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reminiscing-writer · 5 days
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I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3
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reminiscing-writer · 6 days
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Say Don't Go
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Spencer Reid x bau!reader
Summary: Nothing hurts more than the fear of losing you.
Warning: Angst. mentions of death, blood, gunshot
A/N: I wrote this in haste, literally ten minutes ago, while listening to Say Don't Go (Taylor's Version) by mother Taylor Swift. It's definitely not perfect but I was definitely in the zone when I wrote it lol.
— ✿ — ✿— ✿ ✿ ✿
A gunshot.
Everything fades into a muffle. You blink once, twice, thrice... A wince connects your brows. As if you're figuring out if the oozing feeling on your abdomen should be causing you pain or ease.
Suddenly, Spencer's running to you. You think he's screaming. You hear nothing. There's only ringing in your ears. A thin, high-pitched ring that pierces through your brain.
You drop on the precinct's carpet floor, caressing your stomach like it's enough to stop yourself from bleeding out. You look at Spencer, "When'd you get here?" You ask, disoriented. You instantly pay attention to his watery eyes. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" You reach to cup his cheek. You are shocked when you see your hand covered in red, smearing the liquid on his skin. Your eyes widen, "Oh, my god?! You're hurt! Spence—" You try to sit up, but a wave of stinging pain makes you fall back in his arms.
"WHERE'S THE MEDIC?!" Spencer's voice echoes in the entire place. He turns to you, unsure if he is even allowed to have you in his arms. He doesn't dwell on it as he holds your hand on his cheek, squeezing it. "Hey, hey! Breathe for me, yeah? Stay with me." He swallows a sob, placing pressure on your abdomen. "Please, stay with me..."
"I'm hurt?" Stupor begins to steal you out of consciousness. You blink. A bright light blinds your vision.
Once you open your eyes, you're back in Spencer's apartment. He's standing across the room while your feet are rooted at the door. He doesn't look at you. No. He's afraid to look at you.
His hands are buried in his pockets. He's wearing a nice suit. Fitted just for him. His tie is a dark shade of purple. You gave him that tie for his birthday last year. It's loose. His hair is a mess. And his face... it's wet.
He's crying.
You're crying.
"I think you should go," Spencer takes a gulp as he stares at the floor. Like it'd kill him if he looked at you.
You inhale deeply, sniffing as you wipe a tear with the back of your hand, "We don't have to do this, Spence. You don't have to do this."
"Yes, we do!" For the first time in what feels like forever, he finally lifts his gaze at you. His hazel eyes are rimmed with red heat, overflowing with tears. He's hurt. He's hurt, too.
"Is it really that horrible to love me?" You sob. You can hear your heart slowly shatter. Pins and needles knock on your chest. You wonder if you're still breathing right. "Am I that ugly—"
"You know that's not true, sweetheart." You hate that the nickname gives you butterflies. How his words, awful and insensitive, still made you attentively listen. How his voice still makes you want to hear more. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever met."
"Then why?!" You felt like a child throwing a tantrum. "Why are you putting a distance between us?" You bite your lower lip to stop it from quivering. "Why is it such a crime to be together?"
Spencer shifts his gaze to somewhere else. He runs a hand through his hair. You notice the coffee stain at the cuff of his sleeve. Then, you see the smudge of red lipstick past the line of his lips. Your red lipstick. He bought that lipstick a few months ago. No reason. Just for the fun of it.
Is it bad that you think he still looks handsome under the sun's setting light? Even when his hair is arrayed in different directions? Even when his face is drenched with his own tears?
He breathes deeply, audibly, "We're in the same line of work. You know better than to think we're going to work. News flash, sweetheart. It won't. It's not worth it." He can't look at you. He's ashamed to look at you.
"Not... worth it?" You blink. You stare at him with disgust, "So— So what? We're nothing, but we fuck? We're nothing, but we flirt? We're nothing, but you love me? Please, explain it to me because I'm having a difficult time understanding the stupid shit of a point you're making."
Spencer gulps for the nth time, "You love me."
"What?" You regret wanting to meet his eyes because now that he's staring at yours with such unfamiliarity, it hurts.
"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything."
You're definitely not breathing right.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
"Inhale, exhale... Yeah, that's right, sweetheart. Just follow me." Spencer holds your hand tight as the paramedics do their best to stop you from bleeding out. His voice sounds heartbreaking.
His voice...
You blink. Your hearing's back. You do as he says, inhaling and exhaling as he does. You feel lightheaded, like you're floating on a cloud.
Spencer keeps his and your hands intertwined. He follows while the paramedics roll you into the ambulance. "Hang in there, sweetheart. Please, hang in there." His face is a mess. He doesn't stop crying, swallowing his sobs.
You smile into the oxygen mask, blinking. You're on the verge of dying, and yet you find humor in knowing Spencer's tells. "You swallow when you're scared... don't be scared, Spence." You say it in broken words and in an almost soundless voice.
"I'm not," He denies, wiping his tears aggressively. He is. He's scared to the bone.
"The bullet shattered to her chest," The paramedic who inspects your chest claims, looking at her partner with worry.
"W-what?" Spencer stutters, stealing a glimpse down your neck. "No, no, sweetheart. Stay with me. Stay with me." He sees the way you flutter your eyes, fighting to stay conscious, listening to his pleas. And how you suddenly stopped, never opening your eyes back up. "Don't— Don't close your eyes! Sweetheart, please don't go. Please, don't—" He looks up at the sound of your vitals plummeting. He quickly looks back at your face, saying your name like it's a prayer.
The machine flatlines, and the paramedic pushes Spencer aside to perform resuscitation. "Sir, let us do our job." One of them says, two inches deep as she manually restarts your heart.
Spencer shoves himself in the corner of the ambulance. He wraps his arms around him. "Please, don't go..." His voice cracks and transitions into writhing sobs as he watches your body go limp with each surge of electricity that shocks your skin.
Then he thinks of that night.
He thinks of the image of you standing by the door. You don't want to go. He doesn't want you to go.
But you have to... because if you don't, he'll run to you and never let you go. So, he tells you to leave. You protest.
So stubborn. He cries in his head, wishing that you hadn't made things difficult for being so beautiful even when you're crying.
"You love me. You said you love me. I never said anything." His body shakes on the spot. His mouth goes dry. His chest compresses. He lies through his teeth.
Spencer saw the way your face turned into a ghost. He's done it.
He broke you.
He hurt you.
No turning back. No way of fixing it.
"Ah..." You say softly, nodding. "Checks out." You add without a sign of sarcasm. You stare into the air for a minute. You let the silence hover and hunt Spencer for a moment. You let him realize the pain, the stupidity of it all. "I think I should leave..." Your eyes say otherwise.
Please say, "Don't go." Tell me not to leave. Run to me... please.
You wonder if he knows it or chooses to ignore the way you held your tears. If he caught on all your tells. Because you knew he wasn't true. You knew he knew that you could read him like the back of your hand.
"Yeah," Spencer straightens his back, "I think you should."
You purse your lips into a thin line and nod, "Okay," You turn around. You take three seconds to grab the knob, but when the time has run out, you are out in a heartbeat.
"Spencer."
JJ appears in Spencer's vision. "Spencer, are you okay?" Her face was covered with worry as she placed two hands on his shoulders. She exchanges looks with Derek and Aaron.
They were there when it all went down. When the unsub came out of nowhere and started shooting. You were the first shot.
Spencer cranes his neck around. He's in the waiting room. He doesn't remember when or how he got there. All he remembers is the defibrillator jolting your unresponsive body more than once. His eyes widen. He says your name in haste as he stands up, "Where is she? Where— Where..."
Derek holds him back, "She's in surgery, Reid. Did you forget?" He asks, gently pushing Spencer back onto his seat.
"She was dead for three minutes... They couldn't find a pulse for three minutes." Spencer announces at a loss. He looks down at his hand, at the cheap friendship bracelet around his wrist. The one you made in your first year with the team as a last-minute birthday gift. He breaks into a sob, covering his eyes as if to push them back inside his tear ducts.
"So?" Derek catches Spencer's hands off his face, "She's been in surgery for thirty minutes. Her heart started beating again, and it had been for thirty minutes. She's fighting, man. At least fight with her before you wallow like a ninny."
"Morgan," Aaron warns but silently agrees.
You're fighting for your life, so they should, too.
You're not ready to go.
You don't want to go.
Spencer nods and wipes his face. He sniffs and takes a deep breath. He glances at the door to the operating room like he has x-ray vision, "Don't go."
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reminiscing-writer · 6 days
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me @ y/n when they do something i’d never do:
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like babe this isn’t us ?? get it together
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reminiscing-writer · 6 days
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when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut
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the struggle is real
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reminiscing-writer · 6 days
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Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.
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reminiscing-writer · 2 months
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Must’ve Been The Wind
//inspired by the beautiful song by Alec Benjamin- Must’ve Been The Wind//
He was awoken by the sound of glass shattering on the wall of the apartment above him. Sitting up in bed, his breathing was uneasy by the sudden awakening. Thinking it was just a dream, he blinks twice, ready to lay his head back down, when he hears a voice.
It sounded of a girl who’d been crying, hoarse and broken. “Please! I already told you, I’m sorry!” She cried.
He glances over to the digital on his nightstand, squinting to see it read 3:18AM. He’s debating wether or not to do anything about his noisy neighbors, when he hears a door slam upstairs, followed by a low sob.
His neighbors were all very to themselves. So, it was no shock that he hadn’t heard these noises before.
He rolled out of bed, rubbing his knuckles at his sleepy eyes. Yawning, he throws on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. Sliding on his sandals, he makes his way out of his apartment, into the elevator, and up to the second floor.
Making his way down the hall and up to the apartment above his, he softly knocks twice. A few seconds later, she answers the door.
In the midst of summer, she wore a sweater, zipped all the way up to her chin. She was tiny. Much smaller than him. Her hair was messily tied, and if she had made eye contact, he was sure he’d see her eyes red from crying.
I told her about the noises I had been hearing, and all she replies with, “I think your ears are playing tricks on you,” she says, looking to the ground.
“But-” he starts, positive he had heard something.
“Thanks for caring, Sir, that’s nice of you,” he tries to look past her, into the apartment to see if glass had been shattered, but she steps into his view, “but, I have to go back in.”
She’s about to close the door, when he quickly stops her by placing his hand in the way, “Are you sure?” He was eyeing her suspiciously.
“Wish I could tell you about the noise, but,” she shrugged with her small shoulders, “I didn’t hear a thing. It must’ve been the wind.”
“The wind?”
“It must’ve been the wind.”she repeated with a sort of sad look in her big eyes. She shuts the door on him.
He turns on his heels, and goes back to his bed, not taking it long for him to sleep once more. The next morning, he’s lying in his room, on the cold concrete floor. He had one thing on his mind.
Who was she? And, what was happening with her?
He didn’t want to intrude, because, he didn’t have all the facts. Just some feelings he couldn’t shake. Regardless, he didn’t feel good about it.
He got up, and retraced his steps from earlier that morning, winding up back on the second floor. He’s making his way down the hall, when her door opens, and an angry man stormed out, huffing and puffing, cursing under his breath.
He watched the angry man leave past him, and looked back to her apartment door, slightly open. He cautiously approached, as if something might run at him.
He slowly pushed the door open, it creaking the whole way. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. This wasn’t his place to make a move. He didn’t even know her. Even if his suspicions were correct, who’s to say she wanted his help.
“H-hello?” He called out, walking in slowly.
She emerged from inside, confusion knitted between her furrowed brows. “What- What are you doing here?” She sniffled, keeping a hand up to her mouth, covering half her face.
“I wanted to ask you about the noise,” he put his hands in front pocket, “again.”
“I already told you. It must’ve been the wind.” She said, and he repeated it with her, not believing her one bit.
“I can hear everything downstairs.” He takes one small step closer to her, causing her to step back the same.
“I don’t... need help.” She said quietly, unconvincingly, shaking her head.
“Promise I’m not playing tricks on you,” He said softly, taking a step again, “you’re always welcome to come by,” she stepped back, “you could stay there for an hour or two, if you ever need a friend.” She looked so sad to him. “We can talk about the noise, whenever you’re ready.”
She stayed silent. He looked around her place, and saw a notepad and pen lying around. Scribbling his name and number down, he looked at her once more. Standing in her own apartment, she seemed so out of place. So uncomfortable.
He sighed and left, feeling uneasy about leaving her alone.
Later that night he heard yelling once more. A man yelling and then he heard her screaming- no, pleading.
After the noise has quieted down, he layed on his bed, feeling nothing but hurt for the girl. She looked younger than him by a bit, but so much more tired. He knew something was wrong, but she wouldn’t let him help.
Under his pillow he felt a buzz of his cell. Pulling it out, he read,
The wind is back.
He typed quickly,
So I heard. Do u want me to come upstairs?
He didn’t know what exactly he was offering, but it was worth a shot.
No
She replied fast. Following up with,
Just... keep messaging me pls makes me feel less alone
So he did. Back and forth the pair went until sunrise. Until she stopped replying, and he figured she dozed off.
He sent her a message to read when she awoke,
I know it’s a long shot, but, maybe we could grab coffee later today? As friends.
He put his own phone down, and shut his eyes to rest.
Surprisingly, she agreed to coffee. So, around mid-afternoon, the two agreed on a coffee shop far from their apartment building, and met there.
The texting has helped him get to know her, but this meeting got him even more close to her. She was a lot like him. Interests, hobbies. They shared their liking in black licorice, and their same dislike of pickles.
He was glad he was making her smile, because her face seemed so permanently sad when he saw her the day before. Unbeknownst to her, he also noticed the cut on her lip. He saw the bruises on her thighs and arms when her dress or sleeve shifted. He noticed how if he ever lifted his arms, she every so slightly flinched.
Their coffee date ended on a good note, and they continued with having more. Him, happy to be seeing her happy. And, her, happy to meet someone who made her happy.
A few quiet nights past, just to be followed up again by a loud one. Something else breaking. He had tried to stay up late Incase she needed him at night.
When he heard her crying through the ceiling, he rolled out of bed. Pulling out his Bluetooth speakers, he connected it to his phone. Aiming the boombox at the roof, he played Lean on Me, just so she could know that she could lean on him, if she ever needed.
She texted him,
The wind was strong tonight.
He sighed sadly,
Pls, let me help.
Her reply took a minute to come back,
I can’t. This is my fight. Not yours.
And after that, even though he messaged her all night, she didn’t reply.
The next few days came and went. Noises louder some nights more than others.
But, there came a night, when Eric, her partner, was furious. More so than usual. He had told her he wanted a hot meal by the time he got out of the shower, and she did exactly that. Except his shower ran long, and when she got up to reheat his cold dinner, he grabbed the plate off the table, and tossed it at the wall in her direction, glass shattering around her.
She cowered from the noise.
He narrowed his eyes at her, “Oh, look at the mess you’ve made.” He said with a tsk. He walked towards her, and she stood still, shaking in fear. He hated when she tried to run or fight back. That just made it worst.
“I asked you for a hot meal, did I not?” He spoke low, stroking her cheek with his hand.
She nodded, trying not to let her fear show through. “Y-yes.”
He pulled back, and backhanded her, “That. Wasn’t. A. Hot. Meal.” He growled through grit teeth, “Was it?”
She fell to the side, and scoot back from him, “I made it right when you c-came home. B-but, you’re shower ran long, so by the time-” she stopped rambling when she saw his eyes widen, and his head cock to the side.
“Oh!” He exclaimed, clapping his hands dramatically, “So, this is all my fault then?”
She widened her eyes, choking on her words, “No, no, no. Tha-that’s not what I meant, I just meant that-”
He ran at her, kicking her hard in her ribs, causing her small body to shake furiously. He pulls his leg back once more, when she screams.
She screams his name. Not her partners. No. She screams her neighbors name. Loud, and shrill. Causing a chill to run down her partners spine.
Good thing too, because when her voice reached the ears of her downstairs boy, he shot up in bed. This was his time. This was the moment he was waiting for. He was wanting her to ask him for help, and here she was- quite literally, calling out for him.
He rushed down to the elevator- unsure of what his game plan is. Taking it up a floor, he runs down the hall, and to her door. He takes a deep breath before barging in, seeing his poor neighbor balled in a corner while her partner stood above her menacingly.
“Get away from her.” He spoke loud and clear, with purpose.
The attacker snickered, “And, who the hell would you be?” He asks, turning his body towards him.
Neighbor boy was confused with the question. He was just a nobody. Just a nobody neighbor. So he stayed silent, simply looking down at the sobbing girl.
“So, you’re the hero she called out for, huh? Well,” he cracks his knuckles, “let’s see if you’re really worth the hype.”
Eric charges towards his opponent, tackling him to the ground. They fumble around the ground, each attempting to throw punches, both failing. Neighbor gets an upperhand, and pushes him off, before running towards his damsel. He quickly swoops up her tiny body, and runs with her inside a room.
He wasn’t here for a fight. He was just here to save her.
He gently placed her on the bed, and quickly locked the door. Barricading it with a chair and a nightstand, he stepped back, waiting.
And, on cue, in came the police he had called before coming upstairs.
“Put the knife down, and step away from the door!” The duo heard officials yell from outside.
There was shouting, and rumbling. Some tackling and eventually, a knock on the door they were hiding behind.
He opened the door to see an officer looking at the two of them. Taking one look at the crying, shaking girl on the bed, he said, “I’ll send in a medic. From there, they’re probably going to want to take her to a hospital.”
He sat by her the entire time the EMTs worked on her wounds, and tended to her cuts. She was softly holding his one hand between both of hers.
When they told her to get into an ambulance, she refused to go without her neighbor savior. As they sat in the back of the ambulance, she didn’t once let go of him. Wether that be holding his hand, or grabbing the hem of his shirt.
“I’m sorry.” She whispered so low he thought he dreamt it.
“For what?” He asked, looking at her.
“For needing help. I said it was my fight, but you fought it for me.”
“With you. I fought it with you.” He reassured her, he tucked a loose strand behind her ear, “Everyone needs help sometimes. I’m right here with you.”
-
This was longer than anticipated and idek if I like it I’m sorry and I hope I did the song justice agghhhh
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reminiscing-writer · 3 months
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some inheritance games + the naturals parallels <3
MAJOR SPOILERS FOR BOTH SERIES (it's mainly about ships)
— grayson & michael were introduced first and in a similar way; they were sent to get avery & cassie and the girls were immediately attracted to them
— dean & jameson were introduced second; they were also the last of the main groups to be introduced to the mcs
— there was a tension around both dean & jameson before the introduction
Michael’s eyes darkened. Lia’s mouth curved slowly into a smile. “Well,” Sloane said brightly, completely unaware of the changing undercurrent in the room. “There’s also Dean.”
“Is Jameson here yet?” the dark-haired boy amended his question. Grayson stiffened. “No.”
— avery & jameson worked as partners more in the same way that cassie & dean did
— both avery & cassie initiated the first kiss with jameson & dean (and they were both the first kisses in the book)
— meanwhile grayson & michael were the one who initiated their kisses
— what jameson & dean said after their first kiss with the girls:
“It doesn’t matter.” He continued punching the bag. “It was just a game.” Truth or Dare. He was right. It was just a game. So why did I feel like someone had slapped me? (dean)
“If Emily taught me anything, it’s that everything is a game. Even this. Especially this.” (jameson)
— THE SCAR!!!
His torso was lean, his stomach defined. He had a long, thin scar that ran from collarbone to hip. (jamie)
Dean had a scar, too—older, thinner, like someone had drawn the tip of a knife slowly down his torso in a jagged line from the base of his collarbone to his navel.
— calming the mc's panic attacks
Jameson came up beside me. He put his hands on my shoulders. He walked me over to the edge of the roof. The very edge, close enough that Oren called out, but in response, all Jameson did was spread my arms to each side, until his and mine were both held out in a T. “Close your eyes,” he whispered. “Breathe.” I closed my eyes. I breathed. I felt him breathing.
I felt a hand, warm and steady, on the back of my neck. Dean. “You’re fine,” he said. “It’ll pass.” This from the boy who’d never wanted me to go to the place I’d just gone. “Just breathe,” he told me, dark eyes making a careful study of mine. I returned the favor, concentrating on his face—here, now, this moment, nothing else.
— at the end of book 2, cassie has a near death experience, after which she makes a decision regarding the love triangle and chooses dean who was there for her
— at the end of the hawthorne legacy, avery also has a near death experience, jameson is there for her and she chooses him
— in book 3 of the naturals, michael is bitter that cassie didn't choose him, he's distant and self destructive and cassie worries about him a lot, but they manage to fix it and remain friends
— from what we've seen in tfg, grayson is distant and avery is worried about him (waiting for them to fix their friendship too!)
<3
also a reminder that neither of these books are romance books, so it makes sense that the love triangles resolved in book 2!
the naturals had 3 more books after that and it was just plot and no more love triangle, while tig has only 1 more book so it makes even more sense to end the love triangle and focus on a bunch of other things
23 days until the final gambit, we got this!! so excited
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reminiscing-writer · 4 months
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Currently reading The Inheritance Games and Idk if this is a controversial opinion but... Nash is my favourite oop.
Watch him do something awful later on and I'll regret this post
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reminiscing-writer · 4 months
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This fanart of avery and the brothers omgg
(creds: @kkristenarts on twt)
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reminiscing-writer · 1 year
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THE LAST OF US | 1.01 “When You’re Lost in the Darkness” THE LAST OF US | 1.09 “Look for the Light”
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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2023 still sounds like one of those made up distant years someone would accidentally end up in on a time travel mission gone wrong
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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"steve is so stupid lol" yeah? YEAH? everyone loves talking about how robin deciphered the russian code but if steve hadn't recognized the 'daisy bell' song from the coin operated toy horse, robin and dustin would've still thought that the transmission was from russia or something. robin asks "maybe they have horses like that in russia?" and steve immediately says "'indiana flyer'? i don't think so." so just because steve harrington, who was a popular jock for the majority of his school years, doesn't understand the nerdy/geeky references the party makes, it doesn't make him stupid.
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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#amazing
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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Heyyy (with the intention of holding your hand at the pumpkin patch) 🎃🍂🦇
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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You deserve to let go of trauma, but in the ways that work for you. If that means that you need the time and space to feel what happened to you, to voice it, to take action, then you deserve all of that. Being told to "just let it go" on someone else's timetable is invalidating. You never deserve toxic positivity - you deserve healing on the terms and timeline you need.
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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I can’t😆I can’t anymore 😆😆
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reminiscing-writer · 2 years
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honestly so slay of them
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