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lavenderspence · 8 months ago

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To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other.

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started.

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds.

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost.

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain.

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go.

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair.

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true.

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list.

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone.

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment.

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?”

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him.

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest.

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico.

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to.

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other.

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped.

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking.

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes.

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been.

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside.

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore.

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud.

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did.

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you.

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him.

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her.

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough.

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier.

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking.

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt.

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more.

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again.

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say.

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight.

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight.

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him.

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive.

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends.

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in.

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take?

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared.

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you.

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote.

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num.

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same.

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card.

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again.

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused.

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different.

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit.

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy.

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years.

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt.

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown.

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place.

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly.

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one.

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth.

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness.

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine.

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both.

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt.

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled.

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him.

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed.

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that.

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time.

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out.

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure.

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn.

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly.

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over.

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did.

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see.

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over.

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out.

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them.

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms.

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation.

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now.

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned.

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth.

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet.

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face.

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry.

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined.

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to.

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him.

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment.

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of.

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes.

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own.

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much.

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline.

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head.

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him.

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you.

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other.

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand.

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent.

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in.

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again.

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice.

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it.

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto.

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head.

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to.

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became.

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace.

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it.

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real.

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple.

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?”

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you.

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss.

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time.

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy.

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process.

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices.

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived.

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours.

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go.

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching.

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together.

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered.

“I love you.”

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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ghastlyfilters · 1 month ago

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Hi! Saw you were taking Lost Boys requests...

I have a lot of silly concepts or ideas but my favorite is poly!Lost boys with a partner (I usually prefer fem reader but whatever ur comfy with is all good) who loves stealing some of their older clothes. Like, reader is smaller than them so the clothes are really comfy. Especially the older stuff cus decade+ old fabric is so soft.

reader stealing the lost boys’ clothes!!

pairing(s): implied poly!lost boys x fem!reader

warning(s): aside from paul and marko definitely paying attention to your curves, none!!

(now if i was the reader here i know damn WELL i would be stealing their clothes too. each one of their styles is literally perfection and to see that shit on vampires? HELLO? also i may have gotten a bit too carried away with thinking about all their clothing designs.. but thanks for this cute request<3)

gifs not mine! (if you know the original owner please tag them!)

HEADCANONS

• Stealing your boys’ clothes is by far the EASIEST thing anyone could do. The reason being? They quite literally never change out of the fits they’ve had on since 1987.

• The boys don’t have much of a scent, seeing as they’re all undead. So a washing machine doesn’t exist in their little world anymore. Which means they will now forever be outfit repeaters.

More fun for you.

• All of the boys have the most random shit scattered around the cave. They’re the worst hoarders you have ever encountered. Cough cough.. Paul.. cough cough..

• But the amount of clothes they have laying around is shocking. Boots, band tees, jackets, jeans, leather trousers, gloves, shirts, man you name it. They have it. Every fucking decade.

• The band tees are by far your favourite thing to run around with. Paul has a shit ton of Môtley Crüe tees, and Dwayne has so many shirts with The Doors on them. (Jim’s face is literally everywhere in the cave now. They sure as hell ain’t Christians, so if they’re selling their souls to anyone it’s the horned god below or their icon Jim Morrison.)

• They did let you away with wearing their old band tees until Marko told the boys about EBay.

When Paul found out a vintage Mötley Crüe tour shirt was going for over a grand, the mf was ecstatic..

So much so, he decided to put his own vintage Mötley tees up for bidding.

“Two thousand… three thousand.. FOUR THOUSAND… FIVE THOUSAND FUCKING DOLLARS!!!”

Poor Paul’s bubble was burst however when David told him there was absolutely nothing they could do with the money aside from unlimited Chinese food for the next few months.

• David’s old clothes are much different from what the others have. He was the first to be turned, therefore he’s lived throughout the most eras.

• He’s got a LOT of leather jackets and trenchcoats. Paul and Marko always joke about him being Jack the Ripper, but you see a different side to his style. There’s been many nights you actually sat down with him and asked where he’d gotten the majority of his old items. Some were by Spanish designers that had been gifts from Max whenever he’d provided David with different clothing, others were from when David had fed off multiple store owners and casually picked out what he fancied afterwards.

• It saddens you that he doesn’t wear any of these anymore. The only reminder he ever gets of them is when you put on the soft wool Trenchcoats that go right down to your ankles, almost looking like a cape. Marko makes mini conspiracy theories that maybe you’re the real Dracula.

• Dwayne’s load of clothes is FILLED with leopard print designs. He’s been a 70s boy even all these years later, and he misses that era so dearly.

• There’s this one satin leopard print shirt that actually fits you quite well in his eyes. It’s still a little baggy.. yet oddly attractive to him. You’ve claimed it as your own now, wearing it like a pj set.

• Aside from the satin shirt, literally nothing else Dwayne has fits you. He’s a muscular guy.. and a vampire. So trying to get his baggy ass clothes to even have a slight loose fit is not for the weak 😭

• Marko however, this is where the real fun begins. You can borrow anything from Marko.. ANYTHING.. and it’s guaranteed to fit.

• He was a big crop top collector. When he used to find a good shirt that wasn’t cropped however, he’d cut it up and make it into a crop top himself. And these are what he adores you wearing. They cling nicely to your curved body, and whenever you wear them you can never get both Paul and Marko to stop staring at your breasts. Assholes.

• Marko’s clothes are by far your favourite pieces out all the boys. Much like the crop tops, he really enjoyed designing all his other outfits when he wore them. And he was pretty damn good at it too. Marko can be a crafty little thing when he wants to be. He’ll even help you design your own outfits too! He’ll cut, sew, stitch, glue, draw, paint, anything you want Marko to design, he’s down. He took so much pride in his unique outfits back in the day. And if you want yours spiced up, Marko’s your man.

• You wear his old belts a lot. One time, you were rummaging through the boys’ old stuff again, and immediately fell in love with this black latex belt Marko had. He’d drawn on perfectly shaped skulls with a white acrylic pen, and added different studs around the buckle. Ever since that day, Marko pretty much customises everything you own now.

FIRST TIME WRITING FOR THE LOST BOYS!! hope you all enjoyed these headcanons and my requests are open for any lost boys related ideas you may have!! <33

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amasterpieceofmadness · 1 year ago

Text

museum – bucky b.

parings Bucky Barnes x reader

summary Bucky and you visit the museum as it won’t stop raining. As you are looking through the exhibition you stumble across an old picture of him and Steve…

warnings established relationship, mentions of Bucky’s past, fluff

word count 1k

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“I want to go to the history exhibition first” You announce as you take a close look at the museum plan.

Bucky just nods, giving you a soft smile “Sure, whatever you want, doll”

It’s been raining for 3 days and it’s getting really boring in the compound with not much to do there. So, Bucky had the idea to spend a day at the museum. And this is where you two are right now. You walk through the halls together, looking around curiously. The exhibition is impressive and Bucky’s hand rests at the small of your back as you look through the displayed items together.

As you enter the next room you find yourselves in an exhibition of World War 2. You take a look at Bucky, who is already looking around a bit stunned and speechless. “We can skip it, if you want” You suggest but Bucky quickly shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine. Don’t worry, doll” he shoots you one of his handsome smiles and you return it as you both start to roam through the exhibit.

You are looking through some old medals and pictures displayed. As you are searching for Bucky you can find him in front of a showcase, so, you step closer to get a better look. “Is that…?”

“Yes,” Bucky nods “it is.” You are looking at the old uniform of none other than Captain America. It’s pretty different from the tactical suit Steve wears nowadays on missions. The one from back then is more like a suit for theatre, which is not surprising considering what he had to do at that time. The suit looks worn out a bit, the red and white stripes still bright though.

This part of the exhibition shows the life of Steve Rogers back than as a national hero. As you continue to admire the uniform Bucky looks around. He comes to a stop in front of a wall full of old letters and pictures. You come closer too and notice his changed expression. He looks deep in thought, a bit nostalgic and wistful even. He is looking at an old picture of young Steve right before going to war. Next to him is a young man with short dark hair, wearing the same military uniform as Steve.

“Is that… you?” You ask in utter disbelief. Bucky doesn’t respond, only gives you a short nod. He can’t tear his eyes away from this picture. Under it is a short description, quoting “Steven Rogers and his friend James Barnes, one day before departure, 1943. It is the last picture of James Barnes before his death 3 days later”. To say you are shocked is an understatement. Of course, for the world this soldier was just a number, lucky enough to be friends with Americas national hero, who died 70 years ago.

But he is still here, right next to you. You cannot believe that this is a picture of young Bucky. He must be around 26 years old on it. And even though you can see in his eyes that he has been through a lot since then, he still has the same cute smile. A wave of emotions rushes over you as you continue to look at this picture and the description. Their life was so differently, and yet, somehow they both ended up in a reality that shouldn’t exist for the both of them. And you don’t even want to imagine what they had to endure over all this time.

Your breathing starts to get shaky and tears dwell in your eyes. You then feel a hand on your shoulder, comforting you. It’s Bucky. He is no longer looking at the picture, his eyes are focused solely on you. There’s concern in his face. “What’s wrong, doll?”

You simply shake my head, taking a deep breath. You shouldn’t be the one who needs comfort right now. Instead, you should be the one who comforts him, as this is for sure not easy for Bucky. “Nothing” You give him a forced smile.

Bucky tilts his head, not believing you. “Don’t dwell on the past. I’m still here” He whispers the last part and pulls you into a soft hug. Your arms wrap around him immediately and you burry your head into the crook of his neck. “I’m still here…” He repeats his words, talking more to himself than to you, which shows just how much he is dwelling on the past right now, even though he tells you not to.

Before you pull apart Bucky presses a soft kiss to your forehead and looks into your eyes, still concerned. “Everything okay, doll?”

You nod and peck his lips with yours quickly. “Yes, how about you?”

His smile grows a bit. “Of course. If all those things didn’t happen, I wouldn’t be here with you now”

His words make you smile as well, and he takes your hand softly in his before you walk out of the exhibition together, taking one last look at the picture. You spend the whole evening sitting on the couch together in the compound, Bucky talking about his life before war, before Hydra, and you listen closely to every single detail. And even though not all memories are good ones, his infamous smirk returns to his lips every now and then.

A/N Here is my complete masterlist with all the ff, imagines, oneshots, smut and whatever. Check it out and leave a like :)

#mcu bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes ff #bucky barnes fluff #winter soldier #captain america #mcu imagine #40s bucky barnes #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #marvel x reader

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scientia-rex · 9 months ago

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I got home from work today sneezing my head off with a right eye that won’t stop watering, took a hot shower, climbed into bed, and I haven’t climbed out since. I’m grumpy and I have a headache and if I’m not testing positive for COVID or debilitated by symptoms tomorrow I’ll still need to go to work because that’s twenty patient visits that would need to be rescheduled, usually with someone else, and that’s twenty people I’m letting down. Today I did one of my patented 45-second Pap smears (if it takes longer than that, your doctor needs to get better!) for someone with vaginal atrophy from menopause (it is both very common and very treatable) and she was in disbelief. (This time it was more like 30 seconds.) I saw a suicidally depressed patient who’s clinging to life with both hands and I changed their meds last week and I am not making them wait to see me. I cleaned a wound no one else gave a shit about and I saw a bitter pissy Republican Party bigwig who has terrible anxiety and depression she doesn’t tell anyone about, who’s alienated everyone but who I can still convince to try treatment.

I do my job on hard mode on purpose. I like being important—who doesn’t? I like being legendary, I like that when people move to town and ask for doctor recommendations on Facebook so many people mention me that other patients feel compelled to tell me about it. I got nominated for best doctor in our local region last year. (I didn’t win, out of 5 nominees.) But when I’m sick, when I’m the kind of sick that can be hidden easily, the kind of sick I was always expected to go to school and rotations and residency with, it’s so hard. I hate exposing patients, even to a cold, but the benefits of receiving care are probably enough to outweigh the chance of transmission. I wrestle with myself: if I call in, it starts a ripple effect. Can they get a per diem from their “pool” (of three) to come in? Can they reschedule my patients with me? I don’t have any open spots for five weeks. Can they open same days? None available for three weeks. Can they open blocked spots? That’s going to make my life hell when I come back from being sick. That’s clinic staff calling twenty patients, trying to reach them. That’s twenty patients who feel abandoned. They can know intellectually that doctors get sick too, but they don’t believe it. They take it personally. I have seen this over and over again, until I had to believe it.

It is so EASY for people who don’t do this job to tell me how I’m doing it wrong. “Just stay home!” Oh, okay, you want to tell the person whose chronic opioids I’m supposed to write for that I can’t? You want to put the nurses through getting the on-call to write a bridge prescription? I write more ADHD meds than most of my peers—usually a lot more. You want to tell my colleagues to write meds they’re uncomfortable with? How about tell my suicidal patients (which is a lot of them!) that the provider they know and trust after months or years will be replaced today by a 70-year-old white man who still thinks they should pull themselves up by their bootstraps? Tell my queer patients that they have to wait until I’m better and back to get their hormones and their STI screenings, reschedule a Pap someone was dreading. Every day is a kaleidoscope of opportunities to make a real connection with “difficult” patients. I’m good at it. I may be the best at it at my clinic.

I don’t hate calling in sick just because the clinic manager is a judgy bitch, though that doesn’t help. I hate it because of what it does to my patients. And it’s not simple. Pretending it is does all of us a disservice. I am not a widget. I am not easily replaceable. You can’t plug any of our per diems (all men, 2/3 white, 2/3 old, 1/3 a Bitcoin bro) into my place and call it an equivalent, and my schedule is already so packed that if I call in sick, patients will be guilt-tripping me about it for months. I’m not kidding. That happens every single time.

Christ alive, I wish it was true that doctors never got sick.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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paper-starz · 2 years ago

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WELCOME HOME THEORIES(+ Observations)

I CANNOT BELIEVE IT

after so many hours, days, months.... ITS BACK!

And now, after careful observations, I present to you fine fellows a few theories and observations. THIS WILL BE VERY LONG AND IT WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE UPDATE!!

OK to start off, lets debunk a theory thats been bugging me: THE WELCOME HOME NEIGHBORS ARE DEAD THEORY!

yeah.... has been debunked. Look no further than the guestbook! PG 2 SPECIFICALLY!

Image reads: idonotknowwhatclownis_iaskedfrank_hesaidbarnaby_hereisbarnaby.png

So, Wally was able to ask Frank what a clown was during the time of this ask, therefore, none of the puppets are dead (yet)

"But Paperstar!" I hear you cry. "The neighborhood descriptions were in past tense, while Wally's and Home's neighborhood descriptions were in present tense!"

And for that, I have a simple answer: The puppets aren't aware. Since they aren't aware, they still think that they are living during the 70s. To us, the 70s have already past! And since Wally and Home are aware that they aren't living in the 70s anymore, they use present tense. NOW ONTO THEORY NUMBER 1

THE RED BOOKS THEORY

As we all know, when we look into the website, doodles (presumably made by Wally) are littering the website and sending us into secret links!

While these doodles are fun, creepy, and cool to look at... have we ever stopped and wondered how exactly Wally is doodling onto the website?

By doodling onto a book.

Throughout the website, we see few instances of Wally doodling. Where was he doodling on specifically?

On a red book. But I can take it FURTHER.

I believe the book that Wally is doodling on is THIS ONE

A RED BOOK WITH SWIRLS AND AN EYE.

All 3 things connected to Wally. (Lord knows Wally loves drawing swirls and eyes, especially in this update) "But PAPER!!!" I hear you scream. "THIS BOOK IS IN REALITY! HOW CAN WALLY GET THIS BOOK IF HE'S STUCK IN WELCOME HOME?" Ah, patience, dear viewer! This is called the Red BOOKS theory, not the Red BOOK theory. It's simple, there's two books, one in Welcome Home, and one IRL. As above, so below

Whatever happens above, also happens below!

And it seems like the Question Answerer is in possession of this book as well.

Which brings me to my next theory!

THERE ARE TWO PEOPLE HACKING INTO THE WEBSITE

Specifically Wally (pretty much confirmed) and the Question Answerer.

If the Red Books theory is (hypothetically) true then the IRL book SHOULD be able to doodle onto the site as well! But how do we know this?

Pay close attention to these doodles of Barnaby. Notice one that's... Different from the others?

YES YOU ARE CORRECT, VIEWER! THE RIGHT ONE IS DIFFERENT!

As you see, the right one is scraggly, rushed, not coloring in the lines at all!

BUT WAIT THERES MORE!

Yeah, so it appears to me that Wally draws neater, while the 2nd doodler seems to draw messier and they don't even color the full drawing in most of the time! (For all I know this info could be vice versa. With Wally being the messier drawer and the 2nd doodler being neater.) BUTTTTTT IF YOU WEREN'T CONVINCED OF THESE DOODLES, I HAVE MORE EVIDENCE TO PROVE MY THEORY OF TOO DOODLERS

WALLY CANONICALLY CANNOT DRAW HEARTS (<- Click for proof)

And yet, there are hearts littered not only in the Guest Book page, but all across the website as well. And unless Eddie is helping Wally draw hearts every time he needs to draw one, then I doubt that Wally is the one doodling these hearts.

And for the last piece of evidence saying that there IS a second person, look no further than the HANDWRITING.

Say it with me kids! "One of these things is not like the other!"

ITS THE MIDDLE ONE! YES THE MIDDLE "hello"

It's all lowercase, while Wally usually writes in all UPPERCASE, and in red.

Even his signature supports this statement as well!

Therefore, dear viewers, I believe we need to pay closer attention to the doodles. Who is the one ACTUALLY writing to us?

#welcome home #wally darling #welcome home wally #theory #OH AND EXPECT ANOTHER ONE COMING TOO #DONT GET ME STARTED ON HOME #welcome home home

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izvmimi · 9 months ago

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HOW SELECTIVE IS YOUR 2D FAVE ROSTER? (updated for 2024)

Fandom is so exciting! It’s a blessing to be part of fandom and to get to simp for your faves with other people who share similar lists, especially since there are so many to pick from!

Seeing your list of faves lengthen, shorten and develop over time is exciting, but when was the last time you really looked at your list and decided how much of it is truly based on your interest, or if you’re just a victim of the dash?

Just how basic are you? Are you a flavor of the month type or is there a healthy amount of diversity? Are you selective?

This game is easy. I’ll give you a bunch of fandoms, and you’ll simply tally how many you get at the end. There are some special conditions at the end, so make sure you read to the very bottom if you play!

I recommend you be familiar with at least 4 of these fandoms to play! The fandoms mentioned are BNHA, JJK, HQ, Tokyo Revengers, Blue Lock, Demon Slayer, AOT, One Piece, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Naruto, Hunter x Hunter and a few others.

Tag your friends and please don’t take it too seriously!

(^^ and I mean this last part, please do not take this too seriously, it's for fun! Nobody is judging you and if your score is high, it's really just because you have a lot of love to give, I'm literally just teasing!)

BNHA

Bakugou - 4

Deku - 2

Todoroki - 3

Shinsou - 3

Dabi - 3

Aizawa - 2

Hawks - 2

Shigaraki - 2

Mirio - 1

Denki - 2

Sero - 1

JJK

Gojo - 5

Yuuji - 4

Sukuna - 4

Nanami - 5

Toji - 3

Getou - 3

Yuuta - 3

Choso - 3

Megumi - 1

HAIKYUU

Kuroo - 4

Atsumu - 3

Ushijima - 3

Bokuto - 2

Iwa - 2

Daichi - 2

Osamu - 2

Kita - 1

TOKYO REVENGERS

Mikey - 3

Baji - 3

Draken - 3

Ran - 3

Chifuyu - 2

Sanzu - 2

BLUE LOCK

Either of the Itoshi brothers - 10

Nagi - 3

Michael Kaiser - 2

Kunigami - 2

Barou - 2

Bachira- 2

Reo - 1

Chigiri - 1

Isagi - 1

DEMON SLAYER

Sanemi - 4

Tengen - 3

Rengoku - 3

Akaza - 2

Tanjiro - 2

AOT

Levi - 4

Eren - 3

Jean - 2

Reiner - 2

Connie - 2

ONE PIECE

Zoro - 4

Law - 3

GENSHIN IMPACT

Childe - 5

Diluc - 4

Neuvillette - 4

Wriothesley - 4

Zhongli - 3

Xiao - 3

Itto - 2

HONKAI STAR RAIL

Jing Yuan - 5

Aventurine - 5

Dan Heng - 4

Dr. Ratio - 3

Blade - 3

Sampo - 3

NARUTO

Kakashi - 4

Sasuke - 3

Itachi - 3

Obito - 2

Madara - 2

Gaara - 2

Any other Akatsuki member - 1

HXH

Hisoka - 4

Chrollo - 2

Illumi - 2

MISCELLANEOUS

Dazai (Bungou Stray Dogs) - 3

Ichigo (Bleach) - 3

Aki (CSM) - 3

Vash (Trigun) - 2

Wolfwood (Trigun) - 2

Knives (Trigun) - 2

Aomine (Kuroko no Basuke) - 2

Kagami (Kuroko no Basuke) - 2

Kyo Sohma (Fruits Basket) - 2

Literally anyone from Fire Force - 3

Special considerations:

If you have more than 5 faves with the same hair color, add 10 points.

If you like more than 5 blonds specifically, add 10 points and seek help. If one of them is Bakugou, add 15 instead of 10.

If you have more than 10 faves (even if they’re not mentioned on this list), add 20 points to your score.

If you liked both Atsumu and Osamu, add 3 points.

If you polyship with Gojo and Geto, add 10 points.

If you polyship with Bakugou and Deku or Bakugou and Kirishima, add 5 points.

If you liked both Kakashi and Gojo, add 5 points.

If you stopped talking about Nanami after he died on air, add 5 points.

If you like Gojo but have at least 4 additional ships, add 5 points.

If you like Zhongli, Childe and Diluc at the same time, add 5 points.

If you like anyone from Date Tech, subtract 5 points.

If you liked one person from every category, add 5 points.

If you liked greater than five characters from one category, add 5 points.

If you’ve watched Haikyuu and simped for none of those people, subtract ten points. I’m so proud of you.

If you pick any three people with a 4 or above ranking, get help..

If you only like Gojo, get help.

SCORING:

< 10: What is it like only liking side characters?

11 - 30: This is healthy. Here is good.

31 - 50: I mean you’re a little basic but like this is fine. I’m proud of you.

51 - 70: I mean, it’s nice to be selective once in a while. Consider it.

70-100: Hm.

100+ : You alright there? My inbox is open. I am here for you.

#mimi plays #selfship selectivity #mimi polls #<- although this isn't really a poll #maybe i'll add a poll afterwards #header credit cafekitsune!!!

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aestariiwilderness · 9 months ago

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Bad Batch Season 3 Episode 15 Spoilers

Finale-Inspired Scenario

I know it was very touching and all with Hunter's "if you need us [Omega], we'll be there". I was Touched™. But all I could think of then was this scenario: Omega: mysterious badass pilot in the Rebellion from any outsider POV. Strange mildly Force-sensitive, very young woman with very extensive, if unorthodox military experience. Animals follow her around. May or may not be a pirate. Has devoted mildly Force-sensitive friends who appear to consider her their leader. Has very odd contacts in very odd places. Weirdly naive about a lot of things (dirt continues to fascinate her) but terrifyingly experienced with others (cloning, mind-wiping, sentient experimentation, etc.). Can fix anything. Has a weird grudge against Saw Gerrera (but who doesn't?). Escape artist who overflows with compassion at the MOST INCONVENIENT times but will also absolutely stab a bitch with no compunction and watch him fall to his death riddled with blaster holes. Never speaks of her origins, history, or family. The famous Captain Rex knows her personally. Senator Chuchi hugs her. Captain Hera Syndulla has apparently known her since childhood. Other pilots and members of the Rebellion are fascinated by this mystery. They place bets on her past -- former Jedi Padawan is currently leading the pool, with "amnesiac formerly brainwashed Imperial child soldier or Emperor's Hand" trailing not far behind. And then. Oh no! Mysterious badass pilot Omega is in a bind. Trapped somewhere behind enemy lines. The Rebellion is collectively in despair, dithering about whether they can spare a "suicide mission" to get her. And then. Multiple (three or four, depending on whether Echo retired to Pabu :D) oddly similar geriatric hippies with scars, facial tattoos, and a tamed lurca hound apparate into their council room. One of them has a toothpick. He has no teeth left, but he is somehow still chewing it disdainfully. Another has one eye and appears to be 1. made of durasteel and 2. has a hard time fitting in the council room. The shortest one has a Ponytail with a capital P, seems to be cosplaying as Moses, and refuses to listen to anyone. They have an incomprehensible system of numbered plans that correspond to no military system anyone has ever seen. They spend 70 percent of the twenty minutes they are on base arguing with each other and ignoring absolutely everyone else. Rex gets a pat on the shoulder. A middle-aged pirate is their getaway driver. The hound will not stop chewing Important Wires. No one has any idea what they want. People only start to get a clue when they yeet themselves at the planet Omega is trapped on and disappear as quickly as they came. There are multiple explosions, screaming, and what sounds suspiciously like a fusion generator overloading catastrophically over an open comm before it is abruptly cut off. The Rebellion gives them up for dead even though Rex, Syndulla, and Chuchi seem oddly unconcerned. Cut to three weeks of radio silence later. There is an unauthorized landing. The code is very old, the signature masked, and it blasts through their security measures like it doesn't exist. A very beat-up ship trailing smoke and parts coasts in to the hangar bay over the protests of the landing crews. Geriatric Hippies Numbers 2 and 3 spill out in a flood of more smoke, completely untouched and looking mildly irritated instead of suffocated. 3 has two stumps and no hands now. He does not appear concerned about this. Somehow, he is still gumming the toothpick. The getaway pilot/pirate is yammering on about where she can (steal?? borrow? liberate?? what?) some upper class robotic hands for him. Geriatric Hippie Moses emerges next. The lurca hound beside him is trailing what looks suspiciously like stormtrooper armor from the corner of her jaws. Badass Pilot Omega, none the worse for wear, is thrown over Hippie Moses' shoulders fireman-carry style, complaining loudly and vociferously that she is NOT A KID and does NOT NEED TO BE CARRIED and YOU KNOW HOW YOUR BACK GETS, HUNTER, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW --

Omega is summarily deposited in front of Rex with several squinty, semi-threatening looks that he cheerfully ignores. They leave -- without bothering to repair their ship, it is absolutely still on fire -- with a lot of meaningful silences, back-slapping, hair fussing, armor-tightening, you-forgot-this and did-you-take-your-kit and do-you-have-the-grenades-I-made-you and are-you-drinking-enough and don't-forget-to-comm-home.

A brave technician who had nothing to do with any of this dares to inquire about the injuries, the second missing hand, and the, uh, wreck they're driving. They are summarily sneered at, called a "reg" in the most scathing tones possible, threatened with dire death should Omega come to any harm, and left standing on the landing pad.

Rex is pinching the bridge of his nose and doing Lamaze breathing. Syndulla is trying not to laugh. Chuchi just looks fond; Omega just looks sheepish.

The entire Rebellion: ....what was that

Omega, sighing deeply: ...my younger brothers

The ghost of Rampart in the background: I HATE CLONES Bonus points if Jedi Knight "Kanan Jarrus" aka Caleb Dume happens to be strolling past the hangar bay just in time to see Geriatric Hippie #3 ("Toothpicked, Toothless, and Handless") and Geriatric Hippie #1 ("Skullface Moses"), screams piercingly, and Force-levitates himself to the base roof. It takes both Hera and Ahsoka to get him down three hours later

#star wars #bad batch season 3 #the bad batch #funny #tbb season 3 spoilers #bad batch season 3 spoilers #spoilers #the bad batch season 3 spoilers #tbb crosshair #tbb omega #tbb echo #tbb hunter #tbb wrecker #captain rex #the rebellion #tbb phee #phee genoa #mywildernesspost

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gaiathemexicanbeauty · 1 year ago

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it only takes a taste | mike schmidt x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none! this is just pure fluff and maybe kind of slowburnish lol

this was loosely based off of it only takes a taste from the waitress musical! :3

idk i just really like the idea of late nights with mike even if he's too tired to even think straight lmao

also don't ask what time period this takes place in, i was born in 2004 and know like 2 things about the 70s-90s or whenever the movie takes place bc its never explicitly mentioned

i also do not regularly bake or cook so do not be afraid to go to my comment section and tell me if something sounds off

i love this man ok, i have said it 1000 times already but i've been in love with him ever since i first saw him when i was like 12 or 13 and was even more so obsessed with rebornica's mike design for YEARS. 12 year old me would have an aneurism if she knew about the fnaf movie

you let out a long yawn, one hand reaching up cover your mouth so as not to potentially ruin the mood of any customers around; granted, there was only two and they were graveyard shifters from somewhere outside of town but customers are customers. you'd been working at sparky's for a couple of months now, figuring it was an easy way to make some cash and keep food on the table. of course, you hadn't accounted for the very long hours that passed where you half debated trying to sneak away since no was around from 2-4:00 am: your boss would kill you, though, and you wanted to stay employed.

soft oldies music plays in the background as you glance over at the clock ticking away on the wall. just as you move to grab a rag to clean the counters for the 5th time during your shift, you hear the bell above the entrance jingle and don't even have to look up to know who it is.

mike wasn't a regular at first, just someone who popped in at random and very quietly asked for a coffee. after a while of starting a new job, he started coming in at almost 11:00 pm everyday and always asking for the same thing: just a plain, black coffee. "seriously?" you had said with a smirk the first time he said his order to you, your eyes widening at the attitude you had just given a customer. fortunately, mike was quick to respond with a tired but good natured laugh, his hands folded in front of him. "i'm all ears if you have other recommendations." he mumbled with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, giving you instant relief.

now, it was just clockwork. "hey." mike sighs with a soft sigh, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he takes a seat at a chair by the counter you were standing behind. "coffee machine is kind of acting up tonight, you're gonna have to give it a minute. want anything else while you wait?" you say as you approach the counter, giving him a quick smile. mike is about to decline your offer, his lips parting to say something before his eyes land on something on the farther end of the counter. "what about that? still good?" "you're just in time. i was going to take the rest of it home." you say with a smile, walking over to the cake stand holding an apple pie with only 3 slices left of it. you take the lid off to plate it, handing it over to mike with a hum before bringing him utensils. you don't even get the chance to bring up to him that the slices have been sitting there for a couple of hours, blinking in shock at the way he's quick to start eating.

you turn your back to start taking down the chalkboard advertising the special from the day before, giving mike his one moment of quiet you were sure he needed. you start to think about what your day will consist of once you're done with your shift, dreading having to clean your room before you can actually sleep. "did you make this?" "yeah. why, is it bad?" you say with a chuckle, turning to look at mike again; your eyes widen a bit at the way mike is looking at you, his own eyes looking at you like he can't believe what he just put it in his mouth. "no, no, it's..it's really good, like. really good." your cheeks redden a bit at the sudden compliment, pushing a piece of hair behind your ear as you occasionally glance at him enjoying the pie you'd made; you wouldn't say you were amazing at cooking but you definitely knew enough to make a meal that would do more than just feed you.

it also didn't help that you'd been harboring a crush on mike for the past month. that you were aware of, he didn't have a partner of any kind but that might have been more to do with the fact he didn't have time for one than anything else. you at first brushed it off as just not having contact with anyone your age that late at night, just enjoying his company when nights got lonely. but you couldn't deny the way you would style your hair a bit differently or try a new perfume in the hopes of getting a compliment from mike; to your absolute pleasure, he almost always pointed it out. now to hear this sudden praise for your cooking took you out of your element.

"thanks, really, but i make it all the time. i can make thousands like it and they'll all be the same." you say with a light chuckle, crossing your arms against your chest as you look over at the cake stand sheepishly. "then maybe you should consider getting a day job making these instead." mike says between bites, giving you a playful smile. you can't help but scoff despite the smile on your face, looking over at mike again. "well, if it's that easy, maybe YOU should quit your job and come and join me. keep me company." the two of you have a quiet laugh, your cheeks reddening at the indirect compliment you had paid him. once his plate is empty, you take it away from him just to have an excuse to do something with your hands (also to get away from the almost fond look that mike was giving you right now, definitely not on par for him). there's a tense silence between the two of you before mike speaks up, clearing his throat when he speaks. "uh, i tried making that at home. the pie, i mean. i don't remember what kind it was right now, but it definitely didn't end as well as that." he says with a nervous laugh, hands folded in front of him again as you hear the coffee machine start to pour out his drink.

"well, what exactly did you do wrong?" with surprisingly no hesitance, mike goes on to tell the story of how sure he was about this recipe he'd seen in a catalogue, going above and beyond to make sure this "stupid thing" (his words) came out right. little did he know leaving his creation unattended for even a second would result in smoke pouring out of the oven and having to throw out a charred-black pastry; "and then abby went and acted like we could just go and do it all over again and.." mike starts, hands waving around uncharacteristically as he finished off his story. he caught the way you were trying to hold back a laugh, fingers pressed to your lips that were etched into a small smile. "it's ok, you can laugh all you want. i never tried doing it again." you can't help the laugh that leaves you once he gives you his full permission, still trying to keep your voice down. "i-i'm sorry, really.." you giggle once you've calmed down, rubbing your hands over your face before you start to walk around the counter to where mike is sitting. "but that's not how making a pie works. you can't just leave it like that or give up on the process that easily."

mike makes a face that says 'i'm listening', shrugging his shoulders when you sit on the stool next to him. "making a pie is like.." you start with a sigh, hands propping up your chin in thought as you look up at the clock. "you just know when some things feel right. if something is too much or too little, whether you need to start again or not. lord knows i've had to redo entire pies because the crust wasn't flaky enough or the filling didn't taste like apples enough." you say, chuckling a bit as you remember all the times you'd slaved away for almost entire days trying to nail down the perfect home recipe. you take a minute to think again, sitting back a bit as you smooth down your apron tied around your waist. "and it also doesn't help if you make something just to make something. when you bake or just cook a plain old steak, you have to make it like you're crafting a story or making a song. all of my best meals were made with someone or something in mind."

your cheeks go red again when you realize the very unprompted ramble you went on, a nervous laugh leaving you as you look down at your lap. "sorry, you totally don't have to-" "no, no, i-" the two of you jump a bit at the way you both try to speak first, sheepish smiles tugging at your lips before you go quiet again. the bell above the door jingles and you don't have to look up to know the two of you are alone now. "i like hearing about that sort of stuff. i really only hear about it when i'm here with you and it's..nice. different." your heart soars and you can only hope that mike can't somehow feel or hear it, trying to give him a warm smile without saying something you'll regret. you get up from your seat with a when he checks his watch, knowing that's code for 'i need to go' even before he stands. you're almost sure he'll leave without saying anything which you are simultaneously grateful for and hoped he wouldn't do, already busying yourself with some other menial task. "hey."

you look up almost as soon as he speaks, seeing the smile tugging at his lips and not able to contain your own. "save those leftovers for me. i hope it still tastes like you were trying to make it for me when i get back." he says, a smug look in his eyes as your lips part a bit in shock. you try to call out to him before he jogs out to his car, taking off accordingly.

-> ta da its done! :D <-

this was honestly less romantic than i wanted it to be but i promise that my brain is racked with thoughts of him literally EVERY DAY so mayhaps i can write something else that's more up to par one of these days

but thank yall for reading! :D i haven't been able to pump out a oneshot like this for a while and it felt good to write something longer than a couple of paragraphs, i have missed this account sm 🐺💗 love yall and i hope that you all are having a fantastic day!

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf #oneshot #x reader #fnaf movie #five nights at freddy's #josh hutcherson #michael schmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf x you

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sonic-oc-showdown · 1 year ago

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ROUND 2

Coke belongs to @lunapegasus

Zenyx belongs to @grimsdeadb0nes

Find out more about them below!

Cocaine "Coke" the Bear:

Cocaine the Bear, formerly known as Cain, grew up with parents who were crippling addicts and after seeing what drugs did to them he vowed to make a difference. When he was old enough he became the president of the D.A.R.E. program and inspired others to stay away from drugs. …But then one day, he found himself lost and hungry in the woods with little chance of survival. That is until he came across a large duffel bag of "sugar", desperate and delusional he ate all 70+ pounds of it. And he's never been the same since.

Zenyx:

Zenyx is a(n Offcolor) Zeti hailing from the Lost Hex, hidden from the eyes of all but a small handful for her own safety.

Described as exceedingly versatile and a fairly composed wild-card, she acts as The Deadly Six's secret Seventh member! The full extent of her outwardly behaviors is dependant on who she may be around or the situation at hand. She can be quite sweet and very caring to those she likes or is loyal to (which is a very limited list), but can otherwise be just as malicious as the rest of her Pack tend to be towards outsiders. However, unlike the other six, she won't always go out of her way to cause harm or misery UNLESS given proper reason to or provoked. She can be alittle hissy at times, but she's not inherently hot-headed like some; she just doesnt like her buttons being pushed or being lied to- or worse yet, her Pack being messed with.

Zenyx is extremely loyal to the Six and may be described as "caring alittle too much", as she enjoys keeping an eye on/spending time with each and every one if possible and making sure they're okay. She's very keen on stealth and being observant, a quick thinker that thinks ahead, and maybe a slight bit of a people pleaser towards certain individuals- but she isn't afraid to give her two cents either and often lacks a filter at times, offering a touch of sass and attitude. She can be very performative (to an extent) and likes trying to make things fun, being ultimately much more (surprisingly) pleasant than the rest of the Six.

In my Lost World Rewrite (currently still being worked on as of this Poll, yet to be properly revealed!), she is the main inclusion-difference and is by all means another rough obstacle for Sonic and Tails to get through. She managed to remain hidden while the rest of the Six were "conquered" by Eggman for a time, staying out of sight and scheming or helping behind the scenes- as well as working on a way to aid in their freedom before Sonic inevitably kicked the Cacophonic Conch from Eggman's grasp, speeding up that plan tenfold. Eggman was none the wiser to her existence until much later in the story, even going as far as aggressively denying the existence of a seventh in the stretch of area he had taken over when asked about it by Tails, because "If there was, I would have conquered them too!" or something.

She appears in much further stuff planned but thats all hush hush rn ;3!

#socs 2 poll #socs 2 round 2 #socs 2: coke #socs 2: zenyx

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olympiansowl · 4 months ago

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There’s a thing I’m DYING to get out of my chest! I love the series, I love the characters, but like…they’re changing all of the plots, but probably won’t change the one that, at this point, I know that a lot of people want to change.

1 - Let’s start with Galadriel. We have the appendix and all, and it’s stated on it that she, Celeborn and Celebrian were at Eregion at the time that fake treacherous blondie called Annatar was. They changed at least 70% of her plot to fit the “when the sun sets we are both the same” agenda with Sauron. I like that they got on a different way, don’t get me wrong, and I also love the dynamic of “light and darkness” but it’s really unfair when we think that they take some (a lot) liberties to this plot, that is literally ALL done on the appendix, but they don’t change other things.

2 - King Durin…that man was supposed to die on third age. THIRD. And the Balrog should’ve happened later and in Moria…so they can decide to kill off a character and make him appear on an age that he isn’t even part of, but they cannot change the fate of a character whose death isn’t even mentioned on the appendix? Be so for real.

3 - I mean, everyone knew it was Gandalf. I knew it was him from the moment I saw his hair. The thing is, they took another liberty and made a whole plot to a character that want supposed to be there, but they cannot change that specific plot that I will talk about soon?

4 - Numenor. Pharazon. THE FAITHFUL. Now I want y’all to see it because they made Pharazon’s plot be like “I’m gonna mix his plot with his father’s plot, with Atanamir’s plot and Adunakhor’s plot and I’m gonna put a bit of his grandfather there, too” and it’s annoying because things are happening too fast in Numenor. I have the impression that all of it happened in a month, which is different from other plots that seem to be longer. In a few days that man has buried his uncle, usurped his cousin, traumatized his son, almost killed off his cousin’s boyfriend, almost killed off his cousin, trapped her into HER FATHER’S OLD PRISON/ROOM, made all of the faithfuls go through hell, imprisoned her or made her bow to him and now he’s on his way to make everything Miriel made in season one, but with the “I’m evil af” difference. Like, she was usurped for this and they are “omg Pharazon you’re such a baddie 🤪🥰”

5 - The timeline in Numenor! I don’t get why they made some choices, but like, if the faithful were already kinda apart from the society, why didn’t they make the exile before? The exile and a lot of those things happens waaayyy before the series and they could’ve stuck to it since it’s on the appendix. I’m gonna be adamant about the appendix, y’all better not even mention the Silmarillion to me bc those two men said they had the right to four books and four books only…and none of them are the Silmarillion. So they should stick to at least some of the things that are stated on it. I’m not a book purist, I am only stating that’s really unfair that they made all of this changes to characters and plots, but won’t change something like the destiny of a character who is only mentioned twice and I can ASSURE you guys that her death isn’t mentioned on the books they have the rights to.

6 - They are making everything twice and that’s pissing me off too because I don’t know what to expect next. Sauron went twice to Eregion, might go twice to Numenor, might become this fog or whatever tf that thing was twice, Galadriel almost got him twice, the orcs might leave him twice, all of the leaders are saying shit like “my place is here” instead of fucking getting away from those doomed places. Everything is being recycled to other plots. Isildur not getting the girl and having to leave her because of Kemen…his father having to leave his girl because of Pharazon…it’s getting a little bit too much parallels and not much different things.

7 - Earien, Kemen and some scenes we should have. I don’t really like Earien, I hate Kemen, but like…he killed her friend and she doesn’t know about it? We didn’t get a scene of her mentioning Valandil after his death and we also cannot actually draw the line of where she stands. She witnessed kind of a miracle with Miriel and seemed far more gentle with her on the sea trial thing. She’s also helping her father get out of this alive. But where does she stands? She isn’t a faithful, ofc, but she’s isn’t a corrupted thing like Pharazon and Kemen either. The thing is, she helps both sides at a point after royally fucking everything up. They literally made her be one of the main responsible to Miriel’s destiny and like…will she ever feel bad for it? And don’t tell me she isn’t responsible bc that girl decided to help usurp the queen, ignored what the late king said about faith, took the palantiri and gave it to Pharazon, who now used it to accuse Miriel of siding with Sauron…which caused “omg I just had this brilliant idea” to pop on Pharazon’s mind and now the faithful are being imprisoned or exiled. Yeah, she has daddy issues and so does Isildur and Anarion and none of them are ou there usurping Queens and helping the devil. Y’all also better not start with me about “oh but she isn’t obliged to believe in this religion, she shouldn’t be okay with her brother dying because of this” because: Isildur decided to go, he wasn’t forced. None of the Numenorians were forced to do anything. She lives on this Island, she DESCENDS from the same lineage Miriel does, which is ELROS lineage. The island was gifted by the valar and they just took her new step mom for a spin. Her lineage lives at least 200 years and y’all are telling me that in a world of elves, dwarves, rings of fucking power who can make things heal and whatever, the absurd thing is a palantiri? Be so fr. And I’m gonna say it…if they make a redemption arc for that girl and let her survive the fall of Numenor, I’m gonna be royally pissed. There’s no way they’re going to save that one and won’t save the fucking queen whose death isn’t even mentioned on the appendix.

8 - Now I’m gonna talk about Miriel, my Queen and Elendil’s wife. I’m sorry, but they are making her go through all of this hell for what? Because everyone who is going through actual hell on the series is surviving, and if they don’t plan on making her survive, they could at least give her a fucking break. Her father lost his throne, got sick, she got kinda of manipulated by the blondie, she lost her vision, some of her people died and she blames herself, her father died, she got slapped on the face by a random woman on her fathers funeral, she lost her throne, her freedom, became a prisoner on her own kingdom and on HER FATHER’S OLD ROOM, her boyfriend and now she also lost her free will. Not to mention that, if they try to make things more alike to one book than the one they actually have the rights to, she might be forced to marry that idiot who happens to be her cousin. Safe to say that Cynthia and I have very different visions of “okay” bc the last time Miriel had peace was when she was a one month old fetus on her mother’s womb. Why all of this trouble to make her die at the end? And I’m being so real now.

9 - Like, they changed a lot of things. A real fucking lot of things. And some VERY important things. And they cannot change her death? I swear, if she was so important to book narrative, the appendix would say more about her, but the only things there are basically “Tar Palantir had a daughter, Tar Miriel, she should’ve been queen, but his nephew seized the scepter” and that’s it. Her death isn’t there, it can be avoided, and yet they’re going down that road with this character when they literally invented 1000 ways of going out of the time line and narrative with other characters? I’m not gonna say what it seems to me, but yeah…

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spookyscarydemonbabe · 1 year ago

Text

What’s That Van Halen Song?…

Summary- An opportunity for some extra college credit lands you tutoring a few students from Hawkins High, and it seems like one of them has a little more trouble than the rest.

Genre- Fluff

Warnings- None :)

Tag List- @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @munsonology @esme-viridian @gvf23

(Tag list is always open, let me know if you’d like to be added 🖤)

Word Count- 2.9k

You sighed sitting at your usual table in the library, waiting for the next student. Ever since you graduated and started your classes at the community college, you’ve found a little extra time to help out the other students at Hawkins High. It was always nice when you had the college tutors help you out with your classes and you figured it was best to keep up with the tradition. After all, with their help you were able to graduate.

You opened up one of your notebooks and started scribbling away, wanting to try and kill some time as you waited and waited. Usually you never had to wait this long for someone to show up. It was always maybe a 5, 10 minutes maximum wait, but there was only one student you knew always showed up late.

“Hey! Sorry I’m-“ Eddie said to you as he approached your table, not before being cut off by the librarian shushing him to keep his voice down, “Sorry i’m late.” He said quietly.

He pulled out the chair next to you and set a few notebooks and folders onto the table.

“It’s alright,” You gave him a smile, “were you able to get that last test back?”

Eddie nodded quickly and opened up the folder in front of him, flipping through the various papers that were stuffed into it. You watched as his fingers moved through the scattered quizzes and exercise sheets, and you even noticed a few doodles on them, little dragons and demons and swords. For someone the same age as you, it really seemed like he never grew out of the same things you saw from the freshmen you helped tutor. Still scribbling little doodles on his papers, still getting sidetracked and distracted when you were trying to teach him, he was just a big kid. As cute as it was, you knew something had to change if he wanted to graduate on time.

“Um… Alright, here it is-“ He finally found the test he had been searching for in his jam packed folder, “-and here’s a quiz we took beforehand.” He placed the two pieces of paper onto the table and you moved them closer to you to compare his work.

“Alright, so you got a 73% on the quiz, which is a lot better than last time! But you only got a 70% on this test Eds, did you look over it and figure out some things you did wrong?”

“Yeah,” He nodded and moved a bit closer to you, pulling the test towards him to show you his work, “I think for number 3 i just forgot to carry the 2? And for this one, number 7, i forgot which equation is used for this type of graph so i kind of just winged it…”

“Eddie…” You said to him in the same disappointed voice you’d heard nearly a million times beforehand from your own parents, “we spent the last few sessions studying for this test! I know you’re smarter than just a 70%. Did you ask if you can do anything to bring the grade up?”

“Yes! Mr. Jackson said that if i came back tomorrow with a full corrections sheet on the problems i missed then he’ll give me back half points for all of them.”

“That’s great! See, even he knows you’re smarter than a 70%.”

Eddie smiled to you. He hasn’t really gotten this kind of treatment from someone like you before. You were the same age and he didn’t feel any differently towards you than he did the other people his age. But you were different. You were someone who encouraged him to do his best, even when his best isn’t perfect. He had to admit he had a slight little schoolboy crush on you, but with you being so sweet to him how could he not?

You were smart, independent, someone who knew exactly what you wanted and that’s what he strived for. He wanted to be able to live his life the way you lived yours. Carefree.

The two of you had plenty of conversations that didn’t surround his classes, and from the few things he knew about you he knew you would be a pretty cool person. Hell, if you went to Hawkins with him he could’ve sworn he’d have done better just to be able to go off to college with you and not have to leave your friendship behind.

He liked you. And he was certain that if he knew a little more about you he may even love you.

“Eddie?” You asked him with a giggle, pulling him out of his trance.

“Hm? What?”

“I asked you to show me all the ones you got wrong so we can work on them.” You giggled again.

Situations like this weren’t uncommon with Eddie. Every time he lost his train of thought or get sidetracked you always figured he just had a difficult time paying attention, which is what led to his grades being how they were. But every time you caught him losing track of whatever it was you were saying he had the littlest twinkle in his eye when he was looking at you.

He moved his chair closer to you and flipped through the packet of papers to show you each question he had missed, and thankfully it was only a few.

“Alright, so i know that we’ve gone over a this stuff right before you took this test, i have a couple of things to look through from the other kids i tutor, do you think you can try to do your corrections without my help first?”

“I think i’ll be able to.”

“I think you will too,” You said to him with a smile, “do it yourself first, and when you’re finished i’ll look over it with you to see if you’re still struggling.”

Eddie nodded with a smile and took his papers back, opening up his notebook and turning to a blank page to start on his corrections. You opened up one of your folders and took out a few papers to look over as Eddie started fixing his work. Every now and then you’d glance over at Eddie to check on how things were going and he’d quickly adjust himself in his chair, turning his eyes back onto his paper and working on whatever problem he was stuck on.

You’d give him a little smile each time you looked up, and it was quite cute to see him get a bit flustered. For someone who looked like he did, it was a pleasant surprise for him to act this way.

When you first started tutoring him, you had to admit it was a little nerve wracking. He was older than any other high school student you’ve known, and thought it felt a little strange to be tutoring someone your own age, those feelings soon faded once you really sat and got to know him.

He was kind, passionate, he was someone who had been a lot nicer to you than some of your own peers at school. And you could see from helping him through his classes that he was smart. He had an amazing imagination and he excelled when it came to story building, and it showed in a few of his DnD campaigns he had told you about.

It was just math that he really struggled with.

When you glanced back over at him after looking through and editing another essay from one of the other students, you could see him staring off at the paper in front of him, making little doodles in the corner. He always had the worst attention span. You focused in on the little doodles he was doing in the corners of his paper and it seemed like the strangest thing for him to be drawing.

Hearts. Hearts of all different shapes and sizes, a few with arrows in them, a few big hearts filled with little ones. All of them surrounding one bigger heart, with something scribbled right there in the middle, but before you could get a good look at whatever he has scribbled in the center you went right back into tutor mode,

“Eddie.” You said to him in a stern tone, wii joy getting his attention as he looked over to you, his hand covering up his little doodles in the corner, “I thought you were doing your corrections?”

“I am! I’m just… taking a break.”

You looked over to his notes and saw that he had already worked through three of the questions he missed,

“Tell you what, you get five of those finished and we’ll take a break, ok? Just please try and focus on your work.”

“I will! I’m focusing, see,” He turned the page of his notebook and began working on another problem, “focused.”

You chuckled and went back to your work, looking over the other students papers as Eddie did his best to finish up the last two problems before your break. However, just as you put away one paper to grab the next, you could hear the eraser of Eddie’s pencil tapping onto the paper of his notebook.

You glanced over to him and saw him gently bobbing his head, his lips mouthing out a few words as his curls bounced back and forth, following the rhythm of the eraser against the paper. He had only one more problem to do, but his attention span was really affecting his work.

“Eddie.” You said to him again, stopping his motions as he looked to you once again, “We really have to fix that attention span of yours.” You said with a giggle, reaching over to grab his notebook to check his work, but he quickly snatched it back.

“Wait! I’m not finished yet, one more to go right?”

“Yeah, but if you’re gonna get distracted i can at least check what you have done so far. I’m sure you’re doing fine! Just let me look-“

“No.” He gripped it tightly in his hand.

“What do you mean no? I’m sure you did fine, just let me see.”

You reached your hand out for him to give you the notebook and he reluctantly handed it off to you, crossing his arms over his chest and staring down at the desk as you flipped through the pages. You finally found the page with his corrections, the little hearts in the corner were a dead giveaway. It was when you saw what was scribbled in the middle of that big heart that you understood why Eddie was so reluctant to give you the notebook.

There, right in the middle of the heart in his notebook, were your initials. EM + (f/i)(l/i).

You looked over at him in his seat, not giving away any indication that you had spotted the initials, and saw the bright blush on his cheeks.

It was finally starting to click.

The way he had acted around you in the past, the way that he would hang on to every word you said as it left your lips. He had paid attention to every single thing you told him at every tutoring session, and even though he knew this stuff like the back of his hand, he was back every week. With you.

You smiled a bit and giggled to yourself, Eddie glanced over at you with a scared look in his eye. He was hoping it wasn’t him you were laughing at,

“What?”

You slowly closed the notebook and placed it onto the table between you, looking over to him with a smile on your lips,

“You never needed my help with your classes, did you?”

He got silent, his cheeks a bright red, knowing you had him all figured out. He gently shook his head as he looked back down at the table, too embarrassed to look up at you.

A little smile formed on your lips as you thought over all the past tutoring sessions you’d had with him. Each and every time you’d notice his little glances, the way he would pay such close attention to your voice and still have a hard time with his work, and no matter how long you had worked together to bring his grade up he always brought in something new he was struggling with. It all made so much sense, and you felt like an idiot for not being able to notice it before.

He had a crush on you.

He had a crush on his tutor.

You giggled, placing your hand over your lips to try and stifle it, not wanting to embarrass him any more than he already had been,

“I’m sorry, i don’t mean to laugh, i just…” Your mind kept wandering back to all the times you had heard Eddie humming and tapping along on his notebook, each and every time you had heard it, it was all the same melody. The same song. You knew exactly what it was, you just couldn’t put your finger on it,

“What’s that Van Halen song?”

He finally looked up to you, the corners of his lips curling into a gentle smile,

“Which one?”

“You know the one. The one you’ve been humming every time you come to see me?”

“Oh, yeah,” You finally got a laugh out of him, “Hot For Teacher?”

“Yes! That’s it, that’s the one!”

The librarian at the front desk looked over to the two of you and put her finger over her lips, signaling for you both to quiet down. You gave her a nod and a quick and quiet ‘Sorry’ before going back to Eddie,

“You must really like that song, hm?”

“Well…” Now he was getting bashful, “It’s not a favorite, but i always think of it whenever i come to see you.”

You smiled with one another, though Eddie was still unsure of your feelings towards him. You knew he liked you, and though it felt very strange to have one of your students have a crush on you, you knew it was innocent. Hell, if he wasn’t a student you’d go out with him in a heartbeat, but not now. Not like this.

“I think that’s sweet. But you didn’t have to have your grades suffer just to spend time with me, we could’ve always just hung out if you asked.”

He was taken back, eyes widening,

“Really? All i had to do was ask?”

You nod and giggle as he leans back in his chair,

“Well shit, if i knew that i wouldn’t have fucked my algebra grade up this bad.”

“How bad is it?” You asked him, though he gave you no answer, only looking back down at the table, “Eddie.” You said more sternly.

“…63% in the class.”

“Eddie!”

The librarian looked over at you two once more, this time her eyebrows furrowed in frustration. She didn’t even have to say a word for you to quiet down.

“Eddie,” You whispered to him, “you’re so close to graduating, why would you mess your grade up that bad?”

“I don’t know, i just like being able to spend time with you.”

You sighed and smiled to him. Though it was always nice to be able to see him and spend time with him after school in the library, you knew he was so much smarter than this.

“I’ll tell you what, because i know you’re smart enough to get at least an 80% by yourself wirh these corrections and the next few assignments, how about we make a deal?”

He looked to you strangely,

“What kind of a deal?”

You smiled and tore a little piece out of his notebook, grabbing your pen and scribbling down your phone number on it,

“When you graduate, if you get higher than an 80% in this class, i’ll take you out on a date. Sound good?”

He perked up immediately, not expecting you to be so upfront. He nodded quickly, still not being able to say much. He was still a little embarrassed.

“Good. Here,” You handed him the little slip of paper, “if you actually need help with something, go ahead and call me. And make sure you let me know when you graduate ok?” You smiled to him as you saw the pink on his cheeks, he mouthed the number in his hand to himself as you stood up and started collecting your things.

“Wait, are you going?” He asked you as you placed your few notebooks and folders into your bag.

“Eddie, you and i both know you’re smart enough to get all those corrections done on your own.” You stood up from your chair and pushed it in as you slug your bag over your shoulder, “And remember, if you do need help, you have my number.”

He nodded again and straightened himself in his seat, opening up his notebook to the next blank page and starting his corrections once more. All he really needed was a push in the right direction, and he was glad you were the one to help him get there.

You gave each other a smile and a quiet wave as you made your walk out of the library, only to quickly turn back. You approached Eddie once more, pushing his bangs back and giving him a kiss onto his temple,

“You’re gonna do great. This is your year, remember?”

He looked up to you and you could see just how much that meant to him.

After all this time, after everything you’ve heard about him, after all the times you’ve had to get him back on track after getting distracted or showing him the same problem solving methods nearly a hundred times, you still didn’t give up on him. You made him want to work his hardest.

He wanted to finish this year, finally, all for you.

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x yn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x y/n

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