The other pilots from Thorpe Abbotts had slowly begun to trickle over. And Captain Brady, solemn as ever, just shook his head. “He called you the Jewish Jesus—showing up in 40 days and whatnot.”

“Jesus was Jewish,” Abe pointed out, crossing his arms as he stared down Brady.

“Argue later, boys,” Ruth insisted. She turned, giving Bucky an exasperated pat on the cheek. “Sacrilege, huh? Do better.”

“I did. You showed up, didn’t you?”

#mota fanfic #mota #masters of the air fanfic #mastersoftheair #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #oc originalfemalecharacters #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal x oc #robert rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader #rosie rosenthal x oc #ruth sharpe #abe sharpe #ruth x rosie

18 notes · View notes

violetmina · 2 years ago

Text

Chokehold - Ch. 1

Chokehold Masterlist

Tagging @roundroald, since they asked so nicely.

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3,574

Summary: After stumbling your way into the boys crew, you quickly realize you're a little out of your depth when it comes to protecting yourself. You thought you could be sly and take some self-defense classes without telling the others. But Butcher has a nose for secrets and demands to take over your lessons. Learning a bit of jiu jitsu from one Billy Butcher can't be that terrible...can it?

Warning: Mentions of injuries and The Boys level of violence, swearing, slight implication of domestic violence. Smut to come in future chapters.

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a one shot, but my brain kept adding to it. Just this part alone took longer for me to write than I wanted, so this may be slow going. But it is in motion! Takes place in some vague space between end of S2 and early half of S3. This is the first fic I've shared in years, first attempt at writing Butcher, and my very first fic in 'x reader' format. It's not the most creative title but it's what my brain can manage right now. I'm open to constructive criticism, but please be kind. I hope you guys enjoy!

Sometimes, you questioned your decision-making skills. If the last few months were any indication, it was a skill you didn't have, period. After all, who goes from a normal, anonymous life to joining your old friend Hughie and his weird, motley gang of former vigilantes? Originally, you had only joined Neuman's team as a project to fill holes in your resume and to reconnect with Hughie. You'd heard he had gone AWOL after Robin's untimely death, but what a shock it'd been when you finally met for coffee and caught up on his new life. Maybe it'd been that sense of shock and awe over his stories, or maybe your innate slight distrust of supes and Vought that he had once teased you about in your younger years. But you'd been curious. And that adorable puppy dog look he gave you when he asked for a little help on one of his group's missions hadn't hurt either.

It was supposed to be a little favor, a one-time thing for an old pal. But then you'd met the boys, this rag-tag lot he was with now, and for all their dysfunctionality, you'd been oddly charmed by them. You'd been swayed by their mission, to finally hold those super-roided celebrities accountable, and the adrenaline of an unexpected car chase during your favor must've jolted something loose in your brain. Pushing flyers and setting up calls in Neuman's call-center wasn't nearly enough after that. You wanted to be part of the growth that had altered Hughie so much. To watch the quirky banter of MM and Frenchie, to get to know the woman Kimiko was, and give her the friend she'd been denied growing up.

And then there was Butcher.

You would have been a liar if you had said that you didn't have mixed impressions about him in the beginning. To say you found him attractive would have been an understatement, though you'd be damned if you'd ever let anyone know that. While his brusque sarcasm and biting temper had been slightly off-putting, it was his smarmy charm, flashes of quicksilver intelligence, and that indomitable will that kept you from walking away altogether. Ever since you had joined the crew, you had given up counting the number of times he irritated the shit out of you. And the number of times you'd caught yourself a little too drawn to Butcher in those briefest glimpses of a softie in him. Like when you'd fallen asleep in the flatiron office and woke with that battered coat draped over you. Or he'd given you the last of his food with a grumble when your stomach protested loudly at you for working too long on a lead.

Hughie had always said that your favorite color was "red-on-a-flagpole". And for your sanity, you'd deny as stubbornly as the day was long that you liked the bastard.

But the new eventually wears off, and the deeper you dove into their world, the darker the waters became. You learned quickly that adrenaline wasn't just a fun little rush in this life - it was a necessity. A lifeline when dealing with supes and their equally narcissistic associates. You learned the hard way how easily you could drown…

Now, leaning against the cool wall of the elevator as it rose to the flatiron office, you were certain your decision-making skills were poor. Well-intentioned but poor. You wiggled the fingers of your right hand slowly, wincing at the jolts it sent in your arm. Trying to bend it per usual sent pain in either direction out from your elbow. It was far from broken but it wasn't comfortable either.

"Damn," you cursed under your breath. This was going to be a lot harder to hide than your previous injuries. If your assumptions were correct though, the others had long left the office and were out about minding their own little businesses. Hughie with Annie, MM had his daughter for the night, Frenchie and Kimiko out for whatever little pleasantry that would make her smile for a while, and Butcher…Well, probably still sniffing out a lead on a supe, tirelessly plotting.

When the elevator announced its arrival, you shrugged the bag on your left shoulder back up from a slouch and stepped out. You would touch up on some paperwork you had left behind earlier to "run your errands", then head back to your place. The evening plans consisted of a hot shower, some leftovers for dinner, and tossing the items in your bag into the laundry. If you were lucky, you would get a full five hours sleep before rolling out of bed again for another long day of supe hunting. Or convincing Hughie and Victoria to let you back out in the field again after your mishap a while back.

A couple of the desk lamps had been left on in the office space, and some of the city backdrop bounced rays off the walls, but it was still a little dim for your liking. You switched your own desk lamp on, perusing over the files of most recent cases now cast in the amber glow. So much damn paperwork.

"Who winged ya, little birdy?"

You manage to only slightly jump at the voice just in front of you. Instead of out plotting, Butcher sat at the desk on the other side of yours, arms crossed and an inquisitive curl at his lip. His eyes, however, screamed interrogation. How had you not seen him in that audacious Hawaiian shirt, even in the dark?

"Christ, Butcher," you groaned. "You normally just sit in the dark like that? You could have given me a heart attack."

"Like we'd be rid of you so easily," he chuffed, rising from his seat. "Now don't avoid the question. It'd be terribly rude if you did that, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." You shrugged, feigning ignorance. You had a strong feeling he wasn't buying it. "I'm good."

"Oh? Really?" He quirked a brow at you as he picked up one of the files from your desk. "Just here for a little light reading then. Don't let me keep you waiting." He held it out to you with a nod. You slid the bag off your shoulder onto the floor and reached with your left hand. He snatched it back just out of reach, then extended it to your right hand with a pointed look.

You tried to play along, even managed to lift your arm without a wince. But the shock in your elbow made your reach noticeably slower, and the twitch in your fingers brought that all too familiar smirk to his face. You sighed in defeat, dropping the file back on the desk. "It's nothing," you muttered.

"And the bruises on your legs? Or the ones on your arms? Those all nothing?" When you blinked at him in surprise he continued, "C'mon, Y/N. Hughie sees you everyday at Neuman's and he ain't blind. Even if he was, you've walked into this place stiff as arthritis for a while. So…" Butcher's smirk faded as he took a step forward, just enough to fill your space. "...Who did it? There a heavy-handed Romeo you ain't told us about?"

"What? No! Butcher, it's not like that," you sputtered, nearly laughing at the idea of him hunting down said imaginary Romeo. But the look on his face killed whatever humor you had. "I'm either working at this office with all of you, or I'm at the other one with Hughie. Like I have time for anything else."

"But for weeks now you got time to run supposed errands and slink back here long after hours? Conveniently when everybody would be gone?" Before you could blink he yanked your bag off the floor. "You gonna tell me this ain't an overnight bag? That you're not avoiding your place?"

"No, it's not. I don't have a - HEY!" He ignored your protest as he quickly unzipped the bag and dove a hand in to pull out some of the contents. Butcher's face quickly shifted from a scowl to confusion when he pulled out not regular clothes or toiletries, but a thick white belt with a black tail. Pulling it open further, a white gi stared at you both. He wagged the black tail of the belt at you.

"You gonna tell me the fuck this is about? Karate, really?"

"It's not karate. It's jiu jitsu," you replied, trying not to grit your teeth at how he rolled his eyes. "Now can I have my stuff back, or are you suddenly into my sweaty clothes?"

"What you doing this for?" He tossed the bag to you and you glared in response. "You gonna grapple those bloody files into writing themselves, eh? Maybe turn Hughie into a pretzel for a laugh at the bureau?," he leers.

"I'm trying to get out of here!," you snapped, surprised at how loud your voice echoed back. You took a deep breath before gingerly shoving your stuff back into your bag. "I'm trying to get out of both offices. I want back out there. Out in the field with you and the rest of the boys. I'm cooped up here but Hughie won't even think of talking Neuman into assigning me to an operation. Not since…" You stopped, swallowing back frustration.

"Since that cunt got the drop on you and took you hostage," Butcher finished flatly.

As he nodded in realization you knew he was remembering it as much as you. You'd ignored Hughie's orders and went in as backup when bringing in a supe and their accomplice on human trafficking allegations. It had gone sour and you had tried to sneak into the warehouse to help. Instead of saving them, the accomplice had snuck up on you, nearly resulting in a trade off for the arrested supe. You had been so sure you could handle your own, save the day. The only thing that had saved the day was Butcher dropping from a balcony onto you both…and promptly emptying several rounds into your captor's screaming mouth. Sometimes you wondered if there was still one of their teeth hiding in your hair.

"So what?," he asked, tearing you from the memory. "You thought a few hours at a gym and you'd just skip back out there?"

"You know Hughie will never let me on another operation unless I can prove that I can handle myself."

"Little shit would wrap your ass in bubble wrap if he knew he could get away with it, and roll you out the door from it all!," he snapped. "For starters, what the hell is jiu jitsu - or any self-defense combat form - gonna do you when a supe get their hands on you? Like A-Train? Black Noir? Or that star-spangled cunt?"

"Like we're even close to going after any of the Seven right now! We're stuck with B, C, and D list assholes and you know it! And how would it be any different than the rest of you with all your training?"

"Which brings me to my other point, " he cuts you off. "The lot of us are knee deep in experience, at least. Military, terrorism, gang shit. We all have gotten our hands bloody. We're killers, love. Even Hughie, or did you forget? So why the fuck would you stroll into a dojo that's probably sponsored by Vought anyway, instead of coming to one of us, eh?"

You scoffed, couldn't help it. "Right. I'm supposed to just assume that Mr. Billy Badass is gonna have the will or time of day to teach me self-defense?"

"Now that hurt me feelings, " Butcher replied, holding a mocking hand over his heart. "Oh ye of little faith. I suppose whatever bloke you rolled with tonight is far safer than yours truly. Oh wait." Here he glanced at your arm with a jeer and a nod. "Lemme guess - sparred with someone who likes it a little rough?"

You rolled your eyes. "My rolling partner was fine," you grumbled before admitting, "I did it to myself. He��He caught me in an armbar and I thought I'd try toughing it out a little longer before I'd tap."

He made a tsking noise of disapproval. "Stupid, wasn't it? Is he white belt or color belt?"

"White, four stripes. I think he tests for blue soon."

"Then you're fucking lucky. There's a reason they say spazzy ass white belts cause the most injuries. If you ignore your limits in a safe, cozy class setting, why the fuck would any bad guy out there hesitate on your behalf?" He steps forward to lift your bad arm up, not too fast but it still smarts.

"Straighten your arm all the way out. Slow." You try to do so but hiss in pain just shy of the mark, leaving your forearm at a slight angle. "You'll live. Strained, maybe a slight sprain, that's all." He shuffles past you to the mini-fridge tucked in the corner and tosses you a half empty bag of pizza rolls. You almost laugh at the impromptu ice bag and apply it to the protesting joint.

"You're not going back," he says, as if commenting on the weather. And before you can say anything he's herding you across the room to the couch by the TV. "Keep that on for about fifteen minutes and we'll get started right after." He gives an unceremonious push and you plop onto the cushions with a huff.

"I'm sorry, wha-? Butcher, I'm not quitting! I need to-!"

"I didn't say quit," he answered over his shoulder with a slight grunt as he begins shifting a couple of the desks outwards. "What I said was you're not going back to that bleeding dojo. But knowing your stubborn, annoying ass-" He shifts the coffee table past the TV. "-you're just gonna find another bastard ready to take your money and give you a false sense of security. You really wanna roll that bad..?" He slides the rug out far enough to his liking before sitting back on his heels with a little nod. Then looks up at you with that trademark, crooked smirk.

"You're rolling with me now, love."

You blink at him, your stomach doing a little flip at his words. Sure, when you started jiu jitsu it had been a bit uncomfortable having strangers literally on top of you. In your face, up in your little bubble. After awhile though, you adjusted and you had actually started looking forward to class. But the implication of what Butcher had just said, realizing that he was going to be the one up in your personal space, shifting and heavy and pinning -

You immediately cut off that line of thought. "I-I-I've already rolled. And I don't wanna make my arm worse."

"You're right. You've caught me in a rather generous mood. We're not rolling together now. But you…" He moved and stood over you with a grin. "You're going to drill tonight. Nothing that requires your arm and I'll see exactly what I'm working with. From here on out, I'll be the one to train you, teach you the kinda shit you can actually use when shit goes sideways. If I'm lucky, as short a time you've been training, I won't have to do too much de-programming of whatever the fuck they taught you."

"Butcher-" You go to stand but when you reach your feet he gives you a look that almost has you wobble back on your heels.

"I ain't asking. It's me or nothing." It comes out as a low rumble that will not be questioned. "Do you want back out there or not?"

It's immediately clear that this situation isn't going to be backtracked now. The cat was out of the bag and you had to choose. Spend your days in mind-numbing paper stacks, shoved off on the sidelines but relatively safe. Or try to mold yourself into something more self-reliant and capable…by putting yourself at the mercy of one Billy Butcher.

There's a heavy beat, as he still stares at you, unblinking. Then finally you nod. "Teach me."

The heavy, steely look finally slides off his face. "Good choice. Now come over here." He waves at the open floor space he's created and uses the other hand to steer you into it. "Sit your ass down here and pay attention. It's a simple mobility drill. I'll show you only once. I'm not here to do fucking jazzercise. You'll start once we're done icing your arm."

Butcher settles down to sit straight legged on the hardwood floor, a heavy hand on your good shoulder bringing you with him. You barely manage to not fall on your ass and mimic his stance. "Make a figure four." He pulls in his left leg so his foot is next to his right knee and you do the same. "We'll change your arm position later but tonight you're gonna cradle that wing of yours to your chest. Point is to not use your arms to get up, but your hips. Shift your ass forward." He crosses his arms and moves up into a kneeling position, left shin and knee posted under him, right foot flat in front, his knee just past a 90-degree angle. "See?"

You mimic him again, cradling your elbow like he said and stop once up off the floor. A small pat - almost a swat - on your back startles you, and at your look of confusion he says, "Up straight, don't roll your back. If your back ain't straight, you're not using your hips." When you straighten up he settles the same hand into the small of your back and slowly pushes you forward. "And that's about as far as you should be putting yourself on that front foot. Combat stance. If I tell you to hold that position, you hold it till I say so. Got it?"

You nod. Seemingly satisfied, he continues. "Alright. Now go in reverse back the way you started." He rewinds, sitting back, straightens his legs and you follow suit. It dawns on you as you do so that moving on bare, hardwood floors is nothing like moving on the padded mats in class.

"Then switch legs and do the same thing." This time he doesn't move, just watches you slowly follow his instruction. You mind your posture this time, pause for a second and glance at him before reversing back to sitting on the floor again.

Butcher stands, taking the bag of pizza rolls out of the cradle of your elbow as he does. "When I tell you to do combat hip drill, this is what you're doing. Understand?" You give another nod and he walks to the mini-fridge to shove the bag back into the freezer. When you shift to stand up he shakes his head. "Nuh uh. You start now. Go."

He moves past you, back to the couch behind you as you start to go through the motions of the mobility drill. "Pick up your pace, move," he says as he sinks down onto the cushions. You pause at the top of the move to look back at him with a bit of a scowl.

"How many am I supposed to do?," you ask, already noting the protest in your tailbone, knees and shins from the contact on the floor.

"Till I tell you to stop," he grins, stretching his arms out across the back of the couch. "And I didn't say that yet, now did I? Chop, chop!"

You glared at his too-happy grin before rolling your eyes and continuing the drill. Back down, switch legs, up. Back down, switch legs, up. Once or twice he has you pause, hold the pose. But the drill continues. Back down, switch legs, up. After only a few short minutes, feeling his eyes on you the whole time, you begin to notice that you're already feeling some fatigue. Clearly, you hadn't fully recovered from class earlier. You feel a little embarrassed that you're already starting to huff. And you can't help but wonder just what the hell did you sign up for?

After another moment or two, you sit up once again, not quite as forward, not as high. You start to sag back down when there's a sudden pressure just between the small of your back and your tailbone, almost throwing you forward and off balance. You totter over the forward knee for a brief second before restabilizing and whirling round with wide eyes. Surely he did not-!

Oh but he did. Butcher's boot is at your belt line, keeping you posted up. "Hold. When you start again, you keep the pace and move all the way through. You better not half-ass or slouch again. Otherwise…" He taps his toes on your lower back and smirks.

For a brief moment you consider grabbing that damn boot and giving it a good, friendly twist. But the ache in your elbow, and the look in his eye that says he's pretty much read your mind, tells you it's a no-go. You dampen down the urge and he pulls it back as you face forward and hold the up position. A few moments pass before he finally tells you to resume the drill. It's in that moment you know you have your answer.

Hell. You're pretty sure you just signed up for hell.

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #the boys fanfic

333 notes · View notes

whinlatter · 2 years ago

Note

Also how do you think ginny and Harry's marital life was? Did they get married early?Did Ginny sometimes resent her husband's profession? As a couple do you think they fought often?

Thanks so much for always replying to all the asks so wonderfully! You're so amazing!!!

I think Harry and Ginny's marital life was happy, of course! I think their marriage was a singular source of stability and renewing joy throughout their adult lives. (can you imagine if I was like... nah, it was garbage, divorce)

Without further ado... here's too many words and thoughts on Harry and Ginny's married life and careers, and some fic recs that have helped shape how I think about it dotted throughout. Come for the twee house descriptions, stay for the rant about neoliberal feminism at the end I guess!

On married life and the Potter household:

I love the idea of the Potters presiding over this ramshackle chaos household in big house near the sea, with a great big garden and treehouse for their kids and the cousins and various pets to maraud about all over the place. I actually think quite a lot about the house they'd be in. I love the idea of them building it from scratch, a big house with modern comforts but rustic, cosy, English country features, more horizontal than vertical (kind of farm/barn conversion vibes). In my mind, their house has lots of light, lots of beams and soft wood furnishings, and then a few quirky features and colours that are all Ginny's idea (Luna paints beautiful murals on each of the kids' walls). I imagine their house has lots of big windows with window seats so the adults can sit out and watch the kids play outside. I think the kitchen/dining room would be the heart of the house. Harry's doing the cooking, Ginny's writing at the table, kids are streaming in and out, it's just a real thoroughfare of teenagers and family friends and grandparents streaming through with the wireless on.

On marrying and having kids young:

I do really think Harry and Ginny got married early and had kids young. As I get older I only get more ok with that as a timescale for them. I think the intensity of their wartime experiences, their very involved role as godparents to Teddy (especially thinking maybe it might be nice for Teddy to have younger god-siblings), and their family reference points (both being from families where marrying young is quite normal, and where babies and toddlers are increasingly around a lot) are all factors that lend themselves to these two locking in in their early twenties. The pieces I love most on their marriage/babies etc are all ones that have a lot of humour and spontaneity and walk this gorgeous line between flippancy and total certainty - acesofdiamond's version of their wedding in Arran, Scotland, is canon to me, and also quickfire by flagpoles, on them having a shotgun wedding, is just so so so good and so them.

On Harry's career:

I think Ginny would understand why Harry chose the career he did, but I think it would be a source of tension for them. I'm thinking a lot about this at the minute for some writing (👀), but I think Harry as an adult would have to confront the fact that he intends to keep choosing to get back in the arena and fight Dark magic, this thing he does it to keep the people he loves safe but that also asks so much of the same loved ones who have to watch him do it. I think Ginny would try to push him to see that, but I don't think those would be easy conversations, and I do think it would be one of the things they argue most about on the occasions when they do, properly, fight. On the day to day, things they bicker over include: whose fault it is that the house is a mess (obviously it's both of them, plus the three messy children those two messy kids created); whose fault it is that the Potters are literally always late to everything (Harry blames Ginny, Ginny says the only reason he was ever on time before was because of Hermione, and he chose not to marry the punctual one so he just has to lump it); and Ginny losing her wand around the house/not keeping her wand on her (it takes Harry a long time to say it, but he's always just thinking of James on the sofa the night he died).

On Ginny's career:

I know this is a bit controversial, but I'm honestly happy with the idea of Ginny quitting playing professional Quidditch young. I think she quits after she has James, or maybe between Albus and Lily, so by the time she's about twenty four, twenty five. This is a bit of a soapbox one for me, and maybe one day I'll write about it in some form, but I think there's quite a lot to be said for freeing yourself from being accountable to career decisions and dreams you once had for yourself when you were seventeen, especially career plans that served as escape hatches from traumatic teen years (for the same reason, I like the idea of Ron quitting the Aurors after a few years). I think, as teenagers, we imagine futures for versions of ourselves we haven't met yet. Renegotiating your hopes and aspirations for yourself can be a real sign of growth; holding yourself hostage to who you thought you'd be can make you very miserable.

Relatedly, I do think Ginny in her mid-twenties might have a different relationship to her playing Quidditch than she has a teen. I think lot of her wanting to play professionally is about her having something to prove (I have also totally adopted the headcanon from this fantastic piece on Ginny wanting to be outdoors and in the air as a rejection of the chamber). It feels right to me that Ginny might reconsider her attitude to physical risk and injury by her mid-twenties, particularly if her children are watching her play an extremely dangerous sport week-in week out. I also think she might reconsider how much time she wants to spend away from her family. I wonder if Ginny would also develop a different relationship to the sport outside of a school context, especially the press scrutiny and the big business of sport on the outside. We know that when she quits playing, it's not the end of her professional life, and I think her writing about the sport, and being a voice in the culture of the sport but also in the Wizarding World at large, makes a ton of sense for her. But I think it's good to change jobs because what you want for yourself changes, and I really think it's not a feminist failing to want to spend time with your family and to look for jobs that are interesting and help give your life meaning but that also let you have a family life. It's boardroom girlboss neoliberal nonsense feminism that says wanting to spend time with your friends and family is less of a route to happiness than climbing up some horrendous hyper-individualist career ladder in pursuit of success (especially, in Ginny's case, in professional sport, where careers only ever end on a downturn).

Thank you anon for wanting to hear me bang on about all of this!

Fics mentioned here include:

dancing on to your heartbeat by aceofdiamonds - H/G wedding fic

quick-fire by flagpoles - H/G proposal and pregnancy fic

Little Sugar Men by dopeythedwarf - H/G, on Ginny and flying

#harry and ginny's house is a beautiful mess because so are its occupants #sorry for the soapbox but i will rant about ginny's career choices until the cows come home #hinny #headcanons #fic rec #thank you anon!#harry x ginny #ginny weasley #harry potter #meta

190 notes · View notes

ms-nesbit · 2 years ago

Note

hey! could u be able to do a jason todd x reader headcanon (where jason is a bit romantic) pleease?

I know I write Jason as aromantic, but tbh I'm willing to stray from my norm a bit. I hope you enjoy!

Jason Todd x Reader Headcanons

Warning: intoxicating fluff and feelings, reader has a traumatic past, mention of trauma and abuse

he doesn't fall often, but for you, he fell hard

literally speaking - when he first laid eyes on you, he fell off the rooftop and barely caught himself on a flagpole

you two have a secret language to communicate in

and often use it when at Wayne galas or in public

"Skolt" is a keyword either of you use when trauma is flaring up and you feel like you're drowning in it

and if you're drowning in the past, jason drapes an arm around you like a fire blanket and shields you;

if he's drowning in his memories, you hold his hand delicately, reminding him that he isn't a killer, isn't a ghost, isn't a distant echo of his mistakes

he cooks for you

in fact, some of your fondest memories are in the kitchen together

holidays are spent together, isolated from the world

where you take turns being little spoon, and jason finally undoes his social mask

he doesn't say i love you verbally, but instead shows it with his actions (soft kisses on the temple, arm pulling you close to him, a squeeze of the waist)

and you, apart from dick and steph, are the only one who sees him cry (which he mostly does in his sleep)

and you've both lost sleep keeping the other safe

when you have a nightmare, he puts you on top of him, head on his chest;

alternatively, when jason has a nightmare, you whisper in his ear to ground him, waking him up, and letting his head rest on your heart

jay isn't excessively protective or obsessive, but he does have his moments

especially when a toxic person reentered your life and tried sabotaging it (in which case jason sent his henchmen to threaten them)

he loves watching the addams family with you, sometimes referencing it with a tender "cara mia" and "querida" and a gentle kiss on your knuckles

after calling him "mr darcy" as a joke, jason made a point of telling you that darcy, along with most literary men in classic romantic literature, are toxic, albeit obsessive or invasive

(and that was when you knew you were in love)

#i really hope i can do more trauma headcanons #i just have a hard time due to my own #jason todd headcanons #red hood headcanons #jason todd #red hood #dceu #robin #dcu #batfamily headcanons #tw: abuse #tw: trauma #jason todd x reader #jason todd x plus size reader #my post #mine

153 notes · View notes

thiccpettybitch · 1 year ago

Text

Sweet Sorrow - Ch. 1 Miguel O’hara x F!Reader

Phew, alright, I have to admit, this chapter was a bit of a struggle to write. My self-doubt and anxieties are having a go at me, and I can't help but feel like I rushed it a little. But you know what? I'd rather get it out there than keep overthinking it until I can quote it word for word.

I know it might be a bit confusing or jumbled right now, but I promise it'll get easier to understand as the story unfolds. There are so many good moments planned that I can't wait to share with you 😭

Today's been a self-doubt day for me, but hey, it happens. Now, let's talk about Sweet Sorrow, the spin-off of my baby Bitter Sweet. I'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what you think about it. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask.

Also, I want to take a moment to say thank you so much for all the support. We've reached over 1000 likes and over 100 reblogs, and I'm incredibly grateful for every single one. Your likes, questions, comments, and asks truly make my day brighter. I can't say it enough – thank you all from the bottom of my heart!💖

(I’ve also gotten all your asks so don’t worry! Once the next chapter of Bitter Sweet is out, i will begin slowly releasing them as well! ty again, ilu all!)

Now, I'm going to take a deep breath and keep pushing forward with the story. With your support, I know I can make it even better, and I'm excited to see where this journey takes us.

Part 2

As you find yourself hurtling towards an inevitable end, you gaze upward, and there is Miguel, falling with you. His hand reaches out with desperate hope, as if trying to bridge the impossible distance between you. Despite his bloodied and battered state, he grits his teeth, calling out for you with a heart-wrenching cry. You don’t have the strength to call out for him, tears well up in your eyes, suspended in the air like tiny, glistening droplets, as you continue to fall.

You know he won't be able to catch you; the fall is too fast, the distance too great. However perhaps selfishly so, you still use the last of your strength to call out for him, begging him to save you.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the Green Goblin appears, swooping in on his glider. He crashes into Miguel's side, sending him careening into another building. You close your eyes letting out another sob as you watch The Green Goblin looks down at you, his face twisted with malevolence. He gives you a small, taunting wave, relishing, before setting his sights on Spiderman, on Miguel.

Will it hurt?

As you plummet, the inevitable ground approaches, and you can't help but think that this is it. In a final desperate act, you call out Miguel's name, as if it's your way of making a lasting impact on the world. The prospect of death might be beyond your control, but no one can take away the memories of his name, his face, his smile, his touch, and his love. They will be the last thoughts in your mind before you touch the ground. Before you die.

With a loud gasp, the back of your jacket unexpectedly snags on a flag post, suspending you high above the ground. As you look down, the world spins around you, making your head swirl with dizziness. Panic takes hold, and you cry out in a desperate attempt to free yourself. The flagpole protests with creaks, and you find yourself trapped, unable to move without facing a deadly plunge. It's as if fate is playing one last cruel joke on you, leaving you helplessly suspended, caught between life and death.

---

Miguel's expression contorted with pain as the glider collided with him, forcing the air from his lungs in a pained grunt. Amidst the chaos, Osborn's sinister laughter echoed in his ears, fueling his determination. He mustered every ounce of strength, pushing himself up, his talons digging into the glider's metal.

‘’Miguel--!!’’

Rage and panic surged through him, driving Miguel to lash out. With a fierce punch, he thrust his hand through the metal, causing cables and sparks to fly, but he paid no mind to the chaos around him. Osborn cursed and fought back, trying to halt his advance. Fingers closed around Miguel's mask, but he didn't care anymore, not even as the mask was yanked off, and their eyes met. A roar escaped his lips as he smacked Osborn in the face, the broken glider sending the villain flying into a nearby building.

Despite his aching body, Miguel webbed onto two buildings simultaneously, propelling himself forward through the air. He ignored the pain, focused only on reaching his destination. Landing on the roof of the building where you had fallen, he scrambled up on all fours, rushing to the edge. Before he could react, a blinding light burst through the air, and he collided with a solid mass, sending him falling backward.

Looking up, Miguel froze in astonishment. Before him stood a large, futuristic-looking Spiderman, his face concealed behind a mask, yet the intensity of his gaze felt palpable. It was as if he was scrutinizing Miguel's very soul. But the urgency in your cry brought him back to the present. Determined to reach you, he rose to his feet, ready to dash over, only to be halted by the other Spiderman's outstretched hand, signaling him to stop.

"Don't kid," the man's voice resonated with a deep yet strangely familiar tone.

"What- ¡Bastardo! ¡Fuera de mi camino!" Miguel practically spat, his frustration boiling over as he tried to move past the other Spiderman. But his defiance was met with an iron grip on his suit, forcing him back to the ground with a powerful slam. Despite his own strength, Miguel found himself overpowered as the other Spiderman held him down effortlessly with just one arm.

Rage surged through him as he yelled in frustration, attempting to push the man off, but to no avail. The other Spiderman responded by slamming him back down, now using both arms to maintain control. Their faces were inches apart, and the intensity of the moment was almost suffocating.

"Listen to me!" the other Spiderman growled; his voice urgent. "I can save her! But you have to listen to me; I don't have much time!"

Miguel's eyes locked onto the stranger's face, wide with unfiltered rage. Their attention was momentarily drawn to the ledge by the sound of a creaking pole and your desperate cries.

"Hijo de puta! Get off me, I’ll rip your head off!" Miguel yelled in frustration, but his defiance only resulted in another punishing slam into the roof, leaving him gasping for breath.

As if by some futuristic mechanism, the man's mask suddenly dissolved before Miguel's eyes, leaving his face fully exposed in an instant. He froze, staring up in pure shock.

"Yeah well, good luck with that, kid," Miguel looked up at the older version of himself, utterly speechless and shocked.

"¡Escúchame!" The older man's voice echoed with intensity, his crimson eyes locking fiercely with Miguel's brown ones.

"Even if you save her now, she'll be in danger again, maybe later today, maybe tomorrow, maybe next shocking week. It doesn't matter! She'll keep facing death over and over!" Miguel shook his head, about to protest, but he was forcefully pushed back against the roof, the pain shooting through him.

"SHUT UP!" the older version of himself shouted, cutting off any further objections.

"She is destined to die! Because of you! Because of who you are, because of who WE are! But I can save her… I can save her life, you understand?’’ Miguel gazed up at the man, still in shock and pain, his eyes glazing over as he looked toward the ledge of the building.

"I can save her. But she can never see you again. She will be safe with me; she can have a life with me, but only if I take her with me. You have to let her go." The older version of himself pressed him down before rising and leaning over Miguel, hovering just above him, his finger pointing directly at his face.

"You go over there now, you save her?" He pointed towards the edge. "She dies. And there is NOTHING I can do about it. You have to make a choice, right now." Miguel swallowed hard, his eyes glossing over as he looked at the ledge and then back at the older version of himself.

"I…" Miguel hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

"CHOOSE, NOW!" The older Miguel barked, his teeth showing in a fierce display of impatience.

"I… Save her! I love-" Miguel's voice trembled as he looked up at the older version of himself. To his surprise, the man's expression softened slightly. In that fleeting moment, they shared a connection. Miguel blinked, and just like that, the mask formed back over the older man's face, concealing his emotions once more. He stood tall, turning away from Miguel, leaving him sitting there.

"I'll keep her safe. Tienes mi palabra," the man said, glancing briefly over his shoulder before leaping off the side of the building.

Miguel remained sitting there, a mixture of relief and sorrow flooding through him. He watched as bright lights illuminated the scene, listening to your desperate calls for him. His entire body went rigid. He dashed up, rushing to the side, only to catch a fleeting glimpse of the portal closing, taking you away with it. You were gone, leaving him standing there alone, his fists trembling at his sides. The distant sounds of the city were drowned out by the deafening sound of his heart hammering in his ears.

---

The flagpole keeps creaking, and panic engulfs you as you frantically search for anything to hold onto, causing you to swing back and forth in desperation. With every creak, the pole bends a little more, making your heart race even faster. You stretch upward, trying to grasp onto it as it starts bending downwards.

Your hands wrap around the pole, but you feel yourself slipping, and in desperation, you cry out for Miguel, for anyone, to come and save you. The bolts that attach the flagpole to the wall begin to move as your weight puts strain on the weak fastenings, threatening to give way.

In a terrifying moment, the small flagpole is pulled out of the loosening bolts, and you scream as it drops, together with you.

Suddenly, a figure casts a shadow above you, and you look up just in time to witness another Spiderman's arrival. His talons dig into the wall as he slides down, causing it to crack apart. In a swift move, he snatches the collar of your shirt, catching you, and with incredible strength, he pulls you up and holds you with one arm. For a moment, you stare at each other, shocked and slightly bloodied you stare up at the eyes of his mask slowly narrowing, as if he waited for something to happen.

But before you can comprehend what's happening, the man throws you through a portal, and you scream out for Miguel, your voice echoing in desperation. He follows right behind you, and the world around you shifts drastically.

The surroundings are strange, uncanny, and constantly morphing into different shapes, colors, and constructs. It feels as if you're floating in space, yet there's a sense of movement, as if the world around you is shifting and transforming. Shapes, sounds, and colors blend together, creating an otherworldly experience. It's as if you've entered a realm where time, space, and reality intertwine, leaving you in a state of awe and bewilderment.

Suddenly, the man reappears, the other Spiderman, leaping towards you with a trademark Spiderman leap. Panic grips you as you scramble to escape. Whoever this guy was, whether he wore a Spiderman suit or not, he wasn’t Miguel.

You flail your arms and legs, akin to a dog attempting to swim for the first time. However, before you can fully comprehend what's happening, a hand snatches you up and propels you towards yet another bright light. Your body is flung through the portal, leaving you disoriented and landing on your front in a large and dimly lit room.

Slowly, you push yourself up on your arms, whispering a quiet, pained "ow..." The realization of the situation dawns on you, and your eyes shoot open. Flipping over onto your back, you begin to crawl backward, putting distance between yourself and the man who is stepping toward you.

Every muscle in your body tenses with fear and uncertainty. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest as you try to make sense of where you are and what's happening. The dim light in the room casts eerie shadows, adding to the surreal atmosphere. You don't know who this man is or what he wants, and your instincts urge you to keep your distance.

"Lyla!" His voice startled you, and as you turned around, a cheerful yellow hologram of a woman materialized on the man's shoulder.

[Oh, hey Boss~ How’d it go- Oh…]

Suddenly the hologram playfully teleported in front of you. Instinctively, you scooted back, keeping both of them at arm's length. The hologram, Lyla, flickered momentarily before returning to the man's shoulder.

"Check her vitals and bring up the statistics from her dimension," he says, drawing a circle with his hand to encompass all of you. As he walks past, you scramble away, realizing that he doesn't seem interested in you. Making his way over to some monitors, he starts typing something in.

[Got it]

The hologram nonchalantly shrugs her shoulders as a bright yellow light shines over you, seemingly scanning your body. You instinctively move away, flinching as the light flicks from one side of you to the other.

[Elevated heart rate; 123 bpm. The respiratory rate is increased, steady at 15. Without a thorough check-up, I can't provide precise statistics. However, based on a quick review, she shows possible signs of anxiousness and confusion, and she might be somewhat disoriented. Additionally, she could be showing signs of paleness, which might indicate a drop in her blood pressure, although that could also be due to a lack of sun exposure... sorry to call you out, y/n]

"Lyla..." The man's voice carried a cautious tone as he swiftly typed on a hologram keyboard, summoning screens before him.

[The canon is stable, no disruptions or anomalies detected.] The hologram swiftly flicked around and settled in front of you, making you flinch involuntarily.

[I'm so excited to have you here! I mean, hiiiii! My name is Lyla! I have so many questions for you~ By the way, is that your natural hair color? Because-] Lyla's bubbly introduction is interrupted as you ask, your hands trembling slightly.

"How do you know my name…?" you inquire, feeling a mix of curiosity and unease.

Lyla flicks, and in an instant, her back is turned towards you, now facing Miguel with her hands on her hips. Then she flicks again and reappears in front of him.

[You didn't tell her?] she asks Miguel, sounding somewhat surprised.

"Haven't really had the chance to yet," he snapped at her, clearly annoyed, as he finished whatever he was doing on the monitors. Finally, he turned around to face you.

The man walked over towards you, and fearfully, you scrambled backward. He stopped, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender, and let out a tired sigh. "I won't hurt you," he reassured you. Despite his words, you still flinched and moved back even more as he takes another step towards you.

"You have my word; you are safe here. I just need to give you this," he said, holding up what seemed like a futuristic watch.

As he moves forward and you flinch back once again, your back pressed against the wall, he lets out a frustrated sound. Suddenly, he leaps at you and snatches your wrist, causing you to cry out and instinctively smack your closed fist against his chest.

"Stop! Wait! Just—just hold still!" You try to pull away from him as he tris to calm you down, his grip tight as he tries to hold you in place.

"No, stop moving, I'm—stop," he says wearily, trying to get you to calm down.

"No! Let go of me! HELP ME, SOMEONE, PLEASE!" Panic surges through you, and your body is on high alert as you thrash around in his grip, your eyes darting around the room for someone, anyone.

He snatches both of your wrists, trying to hold you still, but your panic escalates into a full-blown panic attack. You pull, hit, and kick him, desperately trying to pry your hands away and get away from him.

"Just—STOP!" The man finally says, grabbing the bottom of your face and forcing you to look up at him. You resist at first, attempting to break free from his grip, until you finally open your eyes and freeze. As you watch, the Spider-Man mask covering his face dissolves away, revealing his face.

The man standing in front of you was a spitting image of Miguel, a bit older, with a few more wrinkles likely from frowning and stress rather than actual age, you would have guessed. He stared down at you, his eyebrows knitted together in a frown. Shocked and unable to move, you could only stand there, gazing up at him.

He took the opportunity to snap the bracelet onto your wrist. It wasn't tight, but it felt secure enough that it wouldn't easily come off. You didn't even notice, too absorbed in staring at his face.

Finally, Miguel, older Miguel, let go of you and straightened up, his gaze turned away with a noticeable frown on his face.

"Who..." you asked, your eyebrows tightly together as you took in his appearance.

"My name is Miguel O'Hara. I lead an elite strike force dedicated to the security of the multiverse-" he began explaining.

"What- no," you interrupted, taking a step back and shaking your head, a look of confusion and disapproval on your face, "I know Miguel, you—you're not my—"

"I am Miguel, but not your Miguel, I am from another dimension," he clarified, attempting to make sense of the situation.

[This dimension, to be more specific], Lyla chimed in, appearing hovering above his shoulder, seemingly nonchalant.

You shook your head slowly, your lip trembling as you glanced down at the floor, trying to process what you had just been told. You closed your eyes tightly, attempting to stop the swirling emotions from overwhelming you. It was as if by not agreeing and not wanting it to be true, you hoped somehow to fix the situation.

"I don't—I don't know you. I want to go back; I need to make sure Miguel—MY Miguel is okay!" You push past him and walk over to where the portal had been, running your hands over the surface of the wall, searching for some sort of button or switch.

"You can't go back," he says firmly.

"What?" you ask, turning around to face him. "What do you mean 'can't'? You brought me here, so you can take me back!" you protest.

"You," he sighed, glancing around the room, searching for the right words before finally closing his eyes in defeat. He looked at you with a serious expression, "You were supposed to die tonight, but I managed to find a way around it. However, for that to happen and for you to survive, you can't.... you can't go back. I'm sorry."

"You're lying... I survived! I've been in dangerous situations before! I—this was no different, I got saved—" you protested, your emotions running high.

"You got saved by ME; I interfered. Without it, you would have been killed," he explained, his hands now on his hips as he walked over to you slowly.

"In our worlds... as Miguel and y/n, we are the equivalent of a Spiderman," he pointed at his own chest and then gestured to yours, "and a Gwen Stacy."

You frowned, looking at his hand, and he let out a quiet sigh. "It's a messed up 'never meant to be' canon event that is unavoidable, trust me – I have tried. As soon as versions of us meet, it starts."

"What starts?" you asked, feeling confused.

"A canon event, something that can't be avoided without the risk of total and complete destruction of that dimension," he responded matter-of-factly.

You let out a bitter laugh. "You're kidding me, right? You want me to believe that an entire dimension, world, universe—whatever—would collapse just because versions of us start dating?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked, taking a step towards you, his voice low and dangerous as he towered over you. "In every universe, versions of us date, and you, almost every version of you, die. That's your story."

Miguel leaned back, looking down at you with disdain. "Or, if you're lucky, I'm the one who dies. Either way, that's our story, our fate. If anything, or anyone, breaks that cycle, THAT then threatens that dimension's safety."

"Why?!" Your voice broke, and a mixture of anger and sadness welled up inside you, tears building up in your eyes.

He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because it's a canon event! And canon events cannot be broken without the risk of complete multidimensional collapse."

Everything he said sounded so foreign to you, yet strangely believable. The sincerity in his voice and the evidence you had witnessed so far led you to believe him. He didn't come across as a man who would lie. But believing his words didn't mean you had to accept them.

Your hands felt clammy, and a cold shiver ran down your spine. A headache began to pulse in your temples, and as you looked up, the room seemed to spin around you, leaving you feeling dizzy and disoriented. This couldn't be happening... this couldn't be real.

"I-I want to go back. Take me back..." you desperately say, your words a mix of a plea and demand.

"I can't do that," he responds, his hands on his hips.

"Let me go back!" you cry out, tears spilling down your cheeks.

"I can't do that," he responds again, avoiding your gaze, a heavy weight in his voice.

You feel yourself heat up, anger and panic mixing into a dangerous and unfamiliar mess inside you, threatening to erupt. Suddenly, a door next to you opens, revealing two people dressed in Spiderman suits—one wearing a blue vest, and the other clad in a fully black suit with white marks.

"Take her to my quarters, let her lay down and rest until I find a place for her to stay," Miguel mumbles, tiredly rubbing his eyes with one hand as he turns around to leave.

"Don't touch me... I’m not going anywhere!" you warn, your voice firm

Miguel stops and his head whips around as he looks down at you, his eyebrows raised. The unspoken question, dare, hung heavily in the air.

Is that so?

---

You thrashed around, your fists smacking into his bulky back as he had you slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Curses and threats spilled from you, but he remained nonchalant, walking ahead with a frown on his face. Your yelling caught the attention of people around you, and as you looked up, you realized that everyone was wearing different kinds of suits, all with some sort of Spider symbol or design.

After an awkwardly long elevator ride, during which you had tired yourself out with all your kicking and thrashing, you heard the ding as the elevator doors opened. Stepping outside, he carried you until he ended up in front of a pair of doors. He dropped you on your feet and you opened your mouth about to curse him out when he spun you around and pushed you inside.

"You—YOU! You can't just... I HAVE RIGHTS!" you shouted in frustration and anger.

"Oh? Great, oh wow" he responded sarcastically, barely letting you get your words out.

"AND YOU CAN'T JUST, JUST TAKE ME AND—" you continued to vent your anger.

"Uh huh, uh huh," he nodded, his hands on his hips, watching you storm over towards him with a mocking smile on his face.

The doors closed abruptly in your face, and you stopped, your eyes wide with pure shock. For a moment, you were left speechless, trying to process what had just happened, your eye twitching in annoyance.

And then? Then you began breaking stuff.

You were yelling a mixture of gibberish and curses, you had been smacking your hand against the metal sliding doors for what felt like hours, kicking at them, and demanding to be let out. When that didn’t work you began trashing the place, kicking chairs out of your way, smacking over books and bowls and- well… the place wasn’t really decorated much. Until finally you were left pacing back and forth, a pillow held tightly in your hands, it was the only thing around not yet on the floor.

You finally stopped, backing up to take in your surrounding and the state of the room, as your back hit the wall, you slowly came to a stop, dropping the pillow you had been holding. It wasn't much of a weapon, but in that moment, you didn't really care; your mind was not thinking straight.

Your eyes shifted around the room, taking in the destruction you had unintentionally caused. Finally, you slumped back, feeling your body slide down against the wall until you landed softly on the floor. You pulled your knees up against your chest and wrapped your arms around them hiding your face.

In your mind, this felt like a terrible nightmare you desperately wanted to wake up from. You yearned to open your eyes and find yourself back in the safety of your bedroom, with sunlight streaming through the blinds. The comforting routine of having breakfast with your aunt and uncle, followed by a trip to school to meet your friends and, of course, Miguel. It filled your heart with a sense of normalcy you sorely missed.

Your chest felt so tight for a moment that you thought you might be having a heart attack, but it was more likely a panic attack taking hold of you. The knot in your stomach tightened, and the silence around you only amplified your distress. It felt as if the world was closing in, leaving you struggling for breath and unable to think straight.

You desperately needed to wake up. This had to be nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Lifting your tear-stained face from your arms, you took in the surroundings of the room, hoping to find some semblance of familiarity. It was a small, cramped space with a kitchen area, a bedroom, a compact living area with a large desk, and finally, a door that you presumed led to the bathroom. At first glance, it didn't look like a jail cell, but then why did it feel as though invisible metal bars were closing in around you?

Your eyes shifted to your wrist, and you had to take a deep breath to steady yourself. The braided bracelet encircling it suddenly felt so heavy, like a weight pulling you down. Your chin trembled, and your vision blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. Finally, unable to hold back any longer, you began to weep, tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your forehead against the bracelet.

After what felt like hours of crying, you noticed a bright yellow light shined down on you. Looking up, you watched as Lyla materialized in front of you, silently observing you.

[Miguel has instructed me to give you a quick tour of his quarters. Would you... like me to show you around?]

If you had to guess, you would probably say she's some kind of AI; thus, who knows if she could feel sympathy or even understand what you were going through. Running the back of your hands over your eyes, you wiped away some of the tears, but you were still unable to get your breathing under control.

[Is there anything I can help you with? I could pull up a few breathing exercises or calming videos of puppies if you would like?]

You eyed her for a moment, contemplating whether she was being genuine or making fun of you. Based on the tone of her voice and the hologram itself, Lyla seemed to be at least trying to comfort you.

[I have to admit... I'm not really good at this. It's not as if Miguel possesses a wide range of emotions.]

"What time is it?" You asked, choosing to ignore her attempt at small talk.

[It's approximately six PM.]

"Why is it so dark in here?"

[Miguel prefers it that way. In his work station and quarters, you'll find the lighting is usually kept dim.]

You glance around the room and realize that one of the reasons it feels like a glorified prison cell is the lack of a window.

"Does he hate windows too?" you ask bitterly.

[No. However, I was instructed not to open it due to...] She trails off, nervously flickering her gaze around the room.

"Due to what?" you press, narrowing your eyes as you slowly stand.

[There are napkins in the third drawer of his desk, please help yourself,] she said, smoothly changing the subject.

Silently, you walked over to the desk, your gaze fixated on the drawers. You made a mental note to check them all out later, when you weren't being watched. You pulled on the drawer, and there, on top of some files, you found the box of napkins. You consciously ignored the box of lotion that lay behind it.

"Terrific..." you muttered to yourself, feeling slightly frustrated.

"Why can't you open a window?" you demanded.

[I am fully capable of opening a window, it's—] Lyla began to explain.

"Why were you instructed not to, then?" you interrupted, your upper lip twitching in annoyance.

Lyla fell quiet, flickering around until she reappeared in front of you on the desk. You wiped your nose and some tears off your face, feeling a mix of emotions. Suddenly, a noise on the far wall caught your attention. You looked over and watched as some blinds, which had been impossible to spot in the dark, cracked open, allowing a stream of light to finally shine in.

[Ooh, WOW! Haha! Look at this place! You ripped it apart! That's so funny, Miguel is gonna lose his mind,] she exclaimed.

"Is he violent?" you ask, making your way towards the window.

[What? Of course not! Well, if you're wondering if you have anything to fear, then no,] she assures you.

"Oh good, I'm glad my kidnapper doesn't have violent tendencies," you retort. There was a time when you might have felt guilty about your attitude, but after everything that had happened, you couldn't care less.

[Would you like me to put on some music? I know what you like! I have a few playlists saved based on your—] she begins to suggest.

"How high up are we? Are you able to remove the blinds completely?" you inquire, glancing out the window as you test the strength of the metal blinds.

[y/n... Even if I opened those blinds, and even if you weren't several hundred feet above the ground (I do not have permission to disclose HQ information with you), and you could get out...] Lyla flicked to your side, her avatar looking at you with sympathetic eyes, or as close to it as she could manage.

[You're not in your own dimension. You're not even really in your own timeline; you're about an average human's lifetime ahead of your own timeline. Even if I let you out... you'd have nowhere to go], she gently explained, delivering the disheartening truth.

As the blinds peeled back loudly, the entire window was revealed, causing you to flinch instinctively. You turned your head quickly to see Miguel, the other Miguel, leaning against the doorframe with his hand sliding off a button.

Glancing outside, you watched the city before you, and the knot in your stomach grew. Everything looked futuristic, with cars soaring down below and buildings towering even taller than those back home.

Home...

The only thing that looked remotely similar to home were the large, over-the-top billboards littering the city. You were too high up to actually see the people walking down below, which did prove that Lyla hadn't been lying.

Lyla flicked over to Miguel, hovering above his shoulder, engaged in a quiet conversation with him. As you turned towards them, the growing tightness in your chest returned. Slowly, you walked away from the window, positioning yourself on the opposite side of him—more importantly, the opposite side of the door. Miguel casually observed you, and for the first time since you had seen his face, he wasn't frowning. You glanced at the open doorway behind him and then back at him, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible.

"Don't..." He casually warned, staring down at you.

Turning around, you began walking towards the kitchen, attempting to feign hunger by casually sliding your hand over your stomach. But as soon as you were near the door, your only plan was to get the hell out of there and away from him.

With a swift move, you tried to slip past him, but he reacted lightning-fast, grabbing your wrist and hoisting you up in the air. He forcefully pulled you backwards, leaving your toes barely touching the floor, before throwing you onto his couch.

"Enough already—" Miguel started to say, but he had to stop himself as you made another desperate attempt to dash past him. He pushed you down against the couch, one hand on your chest.

"Let me out of here! Send me home!" you hissed, trying to push him away, but his grip was firm.

"YOU ARE AN ANOMALY! If you go back there, your whole dimension will disappear, together with everything in it! Everyone you know, your friends, family, loved ones—everyone will die," Miguel explained, his hand keeping you in place as you stared up at him, breathing heavily, and eventually slumping back against the couch.

You didn't have the energy to question him further. You smacked his hand away from you, sitting up and leaning forward. Your arms rested on your knees, and you covered your face with your hands. The amount of information from unreliable sources was overwhelming, making your head spin and your stomach churn.

You fell backwards against the couch, silently staring out the window. For a brief, beautiful moment, your brain seemed to take pity on you and dissociated from reality, allowing you to watch the sun finally set and the darkness of the night slowly taking over. While Miguel occupied himself with some paperwork, speaking into his bracelet, and moving about his quarters, he eventually settled down across from you on the couch.

As you continued to gaze out the window, he watched you intently, about to say something when you interrupted him. "Is Miguel safe—my Miguel?"

He nodded silently, and you closed your eyes, letting out a breath. "I... I won't ever see him again, will I?" you asked, your eyes welling up with tears as you looked over at him.

"No," he answered quietly.

Closing your eyes, you felt tears streak down each cheek. "Why is this happening? Why—" you began, feeling overwhelmed with emotions.

Miguel sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment of silence, he looked up at the spot above your head before his gaze settled on you, making it appear as though he almost looked down at you as he spoke.

"Every Spider-person's life is connected, woven together in this... beautiful web of life and destiny. It's called the Arachno-Humanoid Poly-Multiverse," Miguel explained.

As you blinked in bewilderment, a look of pure confusion crossed your face. Miguel, looking annoyed, glanced away before sighing.

"Or... The Spiderverse, if that makes it easier," he muttered. "It's easier if we just—Ugh. Lyla, do the thing!"

[Huh? What thing?]

Miguel's stoic expression melted into one of confusion and borderline bewilderment. He shook his head, clearly perplexed, and turned to glance at Lyla, ‘’What- What do you mean ‘what thing?’ The information, explainy thing!’’

[Oh, okay!] Lyla responded.

As the blinds fall over the window again, you jump in your seat, and suddenly the room transforms from pitch black to a display of red laser-like shapes forming in front of you. The shapes resemble hundreds, if not thousands, of small webs, all interconnected. Each one takes the form of a small heptagon with tiny images inside, depicting various events. However, the images are too small to make out clearly, and Miguel mumbles something about it being easier to show in the "big room."

You lean forward, engrossed in his explanation. "These nodes," he points them out for you, "they're where the lines converge; they are the canon. Chapters that are a part of every Spider's story, every time." You watch as Miguel leans forward, his eyes shifting from one node to another as he speaks.

"Some good..." He looks over at another node. "Some bad..."

"Some very bad." He stops at the node in front of you, his gaze shifting up to meet yours.

"That's how the story's supposed to go. The canon events are the connections that bind our lives together," Miguel said, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched you. "But those connections can be broken. That's why anomalies..." He looked away from you, his expression turning bitter, "are so dangerous."

"In universes where versions of us meet and become... close, our relationship becomes a canon event, an event that always has and always will end with one of us dying. You weren't supposed to survive in your universe," he explained solemnly.

"Do I always... die at the same time?" you ask, your voice tinged with sadness and confusion.

"No. Sometimes you... we—" Miguel hesitates, searching for the right words, "Versions of us begin lives together. Some get married, some have children, and some... some die before even making it as far as you did," he says, bitterness evident in his voice.

"And now, because that story has changed, you have become an anomaly. Which means that if you return, your dimension will begin unraveling. And there is no stopping that," Miguel explains, his tone somber and resigned.

"What..." you say, distraught.

"It's what happens when you break the canon,"

"Then why... why am I alive? Why did you save me?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed.

"Because I... I found a way—a way to save you," he responds, his expression serious, but a hint of melancholic determination gleaming in his eyes, as if just speaking those words aloud was an act of defiance against some unfathomable force.

"How many other versions of me have you saved?" you ask, his gaze remaining on you for a moment before faltering, and he looks away, seemingly feeling ashamed.

"None. You are... you are the only one I could save," he admits.

You silently watch him, trying to process the weight of what he had just revealed, whether intentional or not.

"That's why you can't go back. If you break enough canons, we could lose..." He gestures, and you watch as nodes begin to crumble, causing the entire web to slowly disintegrate. "Everything."

"We...?" you question, seeking clarification.

Miguel let out a tired sigh, scooting forward and reaching for your hand. You flinched at his touch, and he looked up at you, his frown slowly softening as you held out your arm. He lifted your sleeve and showed you a small red spot, the mosquito bite you had gotten a few days ago.

"For you to survive, you..." He trailed off, his thumb running over the spot slowly. "There can only be one Spider-person in every dimension. If, for whatever reason, another person becomes one, then they also become an anomaly. At that point, one of the spider-people either dies, or the dimension itself collapses. Sometimes, it's both."

Your eyes meet as he holds onto your arm. "For you to survive, you had to become... an anomaly. Instead of you dying, you became an anomaly and then got removed from that dimension. Things change without tipping the scale, without breaking the canon."

"An anomaly... You turned me into a Spider-person?" you gasp.

Miguel silently watches you. "Not exactly... I injected you with—"

"Wait! So, Miguel could die? I mean, if there can only be one Spider-person, what if the universe or dimension or canon, or whatever it is, doesn't realize I'm gone? It could still kill him?!" you interrupt, your concern and anxiety evident in your voice.

[I have run hundreds of statistics, and so far, none show any dimensional rupture or damage. The canon has technically not been broken, only altered. The end results are still the same—only one Spider-man, only one of the two of you in the dimension.]

‘’This was just some test to you? You’re risking Miguel's life, my entire dimension because of what some AI calculated?!’’ You stand up abruptly, staring down at Miguel.

[Hey!] Lyla objects, clearly offended.

‘’As long as you don’t go back and interact with that dimension, it should be safe,’’ Miguel leans forward, looking up at you with a hint of a smile on his face. ‘’You were— are, a scientific miracle. A breakthrough never thought to be possible. However, if something does disrupt your dimension, it’s our job to try to fix it. We’re not always lucky, but—‘’

You leap over the small coffee table between the two of you, aiming for the collar of his suit. Miguel swiftly captures your wrists in his hands, holding you firmly in place as you glare down at him, tears welling in your eyes.

‘’You sick-‘’ you hiss, baring your teeth at him, your nails digging into his hands.

‘’y/n, you were going to die. If not you, then your Miguel would have. You can hate me as much as you want. I didn’t make the rules, you think I’d want this…?’’ Miguel's voice wavers slightly, his eyes reflecting a mix of guilt and desperation.

In that moment, the anger inside you clashes with a sudden wave of overwhelming sadness and helplessness. You struggle against his grip, but Miguel's hold remains steady, as if he's trying to protect you from yourself.

‘’You should have just let me die,’’ you glare at him, and he looks at you, his eyes widening in surprise, ‘’At least then my dimension, my Miguel would have been safe.’’

‘’I... couldn’t...’’ Miguel mumbles, staring into your eyes, his own welling up with emotion.

‘’Why?!’’ you ask with tearful eyes, glaring down at him, your heart heavy with frustration and grief.

He watches you silently for a moment, his expression pained, before his eyebrows knit together, and he pushes you back against the couch, releasing your wrists as you fall back. ‘’No more questions for today. Lyla, get her something to eat. I have a headache.’’

You continued objecting, ignoring Lyla's attempts to distract you with food recommendations and takeout options. Your mind was consumed by the weight of the revelations, and the internal struggle left you feeling torn apart. Miguel eventually left, locking the door behind him, leaving you alone to process everything that had been revealed.

Unable to find solace in the chaos of your thoughts, you finally dropped down against the couch, pulling your knees up into a fetal position. The tears welled up again, and you cried yourself to sleep, exhaustion and emotional turmoil taking its toll on your body and mind.

---

In the following days or weeks – time seemed hazy in this new dimension – you settled into a monotonous routine. Conversations were rare, especially with Miguel. Sleeping on the couch, facing away from the room, you woke each morning to find a comforting blanket placed over you. Emotions churned as you grappled with the reality of being an anomaly here. Memories of home and loved ones tugged at your heart, while uncertainty and vulnerability clouded your mind

As days passed in the unfamiliar dimension, you grew closer to Lyla. Despite your attempts to ignore her, she proved to be persistent and engaging. She spent time with you, sharing stories and anecdotes, breaking through your emotional barriers.

During a conversation, you discovered that she had been "observing" you for quite a while. While it felt like stalking to you, she insisted it was part of her duties. After a two-hour debate, you agreed to disagree.

Lyla's presence became a source of solace in the disorienting dimension. She became a friend, easing the burden of being stranded far from home. In this vast multiverse, her companionship reminded you of the need for friendship, someone to confine in, someone to speak to.

She reminded you of Gwen…

76 notes · View notes

luvsfootball · 1 year ago

Text

inspiration - enzo fernandez.

requested by - anon.

request : hiii, plz could u do one where reader is part of the womens team and enzo thinks shes a great player, so he watches to learn. then he does her celebration and his teammates speculate about you both. thanks luv <3.

it was no secret chelsea hadn’t been doing great lately.

enzo arrived at probably a messy time and even though he was a great player, it didn’t really show much on the pitch.

so he needed inspiration. he watched previous players like frank lampard but he couldn’t pick up their skills.

then he overheard reece talking about you.

enzo didn’t really communicate with the women’s players unless necessary, like photoshoots or randomly liking their page on instagram.

reece was headed to one of their games tonight to watch his sister play and he was talking about how amazing you were.

the club had acquired you from real madrid two years back and even though you were a midfielder, you had scored fourteen goals last season.

so he sat in the stands and analysed your playing style. the way you’d tackle the opposition and move forward was impressive, and enzo jumped from his seat to celebrate your goal.

it was impressive, he had to admit.

after the match, he caught you in the tunnel. you had just come out of the changing rooms after a shower, so your hair was dripping wet.

“hey, y/n right?”

“uh yeah, you’re enzo.”

he smiled at you and stuck his hand out for you to shake. “what’s up?”

you began walking towards the building’s exit so you could get home and have some well deserved sleep. he followed closely behind you, trying to find the right words.

“how do you do it?”

he held the door open for you and you both walked out, “play so good.”

you laughed at him with your eybrows furrowed, confused as to what he was talking about. “i’m sorry, you’ve lost me.”

enzo was probably one of the best players in the current male chelsea squad at the moment and you were shocked at how he couldn’t see his talent.

“are you joking or not?”

the look in his eyes told you he was being serious and you suddenly felt bad for him. you knew how the men were performing lately and it was obvious he wanted to improve.

“okay, listen. when you’re on the ball, try and drown out everyone around you. focus on yourself and your teammates and when you see an opportunity, score. what helped me was yoga, funnily enough.”

“yoga?”

you sighed as you opened your car door, grabbing your phone from the glovebox. “i have a yoga instructor. he’d love some new people.”

you gave enzo the number, and he thanked you.

“maybe i’ll see you there,” he wondered, watching as you sat in the driver’s seat of your car. looking up at him, you sent him a cheeky grin and responded, “maybe you will.”

it was him and the goal.

no one on his left and no one on his right. this was his moment. he remembered what you said. drown out everyone around him.

he didn’t even think about the keeper when he kicked the ball, flicking it in the back of the net.

everyone cheered, running to him but enzo had one thing on his mind. he dived to the floor, sliding on his stomach and headbutting the flagpole.

your signature celebration.

you were watching at home and you couldn’t help but laugh when you saw him point to the camera as a signal for you.

after the game, you were readying for bed when your phone pinged. it was enzo.

you had shared your phone number with him when you had seen him at a yoga session, and even though the conversations you had with each other were brief, you had grown to quite like him.

‘thank you. that felt amazing.’

‘don’t worry about it. u were amazing.’

in the locker room, reece slapped his back. enzo looked behind him, “y/n’s celebration?”

“yeah, it’s thanks to her i even scored today.”

in truth, enzo didn’t really see the big deal with it until he opened twitter when he got home. the news was already writing about you two, speculating that you were in a relationship.

he laughed as he carried on scrolling down his feed.

the next day at work, they were doing a photoshoot with the women’s team for the new away kit.

enzo trailed off towards you, football in hand as he thrown it towards you. “boss wants a photo of us together.”

you nodded and joined his side, listening as the photographer told enzo to place his arm around your waist.

reece and lauren were watching you both from across the football pitch, laughing with each other about you both. “has she said anything about him?”

“only thing she’s mentioned is going to yoga together, which is pretty weird. what about him?”

reece shook his head. “nothing, but it’s pretty obvious. even mykhailo was teasing him about it the other day.”

they watched as you goofed around for the camera. “it’s actually painful to watch them like this. can they just get together?” lauren groaned.

when the photographer left to take photos of lauren and reece, you and enzo kicked the ball to each other whilst you waited for the rest of the team to come out.

“i was thinking about something. it’s okay if you say no, but i’d really like if you said yes.”

“what is it?”

he stopped kicking the ball, putting his serious face on as he plucked up the courage to just ask. mykhailo was watching from the tunnel and when he looked over, enzo noticed how he was nodding with enthusiasm.

“do you maybe want to go on a date with me?”

enzo felt all of his courage dissipate when you didn’t respond. he was about to tell you to forget he said anything.

“i did want to go and watch the new barbie movie.”

he smiled, kicking the ball back to you. “it’s a date then.”

#enzo fernandez x reader #enzo fernandez #enzo #chelsea #enzo fernandez imagine #chelsea fc #football imagines #football x reader

46 notes · View notes

illarian-rambling · 7 months ago

Text

Thanks for the tag @somethingclevermahogony!

OC Question Game

My questions:

Who would you miss the most if they left?

What is the funniest thing you have ever done?

Who cares about you the most?

I'll answer for Sepo, because why not?

1) Who would you miss the most if they left?

"It makes me cringe that this is even a hard question. I used to be perfectly fine on my own. The only thing I would ever miss would be a good current beneath my wingfins. But now? If Twenari left, I'd worry through every waking moment over whether she's alright or not. If Djek left, it'd be so quiet around here the silence would feel like a scream. I couldn't choose. Izjik would never leave. Not to where I couldn't follow."

2) What is the funniest thing you have ever done?

"I'll tell you, but if I ever hear you've told anyone else, especially a certain squinty-eyed Amaranthi, I'll hang you from a flagpole by your tongue, understand? When I was a boy studying to be a priest at the Saryimastra Seat, my brother was always the more popular of us two. This wouldn't be a hard thing to guess if you'd have known Saius; he was the personable type, always quick with a joke or a kind word. He was the one who introduced me to Fahdra.

Fahdra, not that I'd have been able to tell, was the darling of the junior priesthood. Pretty, intelligent, pious; everything a sixteen year old siren could want or could want to be. For some damn reason, she loved talking to me. She even switched her chore rotation so she'd be on alter cleaning duty with me.

One night, we ended up staying late to clean up. She asked me very coyly if I wanted to hang out at her dorm after we finished. I said no - I wanted to finish my book - but she said she had some secular sheet music she could show me, and that was temptation enough for me to agree. In retrospect, her exact phrasing was 'Do you want to make some sinful music together?', so perhaps that was a missed cue on my part.

Anyways, we get there, and she immediately strips off her shawl and bra. I thought that was strange, but nudity isn't as taboo in Ulahdris as it is on the surface, so I assumed she was just getting comfortable. I asked her where the music was, and she told me we'd make it together. I told her that I still needed sheet music. She told me that she'd show me the rhythms. I told her that was stupid. It was only when she asked if I was messing with her that I caught on to the fact that some of what she'd been saying had perhaps been subtext. I fled back to my dorm at once. Saius said he'd never seen my face to red. We ended up switching clothes and chores for the week because I was so embarrassed - we looked so much alike that if we didn't talk, no one could tell us apart. In the end, after spending that week cleaning alters with Fahdra, she and Saius ended up dating for a time.

It's a long story and one I never thought was particularly funny, but Izjik loses her mind every time she hears it. I suppose I wish Fahdra the best. It must've been some piss poor luck that caused her to set her sights on the most oblivious siren east of the Oresea."

3) Who cares about you the most?

"Izjik."

Your questions:

What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?

How do you deal with anger?

What's the worst job you've ever worked?

I'll tag @mk-writes-stuff @televisionjester @albatris @aestheic-writer18 @wordfather and anyone else who wants in :)

#writing #writerscommunity #writblr #my ocs #question tag

21 notes · View notes

nozunhinged · 10 months ago

Text

This post by @waitmyturtles is what finally, finally led me to the conclusion what bothered me about the series so much (not just the ending) and I'm seriously wondering if this a cultural difference that I misunderstood which geniunely makes me question if I got the whole eyesight-storyline wrong or if it really was bad writing.

(and I didn't wanna mess up all the smart reblog-additions with my personal 2 cents so I made a new post for it)

It's the fact that Day never says himself that he's ready for the surgery/wants the surgery.

From the first episode on, every time they talked about the "eye donation" (which is the first problem imho, he's keeping his eyes and corneas are a tiny, vital part of them), I understood it as a plot device to show how the people around him make the decisions for Day and how he doesn't get the chance to make them for himself.

I felt like I was conditioned to think that way, every time the donation came up I had the reaction of "that's not the point here, deal with the situation at hand and not potential futures!!" and I thought Days lack of a response to the whole topic was meant to inflinct that reaction. Meant to be a sign of Days lack of autonomy and how he slowly, slowly gains it back.

But we never get to hear his own opinion about the possiblity of getting his eyesight back, even with him gaining autonomy and growing as a person, nor do we get a proper explanation by the doctors how his options look like and what a deteriorated cornea even MEANS. We aren't all doctors, we don't know the million different ways sight can be impaired and if it's temporary or not.

Which lead, in combination with Days ongoing lack of a response, to my (!) impression, that this storyline is not relevant to the message the show wants to put out, and that it's a story about how he learns to grow into his this new state of being. Which made the surgery feel like it came completely out of nowhere.

And now I'm wondering - in the context of this being a thai show and family playing a very vital role - did we not need Days explicit approval to learn that he wants it? Was his approval that he let his mom take care of the whole surgery process? Was this why he forgave her so quickly, and always turned to her, was that his approval? Because she stood for the chance of getting his sight back?

I'm not gonna discuss how Day is still a spoiled brat, the absolute obliteration of mhoks character, the unnecessary introduction of august or all the other loose ends of the story...

But with this particular point, I feel like I geniunely misunderstood something and maybe didn't do the story enough justice.

Do I still wish the narrative would've explained the whole eyesight-thing better so we understand the status of days disability better? Yes, absolutely yes.

But I also need a flagpole of signs to understand things so maybe I missed some nuance here and I really really want to know your opinions about this so please comment your thoughts!!

#last twilight #last twilight the series #last twilight meta

28 notes · View notes

voxofthevoid · 2 years ago

Text

Me, writing sex: Man, I sure wish this position was called anything but "scissored flagpole" or "splitting the bamboo" or "leg glider."

#i don't know what i want it to be called #but not...those #there's also 'harp'#but no thanks

92 notes · View notes

koreanbibliophilegirl · 1 year ago

Note

Do you perhaps want to info dump about your DSMP superpower AU?

Totally not asking to procrastinate on literally writing my own. Nah. I don’t even know what procrastination is.

SKLFDJSJHDJFLH INFODUMPING ABOUT MY AU? ALWAYS. I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED.

Okay so! Where should I start? *rubs hands like that one evil toddler cousin on Christmas*

The background setting!

So the fic already has a name, but I'm keeping it AND the MC secret as a lil surprise for when the fic is eventually published. All I will say about it is, it's not Tommy. *gasp*

Tommy does appear though, so I'll start there to avoid detection I think.

He works at the bakery(yes, it's owned by Niki Nihachu), which is right around the corner from the hero headquarters. So heroes are always stopping by for baked goods, especially since Niki's girlfriend, Puffy, has a son who's one of the top heroes, and he told all his friends about how good the bakery is.

And, of course, true to all the clichés, Tommy and his two roommates work as vigilantes. They don't work only at night, though. They work at lunchtime as well, since they all get an hour of lunch break & a lot of villains are out and about around that time. Counterintuitive, but then again, there are a lot of people in the streets to nab as hostages, and some villains actively seek out heroes to fight anyway. Like Redrum, known as the sharp-clawed, since he's apparently a catshifter (or general shapeshifter, who knows) who goes around stabbing heroes.

Tubbo works at the mechanics, his boss is retired hero/hero trainer Sam Dude(known as Warden during his time)! Sam retired among controversy though, because of issues surrounding the Hero HQ's former resident healer/ex-licensed hero, Lemon Balm. Tubbo couldn't care less though, Sam's nice and lets him take spare parts home for inventing(read: making vigilante gadgets).

Ranboo helps out at the local library, with Technoblade(last name unknown) as his boss! They're also the first out of the vigilante team Bench Trio to find out that Techno is the Blood God, one of the most popular vigilantes currently active, and one half of the elusive Emerald Duo.

Phil runs a bird shelter, and when he's out as the Angel of Death, he sometimes lets the crows from the shelter follow him around!

Kristin is a hero-turned-vigilante, formerly Miss Trixtin, currently the Goddess of Death. She's a bit busy with her day job atm though so she's taking a bit of a break from her vigilante job.

Wilbur is their son who left home after an argument about vigilantism not helping reform the corrupt hero system. He's a villain called Silver Tongue now. He keeps stealing important stuff from the Hero HQ with Fundy. He gets pretty close with Tommy after regularly visiting his (adoptive) son's workplace :D

Bench Trio's vigilante names are Aerie(Tommy- telekinesis + singing to plants to make them grow), Bee Bomb(Tubbo- honey colored explosive energy balls & metal manipulation), and Endgame(Ranboo- teleportation & compression, plus they can bite through anything)!

(Double powers are uncommon but not too rare, triple powers are EXTREMELY rare.)

Tommy's bakery coworkers are Fundy Soot(villain- helps his adoptive father, Wilbur, on his little outings. Ability to go unnoticed by everyone and anyone. It works on technology as well. He's also a general shapeshifter in theory, but he can't transform into animals bigger than a fox.), Badboy Halo(civillian- he can make red vines grow out of the ground! This saved Skeppy's butt once, cuz they used to live in the same neighborhood & went to the same schools, and one time Skeppy fell off the flagpole of the middle school. Bad's vines caught him midair.), and later on Ant Frost(🤫).

Niki herself is actually a former hero who resigned, she got too much hate about her power(copying others' powers for a short while). Puffy, who was her partner, retired a few years later, since she'd decided to adopt the orphan boy who had applied for the hero training program, and she'd need more money than she was making as a hero who had lost most of her popularity. She became a therapist, and fully supported her new son Foolish throughout his hero training!

Puffy and Niki never really talked about their relationship, but since Puffy's power is reading minds & emotions, and Niki can copy her power, they didn't have to. One day they just started telling people they were taken, and that was that.

Foolish is a popular hero who can call up storms & has the additional power of building anything in the blink of an eye! His partner(both work AND romantic) is Eret, who can control people's actions if they catch sight of her glowing white eyes. Their hero names are the Golden Shark and Monarch respectively.

Tina is also a hero, she graduated the hero training program with Foolish, but her powers(always landing on her feet when she falls, enhanced senses including night vision, and stealth) coincide too much with the top hero, Dream(can't get hurt from falling, slowing down time to give himself time to think, some enhanced agility), and she didn't get very popular. This will soon change though, Tina is the GOAT and everyone will know it.

Speaking of Tina, Hannah Rose the retired hero! She runs a flower shop! She retired after one of her wings was ripped during a fight, the physical therapy took a while and her popularity dropped like a stone. She realized how unfair the hero system was to unpopular heroes and decided to retire. Her wings still haven't recovered, her flight balance is too off for her to even consider flying more than a few feet off the ground, and more than a few seconds.

Las Nevadas! Quackity! He's one of the rare triple powered people! Golden duck wings, can manipulate card-shaped objects(a form of telekinesis), and has the ability to control odds(only if he's aware of all the variables though. It won't work very well if there are unknown factors).

Charlie! May be an elder god, may be the devil, who knows! He can turn into green slime, create green slime(with various properties), and additionally, knows everything about everyone. Nobody actually knows if this is a power or not, but it's certainly terrifying paired with his cheerful, optimistic personality.

Purpled! His skin is basically invincible, fireproof, acidproof, poisonproof, you name it. He also has perfect aim, which is very handy since he's an assassin. His sibling Punz is also an assassin, but they has flight trajectory manipulation and his eyes can zoom in on anything.

Skeppy. He's not part of the mafia, but he might as well be becuase he's literally always there. Nobody knows how he does it. But. He. Is. Always. There. He can summon diamonds though so nobody's complaining😊 lol

(But seriously, he's also fun to hang out with and plan pranks with. The mafia world is full of people who want something from you/have ulterior motives, and it's nice to hang out with someone who doesn't want anything from you other than keeping him company and talking with him.)

Sam, Foolish and Punz are friends! Sam suspects Punz is mafia but keeps quiet about it(he isn't about to make the same mistake as last time), Foolish is oblivious. Punz loves his homies, but is stressed bc Foolish has a v strict moral code and would not be happy if he finds out Punz is mafia.

Uhhh who have I not talked about, KARLNAP. Sapnap was a vigilante(he failed the training program interview) who quickly got recruited by the heroes, Karl was the same but a while later! Sapnap got patrols with Dream and GeorgeNotFound(all three go by their actual names as heroes, though Sapnap's vigilante name was Flame) and immediately gained a huge following(besides his fans from his vigilante days), but Karl(a.k.a. Timekeeper) wasn't that well-known even as a vigilante. He didn't give up though, and trained extremely hard every day. Then one day Sapnap saw him in the training area and got an instant crush. They talked, Sapnap began asking to be paired with Karl for duo patrols, they started dating, and now they're both famous & known as the ultimate power couple :3

Hmm, it feels kinda anticlimactic to end like this, so have a codename compilation!

Tommy- Aerie(place to rest suspended in the air. Tommy can float things in the air so I thought the name fit.)

Tubbo- Bee Bomb(Bee Bombs are wildflower seed balls that you leave out in the garden/in pots to grow wildflowers. I thought Tubbo would like the name, since his energy balls are supposed to smell sweet like wildflower honey.)

Ranboo- Endgame(They're so overpowered with their teleportation and compression that Tommy and Tubbo insisted his appearance alone would signal the beginning of the endgame. Nicknamed Ender.)

Technoblade- the Blood God(obviously.)

Philza- the Angel of Death(also obviously.)

Wilbur- Silver Tongue(for his silver tongue.)

Fundy- either Nonexistent or Ghost, haven't really decided yet

Kristin- (formerly) Miss Trixtin, (currently) the Goddess of Death

Foolish- the Golden Shark

Tina- Carrot Cat

Eret- Monarch

Niki- (formerly) Copycat

Puffy- (formerly) Captain Puffy

Karl- Timekeeper

(Mafia Codename explanation here)

Quackity- Rey Club, King of Clubs

Purpled- Tyrian Spade

Punz- Lapis Lazuli Spade, Ace of Spades

Hannah- (formerly) Faerie, (currently) Bitterbriar Diamond

Skeppy- Adamant Heart(since he's always there anyway, they just gave him a codename.)

Charlie- Dresden Diamond, Jack of Diamonds

Ponk- Lemon Balm/Sorrento Heart(they still go by Lemon Balm as a vigilante)

Ant- Redrum

Eryn- Demon

Aimsey- Daisy(star and Eryn are villains who want to reform society as a whole by blowing up buildings. Only when they're empty tho cuz Aimsey doesn't want to kill ppl)

Velvet: Red Flag

Welp, that's all for now! If there's anything else you'd like to know, please feel free to ask further! I really enjoyed answering this, thank you so much for the ask! 💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖

-Lilly xx

(P. S. Almost forgot; HBomb is the owner & sole employee of a cat café with a maid event on Saturdays.)

50 notes · View notes