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gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

Note

Hii! I am in love with your writing! Specially the sunshine!reader x Spencer, I don’t know if you are taking new requests, if you aren’t feel free to completely ignore this, but I would love to see your take in one of the BAU member (maybe Emily) sort of call out Spencer in the “soft spot” he has for reader. And he’s all like I don’t???? But ofc they would notice this bc 1. They are profilers 2. They just know him. I can imagine Emily’s speech on how it’s ok to let people in and how she thinks they would be good for each other 🥰 or idk something better you can come up

Anyways I just want to thank you for sharing your writing with us 🤍✨

good — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: postprison!spencer so mentions of insecurities in regards to that a/n: hiii !! this is such a wonderful idea <3 i wasnt entirely sure if you wanted post!prison spencer but i thought it fit your request best so i hope thats alright !! <33

Emily narrowed her eyes as she studied the scene unfolding before her. There you and Spencer were, sitting close together in the back of the jet.

Spencer was leaning in slightly, helping you solve a crossword puzzle. She watched as his fingers brushed yours gently when he took the pen from your hand, as he wrote the next answer. You glanced up at him, as if you weren't sure whether to be grateful or flustered.

He’d practically solved the whole thing in the blink of an eye, but instead of simply finishing it, he waited for you to catch up, his gaze flickering to yours every so often with a small, encouraging smile.

Emily couldn’t help but shake her head as she looked out the window again.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen the two of you like this—closer than anyone else on the team. She could see it in Spencer’s eyes—he had a soft spot for you, no question. The way he took his time with you, how he tried to make you laugh or ease your stress, it was so different from how he interacted with the rest of them.

And as much as she had grown to appreciate the dynamic, Emily had to admit, she was getting tired of watching both of you dance around the obvious.

Emily couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Spencer smile this much, this freely. It had been a long road since his release from prison, and though he was slowly piecing himself back together, it was clear that you played a significant role in his recovery.

The way he would light up at the smallest of gestures from you, or the way he would seek out your company without hesitation—it was a refreshing change.

Her thoughts were interrupted by your laughter—loud and genuine—as Spencer cracked a joke about one of the crossword clues.

Emily’s eyes flicked to the two of you just in time to see your shoulder brush against his, your body language open, comfortable.

But it wasn’t just your laughter that caught Emily’s attention—it was the look Spencer gave you in that moment. His eyes lingered on you, soft and warm. Emily noticed the way his lips curled upward ever so slightly.

Emily sighed inwardly, leaning her head against the seat. She wasn't sure what either of you were waiting for, but she hoped, for both of your sakes, that you would stop pretending like nothing was happening between you.

The next instance was when Emily had had enough.

The moment you and Spencer walked into the bullpen together, Emily's gaze immediately locked onto the way he had a hand resting casually on the small of your back.

Her eyes nearly popped out of her head. She knew she wasn’t imagining it—there was no mistaking the way Spencer was always hovering just a little bit closer to you, the way his body seemed to naturally gravitate toward yours.

“Do you want some coffee?” Spencer asked you. You hesitated for a moment as you approached your desk, dropping your bag down with a soft sigh.

You glanced at the stack of files waiting for you. “Yes, I have like 20 files to get through,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m going to need that coffee.”

Spencer smiled. “I’ll make you one,” he said, his tone soft as he set his own bag down on his desk. He didn’t waste a moment before heading toward the break room, but not before he threw one last comment over his shoulder. “I’ll help you with some of your files later.”

He didn’t wait for your response, though Emily could already predict what it would have been—a quick “No, that’s fine.”

You didn’t want him to do too much for you, but Spencer had this way of offering help, and even though you would have rather tackled the work yourself, you knew it would have been pointless to argue with him.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the smile that threatened to slip out as you watched him leave. You turned your attention back to the files, your hand instinctively covering your mouth to keep yourself from letting out the giggle that bubbled up in your chest.

Emily saw her opportunity and took it.

Without hesitation, she walked into the breakroom, where Spencer was carefully pulling two mugs from the cupboard.

One was your favorite—white with a print of Snoopy lying on his red doghouse. Spencer had gotten it for you on your birthday after overhearing you talk about how much you loved Snoopy as a kid.

The other mug was his—bright yellow, with an image of Woodstock perched happily on a branch.

That one had been your gift to him.

Emily still remembered the way Spencer had reacted when he unwrapped it, his fingers brushing over the design as realization dawned on his face.

“Snoopy and Woodstock have to stay together,” you had said with a grin, eyes twinkling with amusement.

For a moment, he had just stared at the mug, lips parted as if he couldn’t quite find the words. Then, without thinking, he had pulled you into a tight hug. You had stiffened for half a second, caught off guard, before melting into his embrace.

Emily had caught the entire moment from across the room, sharing an exasperated look with JJ. The two of you were so painfully oblivious to what was right in front of you.

Now, standing in the breakroom, she cleared her throat.

“Morning, Spencer,” Emily greeted, reaching for a cup of her own.

Spencer, clearly lost in his own thoughts, blinked at her before nodding. “Morning, Emily.”

He carefully poured coffee into the Snoopy mug first, taking his time, as if it was second nature to prepare yours before his own.

“Have a good weekend?” she asked casually, watching him with thinly veiled curiosity.

He glanced at her briefly before continuing his task. “Yeah. I was happy to have some days off,” he said with a small nod, carefully placing your cup aside before starting on his own. “You?”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Emily replied, swirling her own coffee absentmindedly. She was biding her time, figuring out the best way to ease into the conversation she really wanted to have.

“Did you do anything fun?” she asked, the question innocent enough but leading somewhere more intentional.

Spencer shook his head. “Not really.”

Emily hummed. “You know, you should do something fun.”

Spencer finally glanced at her, a little suspicious now. He knew Emily too well to think she was just making small talk. She wasn’t one for casual, meaningless conversation.

She didn’t say anything else right away, though. Instead, she took a slow sip of her coffee, eyes drifting through the breakroom window, settling on you.

You were sitting at your desk, chewing absentmindedly on the end of a pencil, clearly lost in thought. Your brows were furrowed as you studied whatever was in front of you, your lips pursed slightly.

It was such a small, unconscious habit, but Spencer had noticed it long ago. He had seen you do it a dozen times when you were concentrating, and for some reason, it was something he always found himself captivated by.

Emily turned her gaze back to Spencer, and—just as she expected—his eyes were already on you.

And then, just as quickly as he had let himself get lost in the sight of you, he pulled himself away, dropping his gaze back to his coffee as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world.

Emily smirked. Gotcha.

“She’s good for you, you know,” Emily said, her voice softer now.

Spencer’s grip tightened slightly around the handle of his mug. He stared at her for a moment.

Then, just as quickly, he looked away again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered.

Emily chuckled. “Spencer.”

He sighed, shaking his head, but Emily could tell he wasn’t annoyed. Just… hesitant.

“You should tell her,” she said, shrugging.

Spencer swallowed, his fingers twitching slightly where they rested against the counter. “It’s not that simple,” he finally admitted.

Emily tilted her head. “Why not?”

Spencer didn’t answer. Not immediately, anyway. But he didn’t have to.

Emily already knew.

She knew Spencer was afraid. Afraid of ruining what he had with you. Afraid that you didn’t feel the same way. Afraid that, after everything he’d been through, he wasn’t allowed to have something good.

"She likes you too, you know that, right?"

Spencer stilled, the metal spoon clinking softly against the ceramic mug as he hesitated. Emily’s words hung in the air between them, impossible to ignore.

His grip on the spoon tightened slightly before he forced himself to continue stirring his coffee, feigning indifference.

“You don’t know that,” he muttered, his voice quieter than before.

Emily huffed. “Spencer, you’re a genius. Do you really expect me to believe that you haven’t noticed the way she looks at you? The way she leans into you when you talk, the way she lights up when you’re around?” She tilted her head, eyes sharp as she studied him. “She likes you, Spencer. And you like her. So why are you making this so complicated?”

Spencer swallowed, staring down into the dark liquid in his mug. “Because… because what if I ruin it?” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Emily heard him.

Her expression softened slightly. “You won’t.”

Spencer let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “You don’t know that either.”

Emily sighed. She could see it now—the self-doubt, the hesitation, the fear that had been planted deep within him after everything that had happened. After losing so much.

He was afraid of getting too close, afraid that if he let himself have this, it would eventually be taken from him, just like everything else.

Her voice gentled. “Spence, it’s okay to let her in.”

He glanced up at her then, his eyes conflicted, torn between hope and uncertainty.

“She’s already in,” Emily continued. “You just haven’t let yourself admit it yet.”

Spencer exhaled, his shoulders slumping slightly.

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to let himself have this—have you. But that lingering fear, that quiet voice in the back of his mind, kept telling him that if he did, he’d lose you too.

Emily must have sensed his hesitation because she suddenly reached over and took the spoon from his hand, placing it on the counter with a firm clink.

“Talk to her,” she said simply. “Or don’t. But don’t sit here and pretend like this doesn’t exist. Because we both know it does.”

Spencer stared at her, then down at the two mugs once again.

Snoopy and Woodstock.

A pair that was always meant to be together.

And then, before Emily could say anything else, he grabbed both mugs and walked out of the breakroom—straight toward you.

Emily watched as Spencer placed the coffee in front of you. You barely even glanced at the mug before flashing him a wide, grateful smile as you wrapped your hands around the warm ceramic.

Spencer’s lips quirked into a soft smile, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than necessary. Emily caught the way his fingers twitched at his side, the way he hesitated—as if debating something in his head. Then, as if gathering every ounce of courage he had, he took a deep breath.

And then—he said something.

Emily couldn’t hear it from where she stood, but whatever it was made you freeze. Your mouth dropped open slightly, eyes widening in surprise.

For a brief, agonizing second, Spencer looked like he regretted saying it, his expression shifting into something nervous, almost panicked. His fingers flexed at his sides, waiting for you to react.

Then, suddenly—your face broke into a huge smile.

A real one. The kind that made your eyes crinkle at the corners. The kind that held no hesitation, no uncertainty. The kind that answered whatever question Spencer had just asked.

You nodded. Quickly. Eagerly. Almost as if you couldn’t believe it had taken this long.

And Spencer—who had been watching you anxiously—grinned. A wide, relieved, genuine grin.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his whole body seeming to relax. His fingers tapped lightly against his leg before he instinctively reached up to push his hair behind his ear, a nervous habit that Emily had seen a million times before.

Only this time, it was different.

This time, he was happy.

He glanced at Emily from the side, as if checking to see if she had seen everything unfold.

Emily, still watching, simply smirked and shot him a small, knowing smile.

Finally.

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst

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kenyummy · 19 hours ago

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✰ 03. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 03. each coin can be flipped twice.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3

n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.

This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.

Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.

You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.

(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)

You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.

(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)

You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).

You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.

Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.

Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.

You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.

Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.

Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.

To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.

Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.

... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.

Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.

(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)

Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?

He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.

Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.

Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.

Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.

Where is that fucking web?

The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.

(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)

Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.

(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)

But he stops.

It's only you.

Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...

"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.

You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."

His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?

(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)

You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?

A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.

"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."

You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.

Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.

"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?

Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?

Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?

Every possible question excluding—what has he done?

The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.

Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?

He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.

Now, he is crumbling.

You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?

He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.

He feels it so deeply.

That crippling, nihilating urge to—

He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.

Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.

Tim wonders when everything changed.

Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.

Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.

Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?

Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.

Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.

(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)

The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.

He sees you, and nearly falls over.

Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.

He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.

(You never thought you were either—did you?)

He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.

He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.

He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.

He was the perfect one.

What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?

What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.

... This should never have happened.

You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?

How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)

You never should've...

He stops his own train of thought.

Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?

Hadn't he... warned you...?

Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.

Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.

Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.

He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.

(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)

It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.

There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.

There is nothing else.

Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.

How long have you stayed here?

Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.

He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.

He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.

As helpless as you were.

As helpless as you are.

Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.

He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?

... How long was that?

He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.

That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.

Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.

Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.

How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.

His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.

The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?

The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.

He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.

Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.

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thebibliosphere · 2 days ago

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Hi, long time lurker with hEDS, thank you for all your chronic illness information! Could you tell us a bit about the Visible app? I just downloaded it, and it seems great. Do you have their armband? Are there things about it you’ve found particularly useful / not useful? (I may have missed a post about this along the way, apologies if so)

I do have the armband and it’s been very useful for me in pinpointing which tasks burn up more energy than I realized, and also at helping predict and avoid energy crashes based on the data it’s collected.

One example I can think of is that as part of my physical rehab I try and go for a short walk around me neighborhood each day, weather and ailments permitting.

On normal days that walk will use up maybe 2.2 of my allocated pace points, which the armband helps detect and estimate via the constant monitoring of the armband.

On days when I am heading into a flare that exact same walk will suddenly cost me 12 points and the visible app will send me alerts telling me I need to slow down and rest.

I don’t feel any different, and at first I thought it was glitching and went about my day as normal, thinking the app was wrong about the rate at which I was burning through energy, but then a few hours later a major migraine started to develop and I went into a crash.

This has happened multiple times now and every time I’ve ignored it, my migraines have been debilitating/hospitalizing.

Since then I’ve started paying closer attention to when tasks are taking up more energy than usual and adjust my day accordingly, which helps me avoid major crashes. This has helped reduce my chronic migraines to moderate intensity instead of severe, which has led to the realization that there might be a metabolic factor to my migraines, pending further investigation by my medical team.

My pain from my EDS is lower too because I’m not accidentally overdoing it, and while my POTS is largely the same, that too has improved ever so slightly as I have cut down on the amount of over exertion I was unknowingly doing.

The app and armband certainly isn’t for everyone, and I do have to unpair and repair the device to my phone more than I’d like, but it’s genuinely been game changing for me in managing my chronic illnesses.

#chronic health tag #visible app

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cherubkissesx · 2 days ago

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entwined

this a part two to this !!

pairing: spencer reid x bau! f reader

content: fluff! sick reader, domestic spencer!!, secret relationship

summary: reader returns back to work after being sick, however she returns to everyone relenting teasing her and spencer!!

you awake with the sun shining directly into your eyes which you would usually hate but seeing as it was officially spring you were more than happy with that. you feel something gripping your waist and you finally turn your head to the side to see a sleeping spencer sprawled across your bed while you were shoved into a tiny corner.

you smile at the memory from the night before when he woke you up because he was worried and needed to come over and see you. you scan your eyes all over his perfect face you reach out and trace his sculpted cheekbones with your finger. “not fair” you faintly whisper. “i’ve been awake this whole time” spencer smirks. “idiot” you smile and slap him lightly on the arm.

spencer moves and suddenly sweeps you up into his arms and pulls you tight against him. you instantly soften in his arms feeling the safest you’ve ever been in your life.

“we should really get up” you finally say. “5 more minutes” spencer whines into the crook of your neck. “we’ve been here all night” you laugh while you sit up. “you’re going into work today?” spencer asks getting up with you and instantly makes your bed for you.

“i’m already feeling ten times better. turns out all i needed was some sleep and cuddles” you smile sweetly at him to which he comes to your side and places a tender kiss on your lips.

you finally pick up your phone to check the time to which you only had an hour before you were due in work, however a certain notification catches your eye. “what’s this?” you say out loud. you click on the text message from penelope which was sent an hour ago. the text message was a photo of you and spencer asleep together.

you instantly gasp and begin to panic. “what is it?” spencer says instantly becoming alarmed at the sudden change in you. you turn your phone around to him but instead of spencer being panicked he laughed.

“this isn’t funny!” you say in a panic while flitting around your room hurriedly shoving clothes on. “they know about us now!” you say.

“maybe that isn’t such a bad thing?” spencer says taking your hands in his. “hotch would kill us if he found out” you say. “and then we’d be put on different units! oh god!” you said nervously pacing as all the possible scenarios race through your mind.

“come on it’s hotch! he’s been our boss for years he won’t care” spencer says. “you can’t help the people you love.” spencer confesses and you stop immediately. “you love me?” you say as your clutch your hand over your heart. “of course i do” spencer says planting a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you too nerd” you said shyly.

—-

“let’s walk in separately” you say. “okay but it’s not going to make a difference if penelope and derek already know” spencer shakes his head.

spencer enters first and you enter a little behind him and everyone in the room stares at you two. you tuck your hair behind your ear and plant your stuff down at your desk.

“can i help you?” you say to no one in particular. “no no” jj says sarcastically. “okay…” you trail off and sit down.

“spencer you’re wearing the exact same outfit as yesterday man!” emily says to which spencer’s cheeks instantly flush red and you snicker.

“i do have a washing machine emily!” spencer says. “right” emily says.

“are you feeling better?” jj asks. “yes i feel a lot better thank you for asking.” you smile. “i bet you do” emily smirks and you narrow your eyes at her.

“okay come on out with it, how could you hide this! i get hotch but us??!!” emily says in disbelief to which you finally gave in. “you ran your mouth!” you say accusingly to derek. “hey! it wasn’t me it was penelope but anyways answer emily’s question!” derek says.

“we were going to tell you eventually!” you say in a weak defence for you and spencer.

“how long have you both been in a relationship?” jj asks. you and spencer both look at eachother. “around about 5 months ish” you both say guilty. “5 months?!” emily says in shock. “we were just figuring stuff out!” you say.

“by the way, we all saw the picture.” jj laughs right as penelope enters the room which you shoot her a death stare to which she walks right back out of the room with both hands held up in the hair.

“even hotch?!” you panic. “even me.” hotch says coming out of his office with the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

#bau x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader

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miraculousmagicalgirlsau · 14 hours ago

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Alya:

Tea, aka: any plant she can infuse with water to absorb their properties. has a history of concocting potions for different circumstances. But ultimately (almost guiltily) would prefer soda to plain water.

After washing puts curl cream in her hair, sections off, and brushes out. brushes hair from the roots down to save time, flat top as a result. finger curls to the best of her ability. loves organic soaps with tiny flowers inside. only changes nail color for special occasions, otherwise black all the way. keeps the makeup gothic but expressive given the time frame.

Started earning a small allowance at age 10, dependent on good behavior and school performance. bought a magical artifact in an online auction at age 12, and was really disappointed when nothing happened after having it in the house for 6 months. She was unwilling to throw it away with the rest of her belongings, so now it sits in storage.

Has 4 or 5 ideas for eventual tattoos, was comfortable with the idea from an early age due to her older sister having them. Parents have forbidden them until she turns 18, but she's pretty sure she can convince Nora to take her to get one for her 16th birthday.

Hardest to make cry. The last time was at the start of the summer, and a year before then.

Middle child. parent's often wondered if her odd ball nature is a result of middle child syndrome, but considering she was the youngest for the longest time, and Nora was almost a fully grown adult by the time the twins came around, there was very little time that she was the middle child in the house itself. The theory is flimsy at best.

Loves boots! A classic in alternative fashion. That and converse or converse lookalikes, doesn't matter the brand as long as they look good. owns common sense running shoes, house slippers, and saddles, all darkly colored, of course.

When the family first moved in, Alya being the youngest got the big room while Nora got the smaller one. Then when Nora moved out and the twins came along, Alya moved to Nora's old room, which she of course made her own. But during this last summer, after throwing away all of her wall decorations, dried herbs, and protective sigil's, Alya started to avoid her room all together. Only really going there to sleep and even then, it felt like sleeping in someone else's space. Unguarded and empty.

Halloween! While in France the celebration of the holiday is near nonexistent, corresponding with La Toussaint (All Saints Day) where family's will maybe visit the graves of their loved ones and mostly spend their time together, Alya will follow those traditions diligently (because family is important to her) while also going all out for the more Americanized version of the holiday. It's strange, because in most situations Alya is considered on the more mature end of the spectrum compared to her classmates. So it's surprising when she insists her little sisters continue to dress up and eat candy with her, or when she tries to organize costume parties for her friends at school.

She use to carry all kinds of magical items for her day to day life. Crystal's, card decks, sticky notes for sigil making, salt, rosemary, and a variety of colored strings. All those things went the way of the bin if they weren't already confiscated at her school. There are only a few items she kept including her favorite novelty pen from her favorite magical girl anime and a scrunchie she borrowed from her sister.

Marinette:

Coffee. She will generally try to avoid energy drinks or soda, but she needs her coffee. She's fully aware of the humanitarian crisis surrounding the harvesting of coffee beans, and she has a plan to install a more sustainable solution that reduces the harmful practices of the coffee industry, to be implemented within the next 10 years. But in the meantime, she reluctantly must have the coffee. She. Must. Have. The. Coffee.

Wake's up at 5 in the morning on a Monday to plan the schedule for next Monday. Then it's a workout, shower, clothes, hair, makeup, breakfast, teeth brushed and out the door by 8. Her soaps are all fruit scented, probably corresponding to the new season of fashion inspiration she has for her brand.(She likes to keep her environment integrated for creative flow) although she of course, makes sure her products are beneficial to her overall health, skin and hair type. No products made from animal testing, environmentally harmful chemicals or containers, must be approved by the ANSM (otherwise how can it be trusted), can't be from a company whose dubious in other industries or sponsors harmful people (same as giving money to those people) or publicly supports harmful legislation (because even if they don't directly support the legislation, their word is powerful given how much money they rake in from their products) And so she exclusively buys from a small French/Korean owned bath company that specializes in Asian hair and skin types located in Nantes. They actually almost went out of business a few years ago before a preteen in Paris started buying from them in bulk.

Owns an upstart fashion brand. Every season that passes in Paris, those in the know wait in anticipation for the newest line of eco friendly, bold and fabulous threads from up and coming designer, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Most of her profits go towards the business, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have plenty left over to be largely financially independent.

Tattoos were generally discouraged in Marinette household, mostly from Sabine though neither her nor Tom had strong feelings about the subject. Every once in a while, when her grandmother would come over, she would show off her own tats as well as some scars accumulated from her many adventures, but Marinette's plans for the future wouldn't really benefit from her getting one, so for now the answer is no.

Is the second most likely out of the three main girls to get teary eyed, and is by far the most sentimental out of the three. She loves her friends and family fiercely, and when they show her how much she means to them, she is bursting with tears and smiles. Same when viewing emotional moments from others or in the movies, she responds appropriately when it's appropriate. Unlike others in her friend group, she can control herself if the situation isn't great. but as soon as the opportunity arrives, here comes the water works.

Only child. When Sabine and Tom first got married, they knew they wanted children, along with a the opportunity to own their own bakery. After Marinette came along, and they settled into their current location, they reached the conclusion that the space they had now was optimal, and the money that flowed in because of the location, would go better towards raising a single child rather then trying to make the space work for a second. They put everything into making sure Marinette had the best of everything they could provide, and everyday she puts in the effort to make sure the both of them are proud of her.

She loves to wear the shoes that would look best with her outfit of the season, usually by thrift shopping. Although she has design ideas for shoes, even some proof of concepts made, she hasn't found the right material for mass manufacturing like she has with her clothes line. Plus there's the issue of durability in the build, and the labor to makeing shoes is completely different from clothes, Long story short: More research is needed.

On the top floor of her parents bakery, right above their shared living space, is Mariette's spacious bedroom. Well technically, her bedroom takes up a small corner of her fashion studio, with a clean and clear desk, filing cabinets taking up one wall, an inspiration board taking up another, separate wardrobes for storage, manikins aligning the walls, it's more of an office space then a bedroom. Although when it comes to her actual loft, Marinette keeps a more personal touch with pictures of friends and stuffed animals on the shelves, she likes to keep her personal space and work space separate.

Christmas. Not the commercialized version that the holiday has come to represent, she actively tries to avoid such trappings during the season, but the theme of community and togetherness that for a few magical days, makes the world a little brighter then it actually is. She makes a list of all the important people in her life and works to make custom gifts for all of them, she then cracks down on her community service work, understanding that this time of year above all others is when people are the most willing to give to each other out of the kindness of their hearts. Now if only she can get people to care just as much during the rest of the year.

Pencil and planner. Never goes anywhere without either. You'll also see her with her sketch book, finding new inspiration for outfits and drawing them out. Her phone has several standards alarms set up as well as 5 or 6 custom ones depending on the day of the week or month, so pretty essential for that to be on her person. She actually carries a hand bag everywhere she goes that houses all these items. It's pretty much expected that if you need a pencil, or pen or anything else in class, stick of deodorant, pain killers, delicate lady products, flash cards, screwdriver, oil can, go ask Marinette. She has it in her bag.

Chloe:

Spring water, no tap. She will know if it's tap. And it can't be any of that cheap brand bottle water either. That's basically just tap. Prefers Hildon but in a pinch will settle for Evian. Also orders the most complicated coffee drinks that usually end up being decaf. she'll know if they get her order wrong and will make them redo it for as long as it takes. There's another drink she secretly likes but that's a secret.

Has a highly complicated hair routine, and if she had her way she would go to the salon to have it done every morning before school. Reluctantly does it herself most mornings, usually makes her late for school. Luckily makeup is second nature to her. 10 minutes and she has perfectly lined eyeliner, thick lashes, blended contour, and glossy lips.

Her Daddy gives her a small budget every month to keep the lights on. It's more then most kids including her friends would make in 10 years. She usually blows through it to enrich herself in the quality of life to which she has become accustomed. By the end of the month, she's bumming meals from her friends and sleeping over at their houses until the next paycheck.

Ewwwwwwww! GROSS! A Tattoo!? On her flawless skin? Never! And as for scars? Not on your life. Not any that she'd willing show in public anyway.

Chloe will cry if her mascara is more heavy on one side then the other. Chloe will cry if she scraps her clothes slightly on the way to class. She's not overly sentimental like some of her friends, but the slightest inconvenience could potentially leave her spiraling. So naturally, she's crying every three hours. And then there are the really bad moments that occur when she's alone. She hates being alone. No obvious triggers. It could have been a perfect day in her pampered life, but the result is still the same: Chloe alone in her room, crying herself to sleep.

Eldest of them all. She's as rich in siblings, both blood related and not, as she is in money. More then once she's offered to give Marinette one of her sisters as a form of charity, since the former is always so curious about the idea of siblings. She'll easily offer to take one or both of Alya's little sisters in exchange for the little brother figure she's forced to tolerate on a regular basis. On the other hand, if she had a choice she'd easily take her coven of sisters over her actual family any day.

It's surprising to know that up until recently, Chloe's shoes valued functionality over form in most cases. Being a former dancer, the importance of structure and support was paramount to her everyday foot wear. That's not to say she wasn't a snob when it came to brand and style, both then and now, only now she compulsively buys the most expensive designer shoes on the market regardless of support. She wears them once or twice and forgets about them.

Depending on her mood, she sleeps in her Daddy's empty apartment, or forgoing that, couch surfs with friends or relatives. Marinette has a sofa that Chloe bought for her office just so she can have a place to sleep when she comes over.

Any holiday where she doesn't have to go to school is her favorite holiday. She's content to follow Alya or Marinette in whatever celebrations they're doing just so long as she can comment and complain about it.

She's always seen wearing gloves. When Alya finally asked about it she told her: "Paris is a fabulous city, but the lower areas are absolutely filthy! If the people want to be blessed with my presence, they better get use to my wearing protection." She also carries a small pocket knife with her wherever she goes, or tries to anyway.

So my problem with most ‘get to know your character’ questioneers is that they’re full of questions that just aren’t that important (what color eyes do they have) too hard to answer right away (what is their greatest fear) or are just impossible to answer (what is their favorite movie.) Like no one has one single favorite movie. And even if they do the answer changes.

If I’m doing this exercise, I want 7-10 questions to get the character feeling real in my head. So I thought I’d share the ones that get me (and my students) good results:

What is the character’s go-to drink order? (this one gets into how do they like to be publicly perceived, because there is always some level of theatricality to ordering drinks at a bar/resturant)

What is their grooming routine? (how do they treat themselves in private)

What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go? (Gets you thinking about socio-economic class, values, and how they spend their leisure time)

Do they have any scars or tattoos? (good way to get into literal backstory)

What was the last time they cried, and under what circumstances? (Good way to get some *emotional* backstory in.)

Are they an oldest, middle, youngest or only child? (This one might be a me thing, because I LOVE writing/reading about family dynamics, but knowing what kinds of things were ‘normal’ for them growing up is important.)

Describe the shoes they’re wearing. (This is a big catch all, gets into money, taste, practicality, level of wear, level of repair, literally what kind of shoes they require to live their life.)

Describe the place where they sleep. (ie what does their safe space look like. How much (or how little) care / decoration / personal touch goes into it.)

What is their favorite holiday? (How do they relate to their culture/outside world. Also fun is least favorite holiday.)

What objects do they always carry around with them? (What do they need for their normal, day-to-day routine? What does ‘normal’ even look like for them.)

#miraculous magical girls au #witchalya #witchmarinette #witchchloe #This was fun #really works as a writing exercise

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salemlunaa · 3 days ago

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𓆉 ∘˚ STOP RELYING ON OTHERS, ITS ONLY YOU HERE

stop relying on external forces.

There’s no point in relying on others. to save you, to say the things to make it “click”, to form the “guaranteed results” void state method. You are god, it’s up to you. Not the experienced bloggers, no not even me, not the tough love posts that motivate you for a while before you get back in the dumps. No no no, just you.

I was reading some of realitywarping’s old posts and they spoke about how you must be totally independent to make any changes. And I think that’s the difference between people who have already manifested their dream lives and people still looking. Before I manifested everything, I was reliant. On posts, methods, subliminals. I had to realise that i’m independent, it’s just me.

“ You indeed are 100% independent & sovereign right now in this moment, You are just imagining a countless number of authority figures to be dependent upon, so that you can make the illusion stronger, & keep Yourself "stuck" ”

You are the most high, the fact that you need that method is a concept you’ve imagined. The assumption that you will fail if you don’t follow a routine to a tee is a concept you’ve thought up. You thinking some people are more capable at this than others is, again, something you’ve made up in your head. You thinking you haven’t induced yet is something you’ve made up in your head, you thinking you’ve not manifested, shifted yet is a made up concept.

It’s not a must that you wait tirelessly for that bloggers response.

It’s not a must that you follow that exact routine.

It’s not a must that you stay still and lay in a certain position to induce.

It’s not a must that you listen to that subliminal.

It’s not a must to have it “click” for you.

You’ve done all these things and still feel unfulfilled. Why is that?

Because all you must do is decide. That’s it. This all depends on you.

You must realise that you are totally independent. You are at the top. You are the coder. Would you ask characters in your game to tell you how to code.

Your imagination alone materialises. So decide the outcome that is in your favour. It’s okay to slip out of it, unfortunately, this is something we have to learn after being taught the opposite. Remind yourself who you are and that your word is gospel.

There is no need to meet the 3d in the middle for anything. The fact that you have thought of your desires shows that they are real.

And it’s only you, that can do that, follow as many recourses as you want. But it’s YOUR say that goes. YOU have to give the go ahead. Or all the advice you absorb, all the things you do, means nothing. absolutely nothing.

A team of stylists can work tirelessly for a line or shoot but if the editor-in-chief won’t accept it , it doesn’t happen . Simple. Accept your power, it’s a must that you do.

YOU must be the one to accept that all your desires are done, you’re living in your desired reality or all the effort you put in and people you rely on amount to nothing. Stop relying on that one last scroll to save you. trust YOURSELF and what you ALREADY KNOW

Because when it’s all said and done, you come to find that those are external things and all that’s left is you.

Utilise Yourself. You are indeed independent

EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE IS YOU PUSHED OUT, SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL RELY ON THE ONLY CONSTANT ASPECT: YOU

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whateveriwant · 2 days ago

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I love the headcanon that Simon has had his nose broken multiple times, but I like to take it one step further and imagine: what if Simon’s nose has been broken so many times that it’s permanently affected his sense of smell?

That would explain why the big bastard is so grumpy all the time, right? I mean, wouldn’t you be if you lost one (and more than likely, two) of your five primary senses?

Like, just imagine what it would be like to lose both your sense of smell and taste (because the two are strongly intertwined). It would be like living every day of your life as if you have a bad head cold. It would make eating – something you have to do to survive – a chore instead of something to be enjoyed.

And I know what you’re thinking. No, I’m not about to insert a “British food is bland anyway so it’s not like he’s missing much” joke here. That would be in poor taste (just like their food, hey-oh!)

Okok no but seriously. Imagine what losing those two major senses would do to a person mentally. Knowing Simon, he would probably pretend like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter that everything smells and tastes like the color gray to him, even though secretly that couldn’t be further from the truth.

So imagine if that didn’t have to be the case any longer. Imagine if there was something – say, nasal surgery – that could restore those abilities he almost forgot he had once upon a time. (I’m not a doctor so I don’t know if surgery would work, but let’s just run with it, ok?)

For starters, I don’t think he’d be the one to initially seek out a treatment. The idea would have to come from an outside source (like from you, his loving partner) and it would take a lot of convincing to get him to go under the knife.

But say that you are able to convince him to have the surgery; that you get him to agree to have his bones rebroken and properly set this time, to have his olfactory nerves reattached to the places they’d been severed from. What would it be like to sit beside him as he wakes up and takes that first, deep inhale? What would it be like to witness him experience the power of smelling again for the first time in what feels like forever?

Would he be overwhelmed? Underwhelmed? Something that’s impossible for him to put into precise words?

And what would be the first smell that sticks out to him? The medicinal air of his hospital room? The clean aroma of his bed linens? The coppery tang of his own blood congealing around his sutures?

Realistically, I don’t think it would be until he goes home that any real change is apparent to you. It’s once he has the freedom to do whatever he wants, like a former shelter dog getting to explore the world for the first time, that you’d notice the drastic switch in him.

All of a sudden, Simon would be super adventurous when it comes to trying new foods. In the past, he just shoveled down whatever tasteless slop would keep his body fueled. But now, he’d find the fun in trying all sorts of different cuisines, ordering entire menus at a time to discover what he does and doesn’t like to eat.

I also think he would start experimenting with ways to perfume himself. Yes, he used soap and deodorant even when he had no sense of smell (for others’ sake, truly). But now, he’d go beyond those basic items, wandering into scented shampoos, specialty aftershaves, even dabbling with cologne.

Of course, things wouldn’t be all peachy 100% of the time, as I feel like he would soon get very picky about the kinds of scents he could tolerate in your home. The kind of fabric softener you use in the laundry, the kind of hand soap you have in the bathroom, the kind of leftovers you can and absolutely cannot reheat in the microwave the next day, just to name a few.

But through it all – the good and the bad, the bold and the nuanced – Simon finds there’s one scent in particular that eclipses anything else he’s encountered: You.

And I’m not talking about the products you use in your hair or the fragrances you like to wear on a night out. I’m talking about the raw, natural, pheromonal scent of you.

It’s like a drug to Simon, that warm, pleasurable smell that clings to your skin. There’s something about it that brings him an abundance of comfort, and he finds that after he’s had a long day, he wants nothing more than to come home and bury his face in your neck as he cuddles you to sleep.

Call it what you want. Biology, psychology, psychopathy, or so on. Simon doesn’t know what it is about your scent that’s so irresistible to him, nor does he really care. All he knows is that for a long time, something was missing from his life beyond just his ability to smell. And now that he’s realized what it is, he can’t believe he ever lived without it:

His reason to breathe.