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isaac-lahey-imagines · 3 years

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Imagine #70 | Request #31 (Part 3/3 of Isaac Lahey x Alpha!Reader)

Catch up here: Part 1, Part 2 (might need to rewrite these two though)

Can I just say that you guys who stuck with this blog (and the Wattpad imagines) are the best? And to think I haven't posted in years and we've hit 6k+ followers when I came back?! I don't even know how you people are still here and loving the pieces I put out when I'm here cringing over the old works back in 2015!

Warnings: The usual when it comes to the Teen Wolf series, specifically the Dread Doctors' season, mentions of blood, bones breaking, drugs, needles, a few curse words, idk if this is angst? whump?

Word Count: 6k+ (it's probably the longest I've written omg)

Not much of a flashback or backstory (I'm out of words, I can't squeeze anymore juices out of my brain, my bad). As usual, this is note beta-ed and sorry for any mistakes! English isn't my first language :(

“No more, please,” weak cries fell on deaf ears as you were dragged down from one hall to another, the smell of disinfectant and rust overpowering your already sensitive nose and magnifying the headache that was present from when you took a beating earlier.

The sound of bare flesh skidding on the polished floor bounced off the walls as you tried to pull away and run from your captors, you did not care of the stinging sensation that radiated from the pads of your feet - the open wounds left untreated by the people who kept you in hopes that whatever was inside of you can take care of it on its own.

You were repulsed at the thought of them still being considered as people after what they have put you through - they were monsters.

“Just a little more, my dear.” One of the figures that held your arm sneered, the grip on your bicep tightening making you clench your jaw. You internally scoffed at this knowing well that it won’t be ‘just a little more’ with how long and how frequent it happened and will happen.

“She should be able to go through another round.” A voice, deeper than the feminine one from earlier, spoke up as you entered through the heavy double doors of a room - an operating theater you guessed from the setup. “Prep her.”

“Her vitals are stronger now.” The third person declared, their fingers flipping through the pages of the clipboard in their hands before glancing towards the monitor to one side of the room - an image of your anatomy on display with different colors corresponding to each system in your body.

“The less you struggle the faster this will be.” One of the doctors, the Geneticist, who dragged you to this hell hole hummed as she was met with resistance on your end while she strapped you down on the cold metal table, the leather rubbing your already raw skin.

Her patience with you was at a limit, she was close to just ending it - ending you. But they have already achieved so much with their craft that it would be such a waste of time and resource to start from square one.

“Remember,” The Pathologist warned as he walked closer to you once you were settled down. “The louder you scream, the more blood we take from you.”

The tears that fell from your eyes to the sides of your face tickled your ears at the threat, small whimpers coming from you were ignored.

“Might I remind you that the btch wakes up?” The Geneticist interrupted, irritation in her voice as she steadied your shaking right hand before inserting an IV cannula in a vein at the back of your hand and taping it in place. Looking up to her left, she reached for the device below one of the two bags that hung on the pole and unclamped its tube letting the mix of anxiolytic, hypnotic, and anticonvulsant start to flow down to you. She then turned her attention to the other bag beside it, a mix of amnestic, and myorelaxant drugs, and did the same - a near-perfect cocktail mix they specifically designed for you.

She reminded the other doctors that no matter how much benzos, relaxants, or other drug concoctions they pump in your veins, you will wake up in between operations screaming your head off while attempting to break free of the hold you are currently in. “No matter how much sedatives we put in her, her wolf is too strong-”

“It’s an animal-” The Surgeon spoke up.

“She’s an alpha, a pure one-” She argued again, almost growling at the hard-headedness of her co-doctors before she was cut off by the same person.

“An animal.” He spoke in finality. “We are humans - gods even! We are at the very top of the damned food chain.”

The room suddenly fell silent, your whimpers, the beeping of a monitor, and the hum of the machines somewhere in the room were the only things that could be heard as you started to feel the effects of the fluids injected into you.

The tension you felt from earlier began to leave your body just as your vision started getting cloudy, your eyelids feeling heavier by the minute. You didn’t notice the Pathologist holding up a syringe to the light, flicking the bubbles away with his middle finger and thumb a few times before the taste of rubber invaded your mouth with such force that hurt your lips, gums, and teeth.

The Surgeon that was above you, blocking the light for a few moments, had shoved the mouth guard in before he continued securing your head in the metal gear positioned above you. Your neck followed suit with a hard metal clamp attached to the table effectively locking you in place and soon, your whole body was completely immobilized with a loud click from the double lock clamps.

The tears continued to flow down the sides of your face as you fought the sleepiness, praying for this to just end. The dread of what is to come overwhelming you and making your body shake as much as the drugs and table’s hold on you would allow.

“I’m surprised the smart one hasn’t figured it out yet.” They exchanged small talk over your muffled screams as soon as you felt the sharp sting of a needle puncturing your skin and into your cervical spine; expelling whatever it was they created into your system for the nth time. Your ears hurt from the ringing in your head while your throat burned as the pain from the syringe radiated all over your body.

“I’m surprised her mate hasn’t.” The Geneticist replied with emphasis.

“My friends, let us not be complacent.” Their leader ended their conversation as he now concentrated on looking at the x-ray on the monitor showing the movement of the serum as it spread in you.

“We continue our routine - clean her up, wipe her to an extent and then return her. ” He added as he pushed more of the liquid in you with a press of a button by your head.

“Marcel, they will know, soon enough.” She pointed out. “She will start to have withdrawals if-”

“We won’t let that happen.”

Sneakers skidding on the floor as everyone seemed to scramble out of the way towards the door, eyes wide with fear looking at the figure in front of them.

“Y/N?”

“Alpha?”

Isaac watched as the massive wolf in front of them let out a deep growl with its teeth bared at the people that called her attention, the fur on her back and chest standing up making her look even bigger than she already is.

“Y/N,” Isaac knew that Deaton was the best person to handle all kinds of supernatural cases, hence, the title of Emissary to their pack. “It’s Deaton.”

Letting out another growl as you licked your lips, your tail flicked lowly behind you as your eyes darted to each person present in the room before landing back to one in particular who was too close for comfort.

“Y/N, hey,” His voice sounded softer, it almost made you feel a sense of comfort until his hand reached out to you and made you snap back and almost bite it off.

This instinctively made Scott pull Isaac back by his shirt to a safe distance, struggling a bit in his grasp as the beta did not want to be moved further away from you despite the situation.

“Isaac, move back,” Deaton warned when he noticed that the curly-haired werewolf was not backing down, a hand gesturing for him to move away from you. “She’s scared.”

“No, Deaton, she heard me. She’s there - Y/N,” Isaac argued before turning his attention back to you again, blue eyes already glassy as tears filled the rim of his eyes. “She heard me.”

Isaac tried to hold on to the hope that you were present underneath the wolf because he was sure he saw that familiar glimmer that was distinctly you.

Just as he attempted to reach out to you again with a whisper of your name on his lips, the same frequency you heard before rang in your ears making you seize up and drop to the ground.

“Agh! What is that?” Liam winced as his hands reached up to his head to cover his ears, eyes scrunching shut as he tried to will away the incessant ringing.

“What’s what?” Mason asked with confusion etched on his face as he looked at his friend then to Stiles and the others, the werewolves in the room in particular, doing the same.

Isaac did not care for the ringing he heard, witnessing you looking like you were being kicked or beaten as you struggled to stand up, the sound of pained screams, whines, and whimpers coming out of you pulled at his heart making him drop to his knees beside you.

His hands hovered over your form trying to figure out what to do while he avoided getting scratched by the large clawed paws that writhed with your body, Scott and Thor doing the same and looking over you trying to see where exactly were you hurting.

“Deaton,” Isaac called as he carefully placed his hand on your shoulder before hissing - you were burning up and the black color that coursed through his veins upon touching you wreaked of disease. “Deaton what do we do?!”

“What is that?” Thor asked in bewilderment as he saw what was happening with Isaac’s arms.

“Hold her still as much as you can,” The vet’s voice was calm despite the mess, going to one of the counters in the room and asking Stiles and Mason for assistance as he tried to collect what sounded like glass vials from the way it clinked in their hold.

Isaac heard Thor mutter an apology to his alpha as he tried to hold your hind legs down as much as he can, Scott doing the same by your torso and Isaac by your neck.

“Y/N,” Isaac continued to call for you as he tried to hold your front legs down. “It’s Isaac, baby - it’s me.”

“Hurry!” Scott called to Deaton as his eyes scrunched and a sheen of sweat already present on their foreheads, the ringing still present in their ears making it difficult for them to concentrate.

Just as Deaton returned and knelt by your side, carrying a stainless steel tray that contained what looked like multiple large syringes in it, the static ringing noise started to get louder making the supernatural beings in the room let out a pained groan and lose their grip on you.

It grew too much too quickly to bear, causing the lights and windows above your heads to shatter and engulf the room in darkness. As everyone ducked for cover, Isaac stayed by your side and tried to shield you from the onslaught of sharp glass descending on you.

It took a few moments before the ringing stopped and the feel of cold air entered the room, snapping them back to their senses as their eyes opened at the smell of blood it carried with it.

Isaac immediately sat up as he felt the cold tiled floor and not your warm body underneath him.

“Y/N,” was all he said before he sprinted out of the room, the others following behind him.

“How did she get out?” He heard Stiles behind him once they reached the outside of the clinic, Thor already looking around the perimeter of the establishment for any signs of you.

Isaac’s brain was running a hundred miles at what he saw and what had just happened inside, his lips quivering as he ran his hands through his hair and pulling at the roots in frustration. He sniffled as he tried to stop the tears from running down his cheeks with the heels of his hands. Exhaling, he closed his eyes and tried to even out his breathing before turning to Scott.

“She’s not gone,” his alpha spoke, already reassuring him. “We’re going to find her.”

Just before Isaac could reply and shoot down the optimism his alpha had, a car screeched to a halt in front of them.

“Where is she?!” Lydia asked as she got out of the driver’s side, a frantic look in her bloodshot eyes.

“Hey, hey, what happened?” Stiles was immediately by her side, cupping her face in his hands. But Lydia only moved out of the way and turned to Isaac and asked again.

“We don’t know where she is. She disappeared right before Deaton -” Lydia was close to tears again as she groaned in frustration.

“They can’t get her back.” She said, sounding more of a beg as her voice shook a little.

Everyone in front of her stopped what they were doing and looked at the Banshee.

“Who’s they? And where do you think Y/N is?” Stiles asked before a few seconds later, realization hit him.

It was on the way to Eichen House that Lydia explained everything she saw that made her break all the traffic laws implemented in Beacon Hills just to rush to the vet clinic. Isaac could not shake the feeling that Lydia, a banshee – a herald of death, had visions of you in his arms already in eternal slumber. His wolf broke more than a little as she spoke more of what she saw, only a few words registering to him – Y/N, doctors, experiment, and torture.

Everything was a flash for Isaac now, he did not even realize that they were now in a tunnel under the mental facility planning on who was going where.

But once their strategy was laid out, Isaac wasted no time in trying to locate even the faintest of your scent in the damp and moldy tunnel he was walking through. He heard Stiles and Lydia speaking on the phone in his pocket that they'd found an office that had files strewn everywhere – files that specifically contained information about you and what they have done with you so far.

“Any luck finding her?” Lydia asked as Isaac heard papers being flipped on the other end of the line.

“Nope, not yet,” Liam replied.

“No, she’s not here.” Thor was next then Scott, all claiming to find only empty rooms and dungeons.

“Isaac?” Lydia asked after not hearing from him.

“None,” he answered, sounding defeated as he rounded another corner with you nowhere in sight.

Isaac could hear collective sighs as they continued their searches, his ears already drowning out what Lydia and Stiles were doing - occasionally spitting out questions of why’s as they continued to browse through what they found in the files.

His breathing became labored as his mind started to play tricks on him the further we walked down the tunnel, the source of light slowly fading the deeper he went.

Just as he was about to turn another corner, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He felt as though soft fingertips touched him, making his skin crawl as he turned around quickly only to find an empty space. But as he directed his attention to the other corner of the room, the colors on his face drained.

Amidst the mess of metal chains and torn blankets, Isaac watched closely as the figure on the floor took a raspy breath, eyes moving behind closed lids, lips mumbling incoherent words.

“Y/N?” Isaac slowly approached, the other members of the pack on the other line calling for his attention and asking if they heard him call your name.

At the sound of your name being called, your body went rigid. Your eyes flew open, widening as you saw a shadowy figure in front of you moving closer.

“Please, no more.” Your voice cracked from the overuse as you begged, the sound of heavy metal clinking together echoed in the empty room as you backed away slowly. “I’m sorry! I won’t do it again, please!”

Your frame quivered as you continued to plead, sweat mixed with blood trickled down your body as you attempted to make yourself smaller against the corner of the cell; failing from the sudden pain on the back of your neck that restricted you to move any further away from where you were.

“Y/N, it’s Isaac. I’m not going to hurt you.” Isaac ignored the voices over the phone calling for him, asking if he really found you. “You’re safe now, they’re not going to hurt you.”

Isaac almost expected for you to cower further away from him, but you didn’t – instead, you relaxed a little as his hand landed on the small of your back and the other on your shoulder effectively pulling you into an embrace.

As Isaac felt you release a breath before melting against his chest, his scent effectively calmed you down as your wolf recognized her other half. You both stayed like that for a while before he went back to examining you and what was behind you, more so what was attached to you.

Now, more diligent in his movements, his hands hovered over what seemed to be a tube attached to the back of your neck. He shifted in his kneeling position, careful not to jostle you, before taking his phone from his pocket.

“Something’s attached to her, I need to get it off-.” He informed more to Stiles and Lydia than to others present on the call.

“Don’t!” Lydia exclaimed, panicked at what Isaac was planning. “Not yet.”

“But she’s already hurting!” Isaac’s hands returned to your shoulder and back, holding you closer - as close as the tube permitted.

“That’s connected to her spine, Isaac,” Stiles added, warning him of what might happen. “If you remove it you might do some serious damage here.”

His attention turned back to you when he heard you whimper his name.

You were testing to see if Isaac was really there with you or if you were merely hallucinating again, not sure anymore of what was real after everything that happened to you for the past few years.

“Isaac?”

“Hi,” he smiled down when he pulled away from you a little, his voice shaking as he cupped your face in his hands. “I’m here.”

Your eyes focused on his face, blinking a few times before-

“No.”

That, he did not expect.

“No, no, no.” You mumbled repeatedly making Isaac more confused- were you not happy or relieved to see him with you?

“You shouldn’t be here.” As you came to your senses, you moved out of his grasp and pushed him away at the same time with the little strength you have left.

“Y/N, we came here for you. What are you talking about?” Isaac was hurt, you can see it in his face the way his brows furrowed and eyes already releasing a few tears down his cheeks.

Before you could answer back, the same ringing sounded again.

“Isaac, you have to go, please.” You cried, your own tears flowing down your cheek as you tried to pry his hands that held on to your wrists away, wanting to get out of his hold on you all the while fighting the heavy ache in your body to turn against your own will.

“Isaac, you have to get out of there!” You can hear Stiles over the phone, can hear Scott and the others running to where your werewolf was located.

“I’m not leaving her,” Isaac growled at them but his eyes stayed on you.

“You have to, plea-”

“Y/N!”

A blood-curdling scream left your lips as your body started to tremble on the floor, your bones were visibly breaking and morphing under your skin against your will yet again. The jagged edges of the broken bones breaking through skin and the movement causing purple and blue patches to decorate your flesh, all the while the liquid inside the tube that was still attached to you bubbled angrily.

“Isaac!”

Turning to the person who called his name, he suddenly felt himself being tugged down to the floor as the sound of electricity zipping past them blasted onto the steel bars of a small window on the wall overcame your pained screams.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” the static voice called.

“It’s the Dread Doctors.” Stiles’ voice over the phone can be heard, more papers can be heard being flipped and thrown somewhere. “They’re the ones doing this to Y/N.”

“I need to get it off of her!” Isaac spoke to the phone as he watched Thor lunge at one of the doctors in front of them, his clawed hand not holding back any hits he let out. Scott was next when another appeared much closer to where you and Isaac were.

Once your cries quieted down and your body settled down to small shakes - appeased from the onslaught of transforming against your will, Isaac’s hands hovered over the tube.

“You have to go before they hurt you.” It was barely a whisper when the words came out of your mouth, your body was getting too tired to fight it anymore.

“No, I’m not leaving without you, you know that.” Isaac spoke it with a voice that left no room for arguments as he held the tube in his hand and attempted to pull.

Isaac held back a sob as the screams you let out shattered through the noise of the grunts and punches being thrown. But before he could successfully pull it out, a force had hit him and sent him across the room hitting a wall with a loud thud.

“Near-perfect.” Another doctor, the same one who threw Isaac off of you, had appeared next to you with a device in his hand that, from the looks of it, controlled the tube that was pumping the liquid into you.

“Stop, please!” Your hands flew to the contraption attached to you just as Isaac charged at the doctor, sending them both to the ground.

Blinking away the heaviness of your eyelids, you tried to move from your position on the floor only to fall back down flat on your stomach. The wolf in you whined in panic, barking almost as she nudged you with her head to stand up - that you still had strength in you and she was there to anchor you herself.

“Give her back to me,” You can hear Isaac from across the room, the sight of him swiftly landing blow after blow at the doctor caught you off guard. The blood that ran down his temple to his eyes only added a level of intensity to his yellow glowing gaze as he gave a growl that had an unnerving timbre to it. “Now.”

On the other end of the room, you watch Scott claw at the doctor he was against before the mask fell off and revealed a face that was mottled, wrinkled, and scarred. If the true alpha was disgusted, he did not show it as he put his arms up to block the hit the doctor threw his way.

At the sound of a device dropping to the cemented floor, you felt the vibration of the tube behind you stop - the bubbles silencing as it halted its actions. This immediately cleared your head and relieved you of the pain, the fuzzy veil finally lifting as you took another deep breath and attempted to sit upright again.

Successfully sitting up with a few labored breaths accompanied by a wince, you lifted your aching arms and took hold of the tube attached behind you - the stinging feel of the needle made itself known as the small movement you made just from holding it jostled a little.

Taking a couple of ragged breaths again, trying to gather the courage and strength to pull the thing behind you when the air was suddenly knocked out of your lungs. The sensation of a sharp jab radiated from your side, the groan you let out echoed to the other end of the room making your eyes dart to where Isaac was.

“No,” you let out a gasp at the sight of your mate wide-eyed as he stared up at the doctor in front of him - the pain you felt on your side mirroring where the Surgeon’s swordcane embedded on Isaac’s side and giving it a twist for good measure. “Isaac!”

Your wolf’s painful yips turned to a low dangerous growl.

Feeling the familiar throb in your gums as your canines grew longer, you heard a banshee’s piercing scream all the way from the other wing of the Eichen house while a true alpha’s growl filled the place you were in.

“No more,” You say through clenched teeth, Thor’s knees buckling at the command in his alpha’s voice, Scott and the doctors they were up against stood in awe at the willpower you displayed.

“Perfect,” one of them said under their breath, the final push for perfection.

Finally standing tall, the tube attached to your neck earlier now clutched in your hand, you did not waste time as you took down each person who did you wrong.

Going for the closest antagonist in your life, Thor immediately scrambled out of your way as your claws wrapped around the Geneticists neck. You let your body move past her without letting go of your grip on her before using the momentum to lift the doctor up, the weight and force effectively disconnecting her head from the rest of her body before hurdling her to the Pathologist who was clambering away from Scott and the fight.

Everything was a blur to the other occupants of the room as you zipped past them and took down each one before you finally lunged at the Surgeon who finally released his grip on both his cane and on Isaac.

“My child-” he managed to say as your grip on his neck tightened, his feet barely touching the ground - your eyes glowing a dangerous color as you stared up at him.

You can finally see through the mask, raw pink flesh with stitches decorating it was what the steel mask protected. His mouth opened to say something but only a gurgled gasp came out as your other hand embedded itself in his chest and pierced through skin and muscle. You felt your wolf puffing up with pride and anger - you were their greatest creation and downfall.

Silence enveloped the room as the lead doctor took his last breath before you haphazardly threw him to the ground.

With his nose scrunched and eyebrows furrowed, Isaac pulled the swordcane out of him. His jaw clenching before he let out a pained groan at the feel of the weapon sliding out before leaning heavily against the brick wall while clutching his side.

Your attention was immediately drawn to your other half, managing to wipe off some of the blood on your hand before tending to him.

“Hey,” Isaac greeted as he tried to not lean all his weight to you as you wrapped your arms around his waist, careful not to touch the stab wound on his side. You felt tears playing at the edge of your lashes as you buried your face against his chest, the scent signifying home.

“Can’t really ask you if you’re okay,” You managed to say once you pulled away and looked up at him.

“You’re one to talk,” Isaac replied with a chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled, wiping the stray tear that ran down your cheek with the back of your hand as Isaac’s lips returned to your forehead for another kiss.

“Y/N, look-”

“No!”

A loud bang and the pain that came with it suddenly broke the bubble of peace you were in.

Clutching you to his chest, you saw the same confused expression that reflected on Isaac’s eyes before they darted from you to where the smell of gunpowder was coming from.

The Pathologist’s hand shook as he held the gun up, a crazed look in his eyes as he attempted to stand up from being buried under his colleague's lifeless body. He muttered incoherent words as he aimed the gun at you again.

But before he can pull the trigger, another loud thud took you all by surprise as you witnessed the man fall down flat on his face.

“Damn.” Lydia was behind him with a bloodied metal bat clutched in her hands - Stiles’ hands were up in the air, his eyes were wide as if he couldn’t believe his girl just did that.

“Well mark me down as scared and horny,” Stiles muttered under his breath, his brain replaying the moment Lydia all but took off with his metal bat and ran down the hall as fast as her heels allowed her to where they were now.

“Thank you, Thor.” You hugged the larger-built werewolf, his arms wrapping around you tightly but still being mindful of your current state. “But I don’t think I’m fit to be your alpha - to be the pack’s alpha anymore.”

“I will never understand how you and the others accepted me after what had happened.” Your feet dangled as you sat on a bricked fence outside of the Eichen house, the jacket from Isaac wrapped around you securely to act as a buffer against the coolness of the night.

You can hear Thor’s wolf whine at your words, his face already reflecting the sadness you both felt at what you were doing as he leaned against the fence you were sitting on.

“Alpha, please don’t discredit yourself.”

You looked up at him, not really believing his words with how much damage you’ve done to the pack - to your family.

“You are more than worthy - especially at your age.” He added, pointing out that most of the alphas out there were a hundred years older than you. “You are strong.”

“Thank you, again - for everything,” your lips quivered as you gave your best smile before glancing up to try and prevent the tears from spilling down your cheeks. The thought of leaving your pack broke your heart, they were family. But you needed to have someone better to lead and handle pack-related things -- you needed to recover.

A comfortable silence settled around the two of you before you heard Stiles and Isaac walking towards you.

“Jeep’s good to go, big guy.” Stiles said - more to Thor than you - with a tilt of his head to gesture to where they were parked as Isaac helped you to your feet and walked you towards Lydia’s car.

“You okay?” Isaac asked softly as you both settled in the back seat.

His eyes double-checked the graze on your shoulder from the bullet that hit you, his arms never leaving your side as he let you lean on him - exhaustion already catching up to you with the way your body sagged against his.

No, not really. You wanted to say as he only tugged you closer to him, the drive to Deaton being quieter save for the soft tunes the radio played.

“I will be.”

~~~

Isaac didn’t know what exactly woke him up.

Staring back at the ceiling, his ears strained to hear bed sheets rustling beside him. With the little light that passed through the curtains of the room you shared, he ran his hands down his face before turning to his bedside.

His eyes squinted when his phone awoke and flashed the time, 3:01AM it read - the phone’s screen showed a picture of the two of you together during a weekend picnic Lydia had arranged a few weeks ago. You had your eyes closed and lips smiling - a genuine smile after so long - against his neck as he had his arms wrapped around you tightly while he made a face to the camera.

Isaac stared at his phone’s lock screen a few moments longer before movement on his side and the feel of cold skin touching his leg took him out of his reverie.

Putting his phone back on the nightstand, he curled back down the covers and turned to face you. For someone who’s a warm-blooded supernatural creature themself, you sure have cold feet.

Isaac cupped your face before tucking a stray hair behind your ear, you were lying on your stomach facing him with your hands tucked just a little under your pillow. You were still in deep sleep but it did not look as peaceful as he remembered - your brows were furrowed, your lips moved as if mumbling something and an occasional hand twitch was what he observed.

“Y/N?” Isaac asked, his voice croaked from the lack of use as he leaned on his elbow and tried to coax you awake.

It didn’t take too long before Isaac finally understood what you were saying.

Please, no more...p-please.

Leaning over your side of the bed, Isaac flicked the switch to your bedside lamp open and tried to call for you again. He could now see the thin layer of sweat on your forehead, the sheets bunching up in your grasp as your knuckles turned a lighter shade from how tight your grip was.

I can’t t-take it anymore...

“Hey, baby,” Isaac gently ran his hand down your back a few times, trying not to ‘jolt’ you awake. He knew what methods to use in waking you up when things like these happen, though it took multiple trials and errors with a few bumps - more or less scratches - in the way. But god, he’d take you screaming and lashing out at him any day than this.

I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...

“Y/N, please wake up for me.”

It broke his heart more at the thought that while you were already together, even if in that span of time you were simply friends at first, they’ve already done a multitude of things to you.

“Y/N, I’m here - you’re safe.” He tried again, the soft kiss to your temple lingering a little longer in hopes that it might help - let you sense that he was present and you were not in danger anymore.

“Y/N, no one’s gonna hurt you,” He spoke softly.

Covering your clenched hand with his, it was all it took before your eyes flew open with a sharp gasp of air. It took some strength and swiftness from Isaac to hold your wrists when you sat up so fast - almost bumping his chin in the process - that you almost fell out of the shared bed.

“Hey, hey,” He called for you, your eyes were dilated, blown wide and looking around frantically as if you were searching for the threat that plagued your life a year ago and giving you these night terrors that prevented you from having a good night’s sleep.

“I’m here, you’re safe.” He repeated, waiting for you and not letting go.

“Isaac,” He waited a little more before you finally settled down and realized where you were, your voice shook a little as you spoke his name; eyes glassy as you looked at the familiar blue eyes that called for you.

“I’m here.” Isaac gave a small smile as his hold on your wrist loosened before sliding his hands in yours and holding onto them on your lap - the soft yellow light from your bedside lamp gave his face a soft glow; his eyes looking more kinder that it already was.

Not again. Your lips trembled as you held back a sob, you shook your head as you stared down at your joined hands.

You felt trapped.

That was the only thing you felt and you wanted out, you wanted this to stop; you want an end to this thing happening to you - you don’t deserve the man in front of you.

Having known you for so long, Isaac can already see it on your face, he already anticipated it.

“I love you,” He spoke.

Absolutely no room for arguments, “I won’t leave you.”

You felt Isaac’s hands rest on your hips as you withdrew yours from his hold and tried to stop and wipe as many tears as you could with the heel of your hands. He let you lean your head on his shoulder, the feel of his lips placing a comforting kiss to your ear should’ve given your heart a little leap but it didn’t.

“How much longer will you tell me that before you finally get tired?” You did not mean to say it out loud, you hiccupped once your tears finally settled down with your head and heart.

“Never,” Isaac said as he pushed you away a little to look at you, cupping your face in his warm hands to make you look up at him, a glint of playfulness present. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

You could only sigh and give a soft smile.

“You’re too good for me, Isaac.”

Bringing your hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles, he let them go before cupping your face again and leaned down to plant a kiss on your forehead, then your nose and lastly a chaste kiss on your lips.

“You deserve good things, Y/N.”

You deserve them after everything you went through. Isaac gave that smile he reserved only for you when he pulled away.

Lying back down, Isaac pulled you closer to him before pulling the covers up just below your chin.

“We’ll be okay, remember?” Isaac reminded you of the words you said to him when he asked you a year ago.

You did not miss the way he said ‘we.’ You did remember what he told you, that you were in this together - you’re it for me.

“I remember,” you answered, curling as close as you can to his side. The tip of your nose resting against the warm skin of his neck as he rest his chin on top of your head, arms tightening around you before they relaxed.

Feedbacks are always appreciated! Especially since I miss writing. But again, I won't be doing much writing anymore since I've somewhat lost touch with both my imagines blogs. I might just rewrite/refurbish some of my old imagines/drabbles.

Again, thank you so much for those who stuck by this imagines blog (and for Brett as well). You don't know how much I appreciate it, again, I'm sorry for not being active (read more here)

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagines #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x you #isaac lahey x y/n #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf imagine

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writingsonawall · 3 years

Text

Falling, fallen chapter 1

Pairings: Spencer Reid x OFC

Story summary: Spencer randomly meets Leah at the library and their first encounter was supposed to be just that; a random one-time occurance. When an unsub lands Spencer in the very same hospital she works at, she feels obligated to take care of him. But what happens when his team notices her everlooming presence and theorises that perhaps she could be the unsub they’re looking for?

Chapter summary: The guy Leah had met at the library just an hour ago suddenly gets wheeled into the ER where she works.

Warnings: Mention of blood, but not a lot.

Wordcount: 6,6 k

Prologue, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7,

Leah hadn’t even been on call for half an hour when a stretcher was rolled in through the doors of the ER, someone shouting “Male, early thirties! Gunshotwound to the lower abdomen.” That was about all she was able to concentrate on. The ER was a mess of chaos, every available doctor and nurse running between patients. People were running into each other, medicalequipments crashing onto the floor every now and then, some patients screaming out in pain… Leah could feel the beginning of a migraine sneaking up on her. She almost never worked in the ER, usually sticking to Post Op. or the ICU, but there had been a masscollision on the highway that night so it was kind of like an all hands on deck situation.

Leah was currently working on picking out broken glass from the arm of an elderly woman. It wasn’t a terrible wound, but judging by the way it was bleeding she’d probably need stitches. Still, Leah had no idea why she was there. Her injuries weren’t lifethreatning and the ER was overcrowded with other patients who actually needed their attention more than this woman. She’d be just fine if she had gone to an urgent care, but Leah wasn’t about to argue.

“Leah, I’m gonna need you with me in traumaroom 2.” Dr. Ruiz called over the noise and it gathered her attention. She caught his glance across the room and saw that he was following the stretcher which had just been brought in by the ambulance. Leah quickly mumbled her apologies to the woman, pulled off her gloves and started to navigate through the sea of chaos. She eventually pushed the doors of traumaroom 2 open, rubbing her hands dry from the sanitizer she’d covered them with.

“What’s his status?” Leah asked once she entered, quickly making her way over to the man laying across the stretcher. She knew why Dr. Ruiz had called her in here. The patient was a gunshotvictim, which usually meant a lot of blood. Typically, in cases like this, there were two doctors to check the injuries and make medicaldecisions. Gunshotwounds were always messy and it was hard to know what to expect, so two doctors in the room was always ideal, just in case the patient were to crash or there was a lifethreatning injury. But currently all doctors seemed to be otherwise occupied, so Leah understood why Dr. Ruiz had called her in. Blood and gore never bothered her, it actually made her calmer. The more pressure she had on her shoulders, the calmer and more collected she stayed. She was on the traumateam for a reason, although be it as a nurse, so she had seen a thing or two in her past.

“Oh my God, Spencer!” She exclaimed, surprised to discover the identity of the man sprawled out in front of her. She stood there frozen in place for a moment, wondering what had happened. She had left him at the library not even an hour previously and now he was here, blood pooling slowly from the open wound in his abdomen.

The surprise only shocked her for a split second before she shook herself out of her thoughts. Stroking a hand over his forehead, she matted his mop of curls out his face. Using a thumb to force one of his eyelids open, she grabbed a small flashlight from the pocket of her scrubs.

“Spencer, can you hear me?” She asked him, shining the light into his eyes a few times, watching for any sort of unusual reaction of his pupils. She did the same with the other eye. “Spencer?” She asked once more. He was out cold, but his pupils responded as expected so that made her a little more at ease.

“You know him?” Dr. Ruiz asked over his shoulder, roaming through the cabinets to find all the equipments he’d need to fully check the injuries.

“Well, kinda,” Leah answered, not knowing what else to say in that moment. There was no use to lie about the fact that she’d met him an hour earlier, but she didn’t exactly know him.

“Are you gonna be okay with this or do you need to step out?” Dr. Ruiz asked her, finally returning to stand at Spencer’s other side.

“I’m good,” Leah told him, probably a little too fast to sound convincing. But it was true, she was nothing if not professional.

“Okay,” Dr. Ruiz nodded. “Ready to move him?” He asked and it was Leah’s turn to nod. She pushed the stretcher closer to the bed in the room as Dr. Ruiz got out of the way. Locking the breaks of the stretcher so it wouldn’t budge, she grabbed a tight hold of the sheet underneath Spencer as the doctor did the same on the other side. They locked eyes and counted. One, two, three. In a split second they had Spencer lifted onto the bed with such ease it looked like they had done it a hundred times before. Which they actually probably had. Dr. Ruiz was one of the doctors Leah worked closest with, since he was typically stationed at Post Op. When they were both on call, Leah was nomally the person Dr. Ruiz would call for if he needed help. They were kind of a dream team; a force to be reckoned with whenever they worked together.

As the doctor started to cut Spencer’s shirt open, Leah wheeled the stretcher out into the hall to give them space. Locking the door behind her again, she quickly took a look at his medicalfile which another nurse had just delivered in her hand.

“This is gonna hurt. Let’s push for 10mg Oxycodone,” Dr. Ruiz told her once she returned to Spencer’s side.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. Cave morphine,” Leah told him as she started slicing Spencer’s shirt open from his sleeve up to his shoulder.

“Addiction or allergy?” The dortor asked.

“Addiction. Dilaudid,” Leah informed him, having just read it in his file. She had already snapped gloves onto her hands and was working on getting the IV-kit ready. “Tramadol would be a safer option, right?” Tramadol was usually the kind of drugs they’d give to patients after minor surgeries or injuries to manage the pain. It was hardly as effective as Oxy-preparations, but it was usually still enough to take the edge off. They hardly ever used it before they were able to assess the pain level of the patients, but it still seemed to be the least addictive morphinecontaining drug they had at hand. And given Spencer’s injuries some sort of morphine was needed despite what his medicalfile said. He needed something for the pain and NSAIDs weren’t going to cut it in that moment. They could handle whatever addiction-problem he had later; when he wasn’t in a potential life-threatening situation.

Dr. Ruiz nodded his head acutely, ordering her to administer 50mg. Leah worked quickly, finding a usable vein in Spencer’s hand and poking the cannula into it. Taping it down onto his hand, she hooked a bag of ring acetate to the pole by the bed and connected the tube to the IV. She noticed Spencer twitching a little at that and she moved to stand over his head.

“Spencer, are you awake?” She asked, once again matting his hair back. She noted, even through the gloves she was wearing, that he was warm and sweaty. “I’m gonna give you something for the pain, okay? It’s Tramadol, so I hope that’s okay,” she informed him, even though she highly doubted that he was coherent enough to register her words. She did as she’d said she’d do, pushing a needle Dr. Ruiz had readied for her into the IV-tube and slowly administered the drug. While the painkillers worked its way through his system, she leaned over to help Dr. Ruiz. She put pressure on the wound on his abdomen while the doctor probed around with an ultrasound, trying to look for anything that could indicate whether Spencer had an internal bleeding.

It didn’t even take a minute before Spencer calmed down, his twitching stopping completely and his breathing evening out. She was glad for that, not wanting him to be more uncomfortable than necessary.

“You paged me?” A woman's voice startled Leah and she turned to the door which was now wide open. She was another doctor, but Leah couldn’t really recall her name. Not that she really cared either.

“Yes!” Dr. Ruiz said, tightening the bandage they had just wrapped around Spencer’s wound. It was still bleeding, but the wrappings should be able to hold for the transport to the OR. “GSW to the lower abdomen. Patient is non responding, but stable. No sign of internal bleeding, but I’m sure he needs surgery to remove that bullet,” Dr. Ruiz informed the other woman who nodded along. She moved further into the room and cast a quick look at Spencer, checking the vitals, pupil responses, making sure the oxygenprosentage of his mask was correct before she once again nodded.

“I agree. He’s stable enough to be moved? Then we should wheel him down to Pre Op.,” she concluded.

“I’ll go with him,” Leah found herself speaking before she could even register those thoughts.

“No, no, no, Leah,” Dr. Ruiz said, laying a clean hand on her shoulder. “I need you here in the ER. I’ll go with him and I’ll keep you updated. Don’t worry, he’s going to be fine.” His words reassured her a little. It’s not like Spencer was a friend or anything, but she knew him enough to put a name to the face and that brought this whole case a little closer to home. But she let him go, knowing she was needed more in the ER.

She kept her hands busy for the next two hours before Dr. Ruiz finally returned, hovering just behind her as she was working on trying to determine if she should send the teenager in front of her up to radiology or not.

“He’s in surgery now,” Dr. Ruiz informed her, not giving a care to the boy Leah was inspecting. He cried out in pain when she moved his foot at an odd angle.

“I think he needs to take a trip over to radiology. Do you mind signing the papers?” Leah asked the doctor, not wanting to talk about Spencer right now, especially not in front of another patient. She let Dr. Ruiz take over the patient, but she hovered around until they had sent the boy on his way. She cleaned up after herself and took a glance around the ER. It was getting quiet now. The rush of patients had died down now and she spotted several doctors and nurses just hanging around, chatting and taking a well deserved minibreak.

“Come on,” Dr. Ruiz said, putting a gentle hand on Leah’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a quick coffee and then you can head up to the ICU.” Leah had never felt more relieved by the idea of a cup of the shitty coffee the hospital had to offer. She really needed coffee now.

Leah had always liked Dr. Ruiz. She considered him a friend, at least a workfriend. It’s not just that they worked well together, but he was always very considerate; always being there if she needed a shoulder to cry on at the end of a hard day, pushing her to take a break because she always refused to, bringing her powerbars if there was a busy day and they didn’t have time for a real meal. He was nice and she liked how she could always lean on him.

“I don’t actually know him,” Leah finally spoke up once they had both filled up their cups with the cheap stuff the vendingmachines wanted to pass as coffee. Dr. Ruiz didn’t say anything, just gave a gesture of his hand for her to continue. He leaned back against the wall of the corridor and Leah mirrored him. “We just met earlier today, actually. I forgot my librarycard at the library and he found it, handed it back. We just had a small conversation, nothing big. But then I got called in for the accident, so I had to leave. I mean, I’d seen him just an hour ago and then they wheeled him in,” she explained, not really knowing what to feel.

“And what? You blame yourself or something?” He asked, clearly reading her mind.

“No, not really,” she told him, which was an obvious lie. “I guess it just shocked me. I don’t know. I mean, maybe it could have been me. I don’t even know what happened to him, but I keep thinking that it could have been me. Or maybe if I had stayed a little longer then this wouldn’t have happened at all.” She hadn’t heard anything about what had actually happened. Maybe it had been a robbery gone wrong, or maybe there had been a shootout and he was in the middle of the crossfire. She didn’t suspect the last one since they hadn’t received any other gunshotwound-patients, but the possibilities were still endless. All she knew was that he was brought in with a bullet in his abdomen and that he would hopefully pull through.

“You know, you should really stop thinking like that. It’s not healthy,” Dr. Ruiz told her and it was exactly what she needed to hear. No bullshit excuse about how it wasn’t her fault or that there wouldn’t have been anything she could’ve done. Just a plain and simple command to stop overthinking. It made a small smile play on her lips.

“Yeah, well… How can I not?” She asked him, glancing up. He gave her a sad smile, knowing it was hard to let those thoughts go. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his body. Leah sighed, leaning her head back into his shoulder while taking a sip of her coffee. He didn’t say anything else and neither did she. They just stayed there in silence for another few moments before he started leading her down the corridor. They said their goodbyes in front of the ICU, Dr. Ruiz promised he’d keep her updated on Spencer’s surgery.

Leah prepared for a long night. Nightshifts were usually crap because it was so quiet and she was the kind of person who needed things to do. If she didn’t, she usually got all fidgety and restless, which was also why she never liked reading. She couldn’t sit still for longer periods of time. The more things she had to do, the better she felt once she got home at the end of the day. She had also prepared for a doubleshift, knowing the morning would be busy with doctorvisits, family coming to see their loved ones, breakfast coming around and helping certain patients go to the bathroom and get cleaned up. Yeah, she looked forward to the morning, but for right now she dreaded the long night ahead.

Dr. Ruiz came up a little after two in the morning to let her know that Spencer was out of surgery and was recovering nicely. He’d been lucky, the bullet not hitting any major organs, but it had nicked his bladder so they were afraid of how his bladdercontrol would be. They wanted to keep him catheterized for a few days just to make sure everything was working properly. Apparently, he was also risking the development of internal bleeding and infections. Leah knew that, there was always a risk of that when it came to injuries like Spencer’s, but it rarely ever happened, not unless the bullet had nicked something or the surgery went wrong. But there was still a chance, so they always informed each other of it. She still knew that chances were slim so she wasn’t overly concerned about it. She was mostly happy he was going to be fine.

Spencer was rolled into his own room at the ICU around 3:30 A.M. and Leah made it her personal business to check up on him. She finished the rest of her round rather quickly after that. Once she finished up the most important tasks she grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and some food from the cafeteria. For the next hour she hid out in Spencer’s room, figuring she’d deserved a nice, long break since she was going to pull a doubleshift. It was a quiet night anyway so she didn’t even feel remotely bad about it.

He woke up a little before six in the morning, groaning softly from the bed beside her. Leah glanced over at him, giving him a moment to orient himself. She knew that her position was highly unprofessional; sitting a chair beside him with her feet propped up on his bed next to his. But she didn’t care. Her feet were aching and she loved being able to relieve the pressure for a little while. So, she played it cool, deciding it would be worse to drop her legs down in embarrassment.

“Well, hey there, Stranger!” Leah decided to greet him with the biggest smile she could master. Spencer seemed to be more alert now and he had glanced everywhere imaginable; the door, her feet, the heartmonotor, the IV-bag, the ceiling. Still, his eyes wavered between her feet and her face.

“You’re wearing mismatched socks,” he finally said. Leah couldn’t help but chuckle at that. That was probably the strangest thing anyone had ever said to her after coming out of surgery.

“You know, we ruled out braintrauma pretty early on, but maybe we should still call neuro?” She teased. She could see a blush creep up his cheeks, taininting them in under half a second. His eyes roamed around again, finally locking in on the clock hanging above the door.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” he told her bluntly and Leah felt like he probably wasn’t in jokingmood. “Where are my things? I need to call my boss,” he said trying to move up into a sitting position. Leah decided to just watch him struggle for a moment, finding it highly amusing even though she was still a little worried about him. He was probably still woozy from the anesthesia so sitting up appeared to be a struggle. Finally, Leah dropped her feet from his bed when he groaned out in pain. She walked over to him, putting both her hands on his shoulder and pushing him firmly back.

“Don’t pull your stitches,” she told him. She took a seat in the chair again, grabbing the remote to bed and began to raise his back. He groaned out again when he was almost sitting, so she lowered the back a few notches again. “Don’t be a baby now,” she teased, but her voice was probably a little harsh. She couldn’t help it. She’d had a long day and she had been really worried about him.

“I’m not a baby,” he whispered and Leah could see a pout on his lips. It only made her smirk.

“You sure about that?” She asked, leaning over to snatch his file from the holder at the end of the bed. “You know what they say, right? About doctors being the worst patients?” She raised an eyebrow at him to give him the indication that she knew he was a doctor. It was in his file after all.

“I’m not that kind of doctor,” he informed her and Leah just chuckled.

“Yeah, I figured that much out. I’ve been around enough real doctors, so trust me when I say you’re definitely not the type,” she laughed. “No offense, of course,” she decided to add as an afterthought.

“None taken,” he replied, a little slurred. Leah looked over at him. “Can I call my boss now?” He asked and Leah sighed.

“Spencer, look… they’re already here, your friends I mean-” He cut her off before she even had the chance to say anything else.

“They’re not my friends. They’re my team.” His words surprised her. She hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to them yet, but she’d heard that they had all been really worried and constantly asked for updates on his condition. They seemed genuinely worried about his wellbeing.

“And they can’t be your friends because they’re ‘your team’?” She asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Are you friends with your coworkers?” Spencer asked back, and it should’ve been a witty comeback, but he actually sounded interested in knowing.

“Can’t say that I am,” she said after pondering the thought for a second or so. “Touché, by the way. But my point is, just take a minute to wake up a little bit. I’ll go get them later so you can see them, okay? Just please… take a breather, alright? And I want the doctor to take a look at you first as well. Do you even remember what happened? You just woke up from surgery after getting shot. Let that sink in before I call them in.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer insisted, but Leah just shot him a stern look. She stared him down for what felt like too long before he finally caved, leaning a little further back in his seat with a sigh.

“Good,” Leah smiled. She took a moment to really study him for the first time. He was actually really handsome, with these greenish eyes which got more honeybrown towards the middle and shaggy brown hair which she suspected was always unkept. His nose was straight and his lips slightly plump, skin clean. He actually looked like a specimen. The only negative thing she could point out were the dark circles under his eyes and she felt her heartstring tug a little, wondering what nightmares kept him up at night. The nasal cannula going into his nostrils made him look even sicker than he probably was, but it was still a sight for poor eyes.

“So, you’re… a nurse?” He asked after a few more moments of silence. Leah couldn’t help the bashful smile that stretched across her lips.

“Well, isn’t that kind of obvious?” She laughed, adoring how cute he was when he got all awkward. She took a sip of her coffee and decided it was time to call for the doctor, so she reached over Spencer's head to press the green button on the wall. Spencer was giving her a strange look and she had no idea what that meant. “What?” She asked him, cocking an eyebrow. His intense stare was kind of making her uneasy, but there was no way she was going to show him that.

“I just didn’t take you for the nursing-type,” he mumbled. “No offense,” he quickly added, just as she had done previously. But he looked almost terrified about it, as if he was actually afraid he’d insulted her. Leah could only laugh.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him. “I wouldn’t exactly picture myself as the type either, but here we are. I’m damn good at my job, though.” As if on cue the door to the room opened and Sophie, a young girl who happened to be Leah’s intern, stepped through the door. She decided to have a little fun with that. “Ah! Dr. Reid, meet my intern. Sophie, this is Dr. Reid. You’re in charge of him when I’m not here. Got it?” Spencer gave her an uncertain glance and Sophie had a look of pure horror on her face. She locked eyes with Leah, the ‘Oh dear God, he’s a doctor’ kind of look written over her face. Sophie was a sweet girl, but kind of slouch, and Leah had a tendency to play small little tricks to get her to work just a little harder. Knowing that the patient was a doctor (she didn’t need to know he wasn’t a medical doctor) would definitely nudge her to go the extra mile.

“You, um, you called?” Sophie asked a little uncertainly and Leah found herself pleased when she noted the not so subtle way she leaned over to take a pump of the handsanatizer hanging on the wall by the door. It had been one of the many things Leah had added to her list of improving areas; always sanitize your hands before entering and leaving a patient’s room.

“Yeah,” Leah tried to hide her grin. “Who’s on call right now?” She asked, knowing she could just as well walk out the door and find out herself, but she loved torturing her interns just a little bit. She never crossed the line, but she always pushed them around just enough that they’d remember who was in charge. She loved it, a little innocent fun.

“Uhm, well… There’s you, obviously… and, uh, me and-” Sophie started and Leah resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Sophie, calm down. It’s fine. I mean doctors, who’s on call?” Leah smiled up at Sophie, trying to reassure her that she’d only been joking. Well, at least half-joking. That was another one of Sophie’s flaws; she was too uncertain of herself and could hardly handle a joke.

“Oh, um. I’m not sure,” Sophie mumbled, but didn’t make any move to find out. Leah just stared at her until she lifted her eyes to glance back.

“So?” Leah asked and Sophie looked even more confused at that. “Are you gonna find out for me?” That seemed to startle her because she almost jumped.

“Oh, right! Yes, I’ll be right back.” She was out the door so fast Leah couldn’t help but laugh. She shook her head to herself and stood up from the chair, leaning closer to the heartmonitor and noting down Spencer’s vitals on his chart.

“That was mean,” Spencer mumbled. Leah looked at him for a second, pausing her hand which was still writing.

“It’s a bit of innocent fun. I’m their boss and you see that pager behind you,” she pointed her pen at the wall behind his head. She didn’t even wait for him to try to turn around to look at it before she continued. “It makes me their God,” she finished with a smug smile and gave him a wink. Spencer narrowed his eyes at her.

“She’s your intern. You’re supposed to teach her, not scare her half to death.” He sounded almost angry, despite the uncertainty in his voice. Wow, this guy really couldn’t take a joke. Leah sighed.

“Look, it’s a bit of innocent fun. We have a good relationship and we always have a little debriefing at the end of the day. She’d tell me if I was being too harsh on her,” she said. She finished the chart and put it down in the holder by the end of the bed. She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed a little. “You probably think I’m too rough on her or whatever, and sure, I probably am. But here’s the thing, and I probably shouldn’t even tell you this, but she’s insecure. She needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet. She’s probably gonna lash out on me one of these days and I’m gonna be so proud of her the day she does. She’s a snowflake and she really needs to learn how to stand up for herself.” She decided it was best to just be honest with him. In all honesty she shouldn’t care what Spencer thought of her, but she did. She didn’t want him to think that she was some heartless bitch. She loved being a mentor and loved looking out for her interns. Sophie, despite all her flaws, was her favourite. Leah could see her potential, if she just worked past her insecurities she’d be a damn fine nurse one day.

“So, you’re… bullying her to make her, what, stand up for herself?” Spencer asked, surprise lacing his voice, but he didn’t sound angry anymore. That was a good thing, she guessed.

“I’m not bullying her. Just pushing her buttons a little. Call it reversed psychology or whatever. It always works.” Leah grabbed her zipup hoodie which she had draped over the chair and stuck her arms through. She shook the hood in place so it wasn’t one giant ball in the back of her neck. Spencer gave her a small smile and she wondered what he was thinking. She didn’t want to stay long enough to figure out though. “Okay, well… I’ll go see about that doctor. I’ll go get your friends in a while, so hang out and try to, I don’t know, relax I guess? Call if you need anything,” she told him, placing a gentle hand on his arm just because she could. Grabbing her coffeecup under her armpit she took a few pumps of handsanatizer on the way out. She made her way to the nursesation just as Sophie came practically running down the hall.

“Jameson’s on call right now,” She said, almost sounding out of breath. Leah wondered if she had been running all over the Goddamned hospital to figure that out.

“Okay, did you tell him to take a look at 104?” She asked and Sophie’s eyes went wide. Leah realized quickly what that meant. “No, no! Sophie, it’s okay. Seriously. I’ll go find him. Don’t worry about it,” Leah gave her a reassuring smile, reaching out to squeeze both her shoulders. “Did you finish your schedule yet?” She asked, knowing her interns had some kind of schedule, like a plan, they were supposed to follow.

“Uhm, well, I still have to take out the trash in 109 and I have some other small things I haven’t done yet, but-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Leah cut her off with a dismissive wave of her hand. She threw away her now empty papercup and hung her hoodie over the chair by the computer. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry. Take a break or something, get some air, whatever.” Sophie seemed a little reluctant to the idea, but nodded her head acutely.

“Would you, uhm, like me to bring you back some more coffee? Black right?” Sophie asked and Leah couldn’t help but grin at her.

“Yes, please. Take your time, though.” With that Sophie took her leave and Leah went to find Dr. Jameson to let him know that Spencer was awake and needed a quick check. She then went back to the nursingstation to check what was next on her to-do list. She finished her round rather quickly, even with Sophie’s small list of things she’d neglected to do, or hadn’t gotten around to do or for whatever other reason just hadn’t done yet. It was just minor things, so she didn’t mind. Sophie seemed to have been doing alright with everything else.

When she once again returned to the nursingstation there was a steaming papercup with her name on it, decorated with a simple smileyface. Leah smiled at that. She sat down by the computer and started documenting the most important details of the nightswatch so the morningshift would know what had gone down. Just as she was about to finish up, Sophie approached her, fidgeting a little.

“Thanks for the coffee, Sophie,” Leah told her, hoping that would ease her nervousness a little.

“Oh, no problem!” Sophie smiled. “Uhm, Jameson took a look at the good doctor in 104 and-” Leah had to cut her off with a chuckle.

“That’s what we’re calling him now?”

“Well… he hasn’t yelled at me yet for screwing up and he’s actually been kind of polite, so… I guess?” She sounded so uncertain again.

“Well, what did you screw up?” Leah wasn’t mad. Everyone made mistakes, even her, and she just needed to know if it was a major blowup she had to document or if it was a small thing that could hardly be called a mistake.

“Oh, nothing I think? I’m just really afraid of messing up,” Sophie told her, rather nonchalantly and Leah felt a little proud of her for not freaking out.

“Okay, good. Look, Sophie… You don’t have to be afraid of messing up. Everyone messes up and I won’t get mad or anything, alright? You know I’m only teasing you, right? I don’t mean anything by it.” Leah always felt good about having these heart to heart talks with Sophie.

“Yeah, I know. It’s just, uhm, I’m kinda awkward, I guess.” Leah laughed at that and Sophie gave a soft chuckle as well. Good thing for her that Spencer seemed twice as awkward as her. Maybe that would help boost her confidence.

“Anyway, sorry I cut you off. What were you gonna say about the good doctor?” Leah really liked that nickname, it seemed to be suiting him.

“Oh, yeah! Uhm, Jameson said that everything seemed to be alright, but wants to keep him here under observation at least until tomorrow just to make sure. And he’s still on antibiotics four times a day and we can amp up his painkillers, but he doesn’t want any morphine.” That last part didn’t surprise her whatsoever. “And he decided to switch off the oxygen for now, but to keep it on standby just in case his saturation decreases.” That wasn’t a surprise either. Most patients receive oxygen after surgery because the anesthesia could make them sluggish and their breathing labored. Once it wears off they’d be taken off oxygen as well.

“Okay, that’s good,” Leah said, nodding along. “Anything else?”

“Oh, yeah. He, uhm, wants to see his coworkers now and I told him he could only see two at a time, because that’s still the rule, right? He wanted to see Hotch and J.J. first. I guess you could get them?” Leah nodded her head and gave Sophie a pat on the back before returning to finish up her reports. It was around 6:45 A.M. when she headed out to the waiting area with her coffeecup in hand, recently refilled after she’d downed the one Sophie had brought her.

“Do I have a Hotch and J.J. for Spencer Reid?” Leah asked, scanning the waitingarea. She somehow knew the people she was looking for before they rose from their seats to come greet her. The whole group of, wow, six people practically came running for her.

“Is he okay?” One of the women, dressed in a very colorful dress and an excessive amount of accessories asked, almost screaming out. She must have been very worried. Leah noted the flowers in her hand and grimaced at the thought of having to tell her later that flowers weren’t allowed in the ICU.

“He’s fine. He’s fully awake now,” Leah tried to reassure her. “He’s given me permission to share the specifics of his condition, so I can do that now, or you can wait for the doctorsvisit later today to get some more details. He’s just been checked out by a doctor now, though, and everything seems to be alright. He’ll probably stay in the ICU until tomorrow at least before we consider moving him.” She gave them the rest of what she knew and they seemed pleased that he was doing okay. So was Leah. Bulletwounds to the abdomen were typically gnarly cases, but Spencer had been really lucky.

“Can we see him now?” The darkhaired woman asked, sounding just as worried as the other one had been just a minute ago.

“Sure, but he’s in the ICU and we only allow two visitors at a time. We’ve asked and he wanted to see Hotch and J.J. first,” Leah told them, still having no idea who the respective ones were.

“What, so I don’t get to see him?” The dark skinned man asked. He sounded angry, annoyed and frustrated, but Leah didn’t find him intimidating whatsoever, even despite the fact that he towered over her.

“As I said, only two at a time. But he can have visitors all day for all I care, so you can take turns to see him, I don’t care how you do it. But only two at a time.” She tried to sound stern, but she also had sympathy for them. They’d been worried sick all night and they probably wanted to storm his room and hug him.

“Come on! That’s a bunch of bullshit!” The man yelled, obviously getting a little agitated. Leah wanted to step forward forward, put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down or something, but before she got the chance the tall man in the suit, yes a Goddamned suit, stepped forward.

“Morgan,” He raised his hand in a stopmotion which immediately calmed the man down. “We’ll be quick. You’ll get to see him.” That seemed to do the trick because he sighed in defeat and stepped back.

“Alright then, follow me!” Leah said and turned on her heel, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. She had other things to do, not really, but she could at least pretend she did. Standing in the waitingroom and arguing with friends and family of patients was not something she wanted to spend her whole day doing.

“Wait, Sir. Can you bring him these for me?” Leah noticed that it was Flowerwoman who had spoken.

“Actually, Ma’am… flowers are not allowed in the ICU either. I’m really sorry. If we move him to another unit tomorrow, you can bring him whatever you want, but as of right now I’m gonna have to say no,” she said, turning her body to give the woman an apologetic look.

“Oh.” She sounded utterly wrecked as she uttered the simple word and it made Leah a little sad. These people cared so deeply for Spencer. How could he possibly claim they weren’t his friends?

She brought J.J,, a young woman a little taller than herself, and Hotch, the man who had calmed down the black man earlier, through the doors of the ICU. She quickly located Spencer’s room and knocked on the door a few times before entering. He seemed pleasantly surprised to see his colleagues following right behind her.

“Oh, Spence!” J.J. exclaimed, rushing over to his bed. Leah rubbed some sanitizer on her hands as she watched her bend down to give him a gentle hug. She grabbed his chart from the end of his bed again and noted down his vitals as the three of them exchanged their greetings, also reading through what the doctor had written earlier.

“Dr. Jameson was in here earlier. He explained that we’ve taken you off oxygen, right?” She hated to break up their happy reunion, but she had to give him some information before she bid her farewell. They all turned to look at her as she disposed of the chart again. “You understand that if you experience any shortness of breath, any dizzyness, anything at all you have to call, right?” She asked, looking directly at Spencer.

“Well, I’m a doctor, so, of course I understand.” His response brought a smile onto her lips.

“Well, you’re not that kind of doctor,” Leah laughed, throwing his previous words back at his face. “Do you need anything before I leave?” She asked and Spencer shook his head. “Well, if you do, don’t hesitate to call,” she told him seriously while pointing at the caller behind his head. She turned to leave when Spencer spoke up again.

“Does, uhm, does that mean I’ll be your God?” Leah was stunned a little, not fully understanding what he meant, but then she remembered how she’d previously joked about being a God to her interns. Wow, her brain was working slowly. She needed more coffee.

“Hey! Don’t push it now.” She tried to be stern, but her lips tugged upwards on their own accord. She then bid her goodbyes, shutting the door on the way out.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x ofc #spencer reid x reader #mgg smut #mgg #spencer reid fluff #bau

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saudade-mayari · 3 years

Note

I don’t blame people who says Aizawa is a bad teacher or a hypocrite, but you’re an account that I am comfortable sharing this because you also love eraser head. (It’s okay if you don’t want to post it)

Even Aizawa admitted to himself that he is a terrible teacher and mostly forced to teach as based on the vigilantes manga where Nemuri recommended Shota to be a teacher, but what he did to DEKU is somehow relevant for me.

Yes it is true that during the first part he hated Izuku’s guts and regarded him as having no potential but Aizawa was also testing the kid because whichever way watchers should know, Aizawa is right on the fact that Izuku just can’t attack recklessly and impulsively after having such destructive quirk. He did not disregard Izuku’s quirk, he is merely testing the kid to find his other resolve. As for Bakugo’s case Aizawa truly had a hard time disciplining him but he is watching him closely like what Mitsuki (Bakugo’s mom) said, so when All Might took tutelage of Midoriya (and Bakugo) he had no objections because as a HOMEROOM teacher, All Might is the best training for Izuku’s quirk (which is relatively passed onto him)

He is never a hypocrite for teaching Shinso. I don’t see anything wrong about that because I really understand that some training teachers have their own prodigy and he’s a homeroom teacher all he is accountable off is the overlooking at the their hero training which he did well because he focused on the student individual’s strength in the summer camp.

Aizawa also mentioned in a chapter in manga (254) why he expelled students in the past. He knew his capability as a homeroom teacher and he himself knows that he is a terrible teacher hence, re-enrolled them to other school where they would work with a new homeroom teacher. Some may see it as escaping of “escaping duties” but I really think during that time, Aizawa was just thinking what he thinks is best for the students. Afterall, he had proven himself good in manga as someone who really cares for ALL THE STUDENTS.

Blaming Aizawa for the events in 1A is practically uncalled and irrelevant, might as well just say the entire UA should be held accountable. He just had a poor decision making most especially when the truth about Kurogiri is revealed. However, even though he is not the best teacher, I can safely say that Aizawa is a decent and good teacher.

v v v long post ahead

yes anon!!!!. not my biased self speaking... he is not as great as other teachers, but saying shouta is a terrible teacher is uncalled for. he is a decent prof for me. made some mistakes, helps his students. it’s decent.

i firmly believe aizawa and all might are better example as a pro hero than teachers.

(Gonna point some of his mistakes in my perspective as a former teacher under the cut)

he was strict for a reason but he showed his care for all the students during the fight in manga (not gonna say since its spoiler) even aizawa himself knows he is terrible at teaching but at least he is trying😂

i also heard fans saying that because momo, tenya and todoroki are from rich and well known prohero family aizawa never bothered to scold at them. AGAIN IT IS WRONG TO SAY THAT.

momo, iida and todoroki...yes rich and families are known for being heroes but they practically never did anything to trouble aizawa so why else bother them? during their test, aizawa gave advice for todoroki and momo which considerably helped them.

aizawa’s way of teaching is to give harsh critiques and let the student have their own resolve. but as a former student and teacher speaking, it is both right and wrong to have that approach.

it’s definitely okay to let them figure out their own resolve (HAPPENS A LOT IN MED SCHOOL PROFS ARE HARSH HUHU) but it is important to somehow give them base and foundation before actually figuring out their so-called own resolves. i think it’s what aizawa lacks the most AS A TEACHER. but then again his entire character build up clearly says he’s not for teaching.

he was also called a hypocrite for teaching shinso but they aren’t picking on all might for mostly focusing on deku nor endeavor only wanting to focus on shoto. it’s not wrong to have their own prodigies because at the very least aizawa helped overlook his students like what he did in the summer camp and like what all might did in student practicals.

not just aizawa but all might, endeavor, nighteye and even gran torino have personal decisions on closely training those selected kids

aizawa WAS the only teacher who called the entrance/admission test irrelevant for non-physical quirks. HE KNEW IT WAS A PROBLEM SO HE HELPED SHINSO TO BE ON HERO DEPARTMENT bc he know the kid’s opportunity to be a pro hero in the future. he experienced that himself, although his quirk is powerful it was completely non-physical that is why his and shinso’s ability are less likely to be recognized. coz i agree the quirk admission test was somehow iffy... there should have been psychological quirk test too but i understand the point where fans tell that “it’s a student’s job to take advantage of their quirk rather than complain in the disadvantages of having a non-physical quirk.”

I agree on that statement but as a former student myself, i think reconsiderations should have existed coz there are probably lots of great students in general course department (like shinsou).

—and tbh... aizawa and kakashi are often the teachers who are regarded as ‘terrible ones’ but i don’t think so.

im not gonna point out kakashi’s but im gonna say aizawa’s role as a homeroom teacher. back in highschool, ive homeschooled in japan for 2 yrs due to personal reasons and i can say that based on their culture in japan and asia countries in general have a different approach on homeroom teachers.

homeroom teachers in japan are technically the ones who overlook the students, ppl who argued that aizawa should train them is irrelevant because all might is their combat and hero training teacher. aizawa is not meant to teach, but rather supervise.

which is why aizawa (as the homeroom teacher) and all might (the hero training teacher) are the ones who had council with parents because technically, aizawa is responsible for the students safety. HOWEVER....

manga spoilers on the cut

some anti aizawa fans are totally wrong to blame everything in him for 1A always being in dangerous circumstances because after reading the on going manga, they have no damned idea AT FIRST who the league of villains is responsible of. THE ENTIRE UA SHOULD BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE, not just aizawa I agree on that anon.

for aizawa and the rest it is still a puzzle in the early, i repeat early chapters of the manga what the league is really after aside from killing all might and changing the system of pro heroes.

yes. I agree he had bad decisions on the victims, mainly Kurogiri because he knew it was his friend. He regarded Kurogiri as a ‘victim’ but somehow disregarded the casualties it caused. It was irrational for aizawa to say it like that coz it was obviously a word out of his feelings in the past. can’t blame him (imo) but it was truly irrational and irrelevant for him to say it like that.

there are times aizawa as a teacher just harshly criticized them and let them have their own resolve which is in fact, pretty harsh for a bunch of 15 year olds. but i think aizawa only wants them to have their own resolve since its what aizawa has been doing since episode 5.

i think it was bad for aizawa to let iida go where his brother was attacked, he should have acted upon it as a homeroom teacher to secure iida’s safety but then again, ITS FOR THE SAKE OF PLOT😂

im going to say this again... as a former teacher speaking, it is bad for aizawa just to give the students harsh critiques and letting them figure their own resolves.

it’s not a bad teaching approach BUT that kind of approach doesn’t work ALL THE TIME. sometimes, aizawa needs to teach the basics, base and foundation so the students would have an easier time to HAVE AN ACTUAL SOLUTION

because as a student for 9 years in pre and med school, it is definitely hard to make critical decisions WITHOUT being taught the foundation and base first.

it’s like aizawa not teaching an intern general surgery but letting them have their own decisions if the intern is gonna decide whether to lead the surgery or not.

his teaching approach is not bad but it doesn’t work all the time. as a teacher, pro hero and adult he needs to imply his own experience as well which where the erasure hero lacks. But then again it’s plot and aizawa’s introvert character build up so we can’t really blame him because they need the plot to keep going.

personally, aizawa’s main mistake is not knowing what to teach for the answers to questions the students are not expected to know from teaching answers to questions the students are expected to know.

if aizawa’s gonna be that perfect teacher and all, the show would have been boring😂

though aizawa did assessed on their quirks during summer training arc but i think it was not enough for the fans.

aizawa is much more better as a pro hero alone. he does his job perfectly as pro hero.

so in conclusion, i think aizawa needs to have seminar with me 🤪 im gonna teach my man the proper and basics of teaching. HAHAHAHA KIDDING 🤪 (lowkey not kidding)

#READ MY LAST PARAGRAPH #THAT’S THE BEST RESOLVE #shouta aizawa #aizawa shota #eraserhead #aizawa shouta #aizawa sensei

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athina-blaine · 3 years

Text

writing update! so for the last few weeks ive been slowly working through the companion piece for fell in your opinion and its almost complete, with about 3-ish pages of editing left. it’s a pretty dense scene, though, so im giving myself permission to shelve it for now and take a short break to reboot. between that and momm (the next chapter still around 50% complete), it’ll be a good while before anything’s ready to be posted :’(

in the meantime, here’s the opening scene from the companion piece, as a treat~

fallen out of favor and fallen on my face

companion piece to fell in your opinion, Jon POV

Preview word count: ~1k

It proved difficult to watch Martin walk back to the cab stand, alone. Should Jon have insisted on accompanying him, in case it started to rain again? Is that what a good boss would have done?

Not that Jon would know anything about that. Good boss, feh. His only template was Elias and, well, that was fraught with its own tension.

It just didn’t sit right with him, watching that lone figure shuffle down the corner on the rain soaked pavement.

And maybe … maybe he also wanted to spend a little bit more time with Martin. Soak in the colour of his eyes, equal measures vulnerable and … concerned.

With that thought came a flushing face and a stomach churning with embarrassment and shame. Jon buried his face in his hand, massaging his temples. The streetlights were doing nothing for his headache.

Jon knew the sort of person he was: Irritable, unfriendly, impatient, argumentative. He’d accepted it, leaned into it, even. It made things easier, after all, knowing how people will feel about you in advance, so why bother going off script?

And yet, despite all that, Martin said he still should have a cup of tea in the morning. Deserved it, he’d said. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved much of anything these days, much less …

Just get to the dishes already, Sims.

Scooping up the plate, he flipped on the sink and watched as it filled with hot, soapy water. His finger tapped the edge of the counter, teeth gnawing at his abused bottom lip. There was nothing else for it.

In the very beginning, he’d assumed the tea Martin would bring was an effort to butter him up. Get close to him so as to better keep an eye on his work. Those were early days, when Jon had thought Martin to be working for Elias as some kind of spy, to go blabbing the moment Jon inevitably made a horrible mistake.

Those assumptions, however, were dashed when it had been made abundantly clear Martin had been even less qualified for his current position than Jon.

Even when he’d realized Martin wasn’t some spy, he still assumed the tea was for something. Maybe to make Jon more forgiving to all of Martin’s obvious mistakes, which only served to increase his own workload, barely treading water as it was. Absurd, in hindsight. Why would Martin continue to bring him tea for all those months when it obviously did nothing to ease Jon’s ... temperament?

Of course, it had just been standard courtesy. A friendly gesture, from an amiable man.

Jon … didn’t react well to people being friendly with him. A learned habit from the struggles of childhood, maybe. He thought he’d gotten better after the extensive efforts of Tim and Sasha back in research, but apparently that hadn’t been the case. And, in the cold, impersonal halls of the Institute, no one went out of their way to be kind to him, not without reason. Even with Tim and Sasha, the close proximity of their work required that they get along, although he’s certain they’d argue otherwise out of politeness.

Jon preferred things that way. It meant nothing was expected from him. Nobody was disappointed.

Jon was Martin’s boss; they didn’t have to get along with each other. So then why …?

Because he’s kind, you knobhead.

Dumping the dishes into the hot water, he flipped off the sink and yanked out a sponge. Fat load of good that realisation does him now; not after all the things Jon’s said and done, the things he can never take back. He could prattle off excuse after excuse, but that wouldn’t change the fact that, at the end of the day, he’s just an arse.

Jon’s shoulders sagged. Why hadn’t he realized sooner? Why hadn’t he figured out Martin was trying to be nice to him?

It’s probably the only thing you eat all day, anyway, right? Martin had said. Couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

His eyes had been so resolute, so determined to care about him, despite everything.

All these months working so closely together and, somehow, Jon never realized the colour of his eyes were an almost opalescent shade of brown. His smile–

The dishes clattered into the sink, his face burning.

Christ, he was so predictable. One small gesture or hint of affection had him falling headfirst.

With Georgie, it had been the return of his collectible nekojima pen after a maths class. Had set a personal best record for himself for that.

The problem was when he fell so fast and so hard he cracked his head at the bottom of the swimming pool, and there was no one around to fish him out of the water.

Not that any of that mattered; Jon would be lucky to salvage any kind of amicable relationship at all.

Leaving the dishes to dry, Jon pulled out his phone. It was nearing 1 AM; Martin had said he lived in Croydon, hadn’t he? Surely, he must be back by now? Searching through his contacts, he squinted. Had he never saved Martin’s number? He could have sworn …

Oh. He hadn’t saved him under Martin. Just Blackwood.

Taking a shuddering breath, Jon struggled to compose his message (Are you–? Have you made it–? Do you think we can–?) before sending a succinct,

>Did you get home safely?

He probably wouldn’t get a response for some time. Martin likely wasn’t chomping at the bit to hear from him.

And yet, a few moments later, his phone chimed.

>yeah

Oh.

>Good.

Maybe, though … Maybe things could be different this time. Maybe Jon can put his trust in someone else’s kindness for its own sake.

Maybe Jon could be better.

Even though the work loomed high, bearing its weight down on his thin shoulders, Jon decided it would be better for everyone if he actually got some sleep that night.

#tma #man this has been a crunch #gonna feel real good once all this gets out there

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gloriafc · 4 years

Text

Baby

Slight greys anatomy mention

You're Eddie's daughter. You were the product of a teen pregnancy, the reason your parents got married. They had Christopher as an attempt to save their marriage and it worked for a little bit. When your mom left you were also graduating high school and ready to go off to college.

"Dad I don't have to go. I can take a year off. You need help with Christopher." "I can handle it mija. You go and become a doctor like you want. Make us proud okay?" And you do just that, the year you graduate med school is the same year he joins the 118. You take a trip to visit them and help them move before your internship starts, Christopher of course is very happy to see you without a screen separating you two and your dad is happy to see how much you've grown.

You start your internship in Seattle, becoming a surgeon at Seattle Grace.

When the fire station finds out about Christopher, no one finds out about you, your dad not knowing how to bring up that he has an adult daughter.

When the incident with the bomb in the or happens, your dad is worried about you resulting in him finally telling the firehouse about you. "Why didn't you ever say anything?" "I don't know. I don't put pictures up, there was never any reason. But now." "Now she's been injured."

They don't get the chance to meet you until the mass shooting, you've been shot twice in your side protecting others. Your dad is your emergency contact and gets the call while he's at work. He freezes as he listens to the doctor talk, "She's alive though right?" Everyone can hear the worry in his voice an immediately question him when he gets off the phone. Bobby immediately gives him time off as he and Christopher head to Seattle to visit you.

It kills Eddie to see you injured, you're his baby girl after all, but you hide your pain well around Christopher. After you get discharged you decide to head back to LA during your time off to heal and to be with your family. So you finally get to meet everyone. Of course Buck quickly becomes the protective uncle you never had, and you're happy to see that your dad has a friend like him.

Halfway through your visit is when your mom comes back, and you don't really know how to feel. You've always bumped heads with her, but it got worse when she'd fight with your dad, even worse when she decided to leave and never made it to any of your graduations. And now you're an adult who watched you're dad build up everything she tore down. She didn't know that you were staying with your dad and tried to hide her reaction when she saw you sitting on the couch with Christopher playing a game of cards.

You tried to keep things civil but you can only do so much on your part. You kept your responses short or hardly spoke unless spoken too, until one night you both finally snapped. There was nothing Eddie could do, he loved you both, but he knew this was something you both needed to work out. "Admit it mom. If you knew I was here you never would've come back, not yet at least." "Y/N-" "No! I bet you don't even know the reason why I'm here. Fuck you couldn't even show up to my graduations. You say you left for yourself but what about your kids? You said dad never made time because of work, but he did. He was there. Me and Christopher forgave him for the things he missed because he made up for it. And you were too busy being pissed that once you got the chance you dipped. You probably don't even know that I went to medical school. That I put in so much effort I graduated early. That I'm a surgeon and one of the ones at the top of my class. And you can't even be proud because I'm a mistake." No one knows how to respond so you continue, "Admit it. You never would've married dad if I wasn't born, if I wasn't a mistake."

You leave the house and as much as Eddie wants to go after you he knows you better than that, better than your mom. He stands in the kitchen doorway as your mom sits at the table with her head in her hands, "She's always been difficult." He can only look at her, "No she hasn't. She's hurt and she has every right to be. She's right she was a mistake, but I wouldn't have it any other way. But what about you? She's here because she was shot twice in a mass shooting protecting others from the shooter, but you didn't know that. You didn't know your daughters a hero. You probably didn't know that she was injured by a bomb either. But I did because I was the first person she called, because I am her father. I made up everything I missed for them because of how much I love them, they both understand that I made a sacrifice to keep us financially stable. They learned love comes with sacrifices from me. You had your reasons to leave and I know that but she's right, you had no reason to leave your kids behind, you could've sent them post cards or something. I had the decency to write letters while I was on yours. I'm so proud of her, of the things she's done. She tried to take a year off of school to help me with Christopher because I had no idea what I was doing, but I figured it out. She lives in Seattle but she still finds time to call and text so Christopher doesn't think he's the reason shes gone. She's sacrificed just as much as everyone else, so if you still think she's a mistake, then what did you think our marriage was? Why did you come back thinking she wouldn't be apart of things like she's not your daughter as well?"

Athena's the one to see you walking the street at night, recognizing you from one of the pictures Christopher showed her. "You're Eddie's daughter right?" "Uh yeah, Y/N." She sits with you, "Athena, Bobby's wife. Why are you out here so late?" You don't know why but you vent to her, "My uh. My mom came back. And we got into a fight." You explain everything to her and she offers her couch to sleep on seeing that you don't want to go home just yet.

In the morning Bobby is the one to drop you off, your dad opening the door when he hears the car in his driveway. You walk passed everyone not wanting to say anything, but your dad follows you to Christopher's room where all your stuff is. "Where'd you go?" "I met Athena she let me sleep on her couch. I already ate, Bobby made breakfast." "Mija-" "Dad I just want to take a shower. I'll probably catch a bus and head somewhere. I'll be back before dinner." He can only sigh as he looks at the floor as you rummage through your bags, "She might be staying." "That's your marriage dad, not mine. You work out what you need to work out. I'm going back to work in a couple days anyways. I'll have to deal with a therapist there. Everything will be fine." He moves and pulls you into his arms sighing as you wrap your arms around his waist and press your face into his chest like you did when you were little, "When did you grow up?" "When I got boobs." You both laugh before he kisses your head and tells you he's heading to work leaving you in a quiet house with your mom in the kitchen.

You quickly shower and head out before your mom can even say anything to you, getting back just as your dad arrives. You end up leaving a note for your dad and leaving in the middle of the night with all your stuff, catching a cab to the airport and catching a early flight back to Seattle. Of course Eddie is upset but he understands that you and your mom will just continue to bump heads and if you think it's what's best for yourself, who is he to argue, you're an adult.

Of course you text and video call all the time, sometimes catching him when he's at the fire station and he's just happy to see you're happy and healthy.

When the plane crash happens he finds it weird that he hasn't talked to you in a few days but brushes things off thinking you're just busy. The day you call, he's at the firehouse with Christopher for a family dinner, he happily answers the phone. "Hey baby! We're having dinner, do you want to talk to Christopher?" His smile quickly faulters when he hears your shaky voice, "Daddy." He quickly walks off after checking that your brother was with Buck, "What happened?" "There. There was an accident. We had a case. We. We had to fly to Idaho. The uh. The plane. The engines were faulty and the plane crashed. My. My right side was, uh. They have to do surgery to repair my right side from my ribs to my knee."

Eddie can feel tears threaten to fall just listening to how scared you are but you continue talking, "They did enough to fix everything but they're sending me to LA for the rest of the cosmetic surgeries and physical therapy while they work out everything with HR. I'm already at the airport with some medical staff, were getting on the plane." Your dad runs a hand down his face as he tries to stay calm, "Uh okay. Call me when you get here. I'll meet you at the airport in a few hours."

Your mom is the one to find your dad outside, "What's going on? Christopher's waiting for you to play the game with him and Buck." "I'm uh I'm going to the airport. Tell him to start the game and I'll play tomorrow." "What happened?" "Y/N was in a plane crash they're flying her here." "I'll go with you." "No. Just stay with Christopher. We don't. We don't need a recap of what happened last time. Not while she's like this. And I need to be alone. Before I see her, with her injuries."

Your dad waits for hours at the airport, the staff tell him where the airplane will land and offer to take him out when the plane lands so he can stay with you. You're out cold when he gets to you, "She started freaking out before the plane took off, which was understandable we sedated her to keep her under for the plane ride, she should be waking up soon."

Your dad sits by your side as you sleep. He counts and recounts all the IVs connected to you, quickly standing when he hears Christopher, "Dad what happened to Y/N?" He looks at your mom and the rest of the firehouse behind them, "What are you guys doing here?" Buck answers, "You left without saying bye. We figured you needed some support, that she needed some support after we heard what happened. She's family too." While everyone is distracted Christopher makes his way to the spot your dad was sitting in and grabs your hand. You're laying on your left side due to your injuries and Christopher can only wonder what happened to you. After a few minutes you open your eyes squeezing the small boys hand in yours, "You're awake Y/N/N." "Hi Christopher."

At the sound of your voice your dad is immediately at your side, "How are you feeling?" Your sarcastic side comes out, letting your dad know you're okay for now, "Like I fell out of a plane."

Of course everyone quickly learns how bad doctors are as patients, "The stitches are wrong." "They should've done this, it's faster." Buck easily jokes with you, "The doctors are probably ready to discharge you and your whining already." "They wouldn't be if they knew how to do their jobs right."

After you get discharged your dad takes you home. Everyone can see you're out of it, so someone is always with you, even your mom, but the conversations stay short but trying for your dad and brother. One day Athena offers to take you out to lunch. "How've you been feeling?" "I don't know." "Your dad's worried about you. Everyone is. You're putting on a brave face." You blink away tears, something that doesn't go unnoticed by Athena, "What's wrong?" You look around thankful you got a corner table and it was a slow day for the restaurant. You take a deep breath before looking at Athena, "I haven't told my dad yet, but a few days before the accident I found out I was pregnant. I'm not anymore... Obviously."

Athena sits with you, talking about the news that is no longer news for anyone, "Are you going to tell your dad?" "I don't know. I think. I think I'm still trying to process everything. The baby. A miscarriage. The crash. The fact that I was only a few seats away from getting crushed to death." Athena nods, "Do you know what's happening with everyone else that was on the plane?" "Uh yeah. The hospital is taking fault for using that airline service with known cases of faulty engines, were basically sueing the hospital for damages up to 15 million each. It'd shut down the hospital, but we all plan on purchasing it." "So you're going to own a hospital." "Part of it along with the others that were on the plane. So I'm not actually pocketing anything right now, but over time."

After a few more days you tell your dad about the miscarriage as you both sit on the porch, "Did you tell the dad?" "No. Uh we were never in a relationship. At least I don't think we were. It only happened once and we were both pretty drunk."

After another month you go back to work to finish off your residency. You apply for fellowships, but know which one you're going to accept. You never tell your dad, opting on surprising him randomly. You show up at the firehouse, your dad running over as soon as Hen points you out, "What are you doing here?" You smile, "I decided which fellowship I'm taking." It takes a second for it to click in his head, "The one here?" You don't get the chance to respond before your dad's picking you up in a bear hug. "Wait until Christopher finds out."

You jump into working, even though you live in your own house now your dad and brother are both excited to have you close again. After a few years, and after your mom's death, things fall into a normalcy. You get invited to any family dinners Bobby and Athena throw and you always find time to spend with your dad and brother.

You manage to become chief of trauma, you still have your board seat in Seattle and occasionally fly out sometimes taking Christopher and your dad for a getaway.

The first time anyone in the firehouse actually sees you in your natural habitat is when they have to bring in a druggie with a gsw. Athena is also there since the patient is the one who had the gun. Buck was grazed by a bullet so the firehouse was still in the ER while he got patched up, as Athena asks you about the patient. "I wouldn't try questioning him yet. He's still whining like a baby." "Can't you give him something for that?" "If I give him morphine I'd have to pump his stomach. And considering he knows the exact name of the morphine I'd have to use. I'm deciding against that. It's one bullet that was at the surface and has been removed. He can suck it up, I'm not gonna be the one to aide in his addiction."

All the beds are in the open with curtains as dividers so everyone can hear the man complaining and pulling against his restraints. The firehouse can hear everything go down when you declare he's ready to leave. "You gotta give me something for the pain." You simply look at him before shaking your head, "I really don't." "You bitch." You push the man back down on the bed making him since since his wound is on his shoulder, "You're the bitch in this situation. The pain you're feeling is from withdrawal from all the drugs in your system you idiot. You want something for the pain fine but that comes with your stomach getting pumped. Do you really want that considering you're over here bitching about a small bullet wound?" The man looks at you before seething, "You don't know the pain I'm in!" "Try me. Your bullet was at the surface and has been removed, the area was numbed with cream so you didn't even feel it. I've been shot twice in a mass shooting both bullets imbedded in muscle. I survived a bomb incident, a plane crash, and a miscarriage while stranded during that plane crash. So tell me I've never felt worse." When the man doesn't say anything you look at Athena, "Get him out of here."

Your dad looks at the spot you were standing, he's never heard the things you've been through ever leave your mouth like that. Bobby sets his hand on his shoulder, "She's tough Eddie. She's fine."

When a natural disaster occurs the hospital sends out surgeons to aid first responders for the people who wouldn't make it to the hospital otherwise, you're one of the few that get sent out due to your trauma certification being more than qualified. The firehouse is lightweight surprised to see you in the field working the tent. "You got sent out?" "You do realize I worked in a trauma one center right? My first year we had a ferry crash." Everyone is amazed with how fast and calmly you work, half of the patients you get wouldn't of survived even getting on an ambulance otherwise.

There is one patient who's stuck under a piece of cement inside a building but is in critical condition. Unfortunately you're the only one small enough to fit through the gap to get to him. "No! She's not going in there!" You can only look at your dad, "We have no choice. We can save him." Reluctantly your dad lets you go knowing you'd go anyways and he doesn't technically have a say in what you can and can't do. They give you your dad's jacket and helmet as a precaution before you slowly slip through the hole. You yell out when you reach the patient allowing the firehouse to continue trying to get the guy out.

You manage to move the patient under a stable piece of metal before suddenly yelling out making everyone stop, "What's going on?" "It's starting to collapse!" Before anyone can respond the building shifts closing the hole they were making. You dad starts freaking out, "We have to get her out of there!" "And we will. Eddie calm down or sit out."

When they finally get to where you and the patient are they can see the patient is stabilized and sort of groggy but they find your body a few feet away. Due to you having your dad's protective gear he wasn't allowed to enter the building but Buck is at your side checking on you, "I got a pulse! She has a leg stuck under some concrete. She probably knocked out after she got stuck." Bobby nods, "Let's get them out of here!"

Your dad watches as Chimney and Hen bring out the man, "Where's Y/N?" Chimney sets the man up on a gurney as Hen talks to your dad, "She moved the man out of the way. She has a pulse but her leg was caught under some concrete." Just as she finishes Buck and Bobby leave the building with you in Bucks arms. Eddie is instantly taking you into his arms as he slowly sets you down on the ground, "Baby wake up." You let out a groan before slowly opening your eyes, "Why are you so loud?" Everyone chuckles, even your dad, at your ability to bounce back so fast even with a broken leg.

Everyone helps you out while your leg heals, Christopher decided to spend the night with you one night and before your dad left he sat with you on the porch. He looks at the cast that everyone has signed and Christopher has drawn multiple pictures on before throwing his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his chest, "When did you grow up?" "The day you told me go to college to make you proud. Did I?" "You did... You're still not dating until you're 45." You can't help but laugh and shake your head as you both watch the street lights come on and the stars come out. "Aren't you the one that had a kid at 16? The irony." "You're my baby I can be as ironic as I want."

#eddie diaz imagine #911 imagine #911 fox

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brywrites · 4 years

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Flight Risk X

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part X: In which a profiler and a pilot find a safe place to land, and in which our story comes to a close.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous | Next )

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“It’s a serial poisoning case,” Garcia explains. “And Reid, he got poisoned somehow. He’s at the hospital now and they’re gonna give him an antitoxin but he’s still unconscious. Morgan’s there now but the team really needs him back in the field and I just didn’t know who else to call.”

Y/N swallows past the lump in her throat and says, “Tell me where to go and I’ll be there.”

“Oh my god thank you thank you thank you,” she sighs. “I’m sending you the address now and I’ll make sure they put you on his visitor list.”

When she hangs up Arthur asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Reid’s been poisoned,” she says, and she hates the quiver in her voice. “He’s at the hospital. They need someone to stay with him.”

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this alone.” Before she can argue he puts cash down on the table to cover their order and is ushering her out the door. The hospital Reid is at is mere feet away from the The Graduate and in that moment she loves that stupid tacky motel with her entire heart.

A nurse leads the two of them to the correct room, where Morgan is waiting outside. “Hey mama,” he says, offering a tired smile. Then, with a polite nod to Arthur, “Captain.”

“Is he okay?” she asks.

“He will be. This unsub is poisoning people using various coffee shops, and Pretty Boy here bought a cup at the most recent target this morning. They just gave him the antitoxin so he should be waking up soon. That stuff does a real number on the body though, so he’ll be feeling pretty bad when he does. But I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you. Just keep us posted, okay?”

“Okay,” she says. Morgan heads out to find the team and she walks into the room. There are two plastic chairs so she and Arthur sit together at the side of the hospital bed where Reid currently lies. He looks a little more pale than usual, though if it weren’t for the IVs and the hospital gown she would think that maybe he was just sleeping. Looking as peaceful as he did the morning she found him asleep on her couch.

“It’s a dangerous job,” Y/N says quietly.

“It is,” Arthur agrees. This is their greatest fear each time they fly away on a case. That one of the agents they transport will wind up hurt or hospitalized or worse. That all their passengers won’t come back to them safe and sound. “I’ve been flying these agents around for fourteen years. Agent Morgan seems to be injured the most, but when Doctor Reid is hurt it always seems to be something extreme. On more than one occasion I didn’t think he would ever set foot on this plane again.”

The words unnerve her. There’s still so much she doesn’t know about Spencer, in spite of all their conversations and meetings and stories.

“It’s not easy to care for people you know will get hurt someday,” he says. “But that hasn’t stopped you from loving him.” Y/N turns to him wide-eyed, her cheeks burning. The captain chuckles. “Please, Y/L/N, I don’t need to be a profiler in order to see what’s happening between the two of you.”

She sighs and turns her gaze to Spencer. “I know you think I’m making a mistake.”

“Not at all.”

“But you kept warning me not to get close to the BAU, and I didn’t listen to you at all.”

“Martin and I always kept to ourselves when we flew together. We did so because the agents were not always interested in talking, and because it was difficult to become friends with people we knew were constantly in danger. One day there was a case in Boston. Six of them died. It felt like we had flown them there like lambs to the slaughter. It has always been easier for me to keep my distance and to do my job. But I can see that it’s different for you.”

She can’t imagine. Six agents. As it currently stands that would be the entire team.

“You need to feel connected to people,” he continues. “Even if it means this job is harder. That’s not a mistake. And in all the years this man has been on my plane, I’ve never seen him smile at someone the way he smiles at you.”

“Coffee.” The words are barely a mumble, but they immediately jolt the two pilots out of their conversation. Spencer shakes his head slightly. “It’s in the coffee beans,” he mutters. He turns his head and he blinks awake with heavy eyes that can’t seem to focus, but she swear he looks at her. “Angel,” he sighs. And then his eyes close once more and his heart rate returns to a slower, steady rhythm. She looks at Arthur, completely befuddled. He simply shrugs, not knowing what to make of that any more than she does.

There is a knock at the door and a doctor in a white coat steps into the room. “Could I speak to one of you for a moment?” she asks. “There’s some paperwork that needs to be filled out if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I can do it,” Y/N says. Arthur promises to keep a good eye on the good Doctor, and so she follows this doctor out into the hallway, glancing back at Spencer one last time as she does so.

----

His head feels fuzzy. Everything is a haze. All he knows for sure is that his body aches all over. Oh. That must be the poison. He remembers when it began to affect him, and suddenly it all made sense. He tried to tell the team but the world went dark before he could explain. It wasn’t just in the coffee, it had to do with the coffee beans. The bags the shops were using to make their coffee. That’s why they couldn’t trace it back to one single location. He needs to tell them, they need to know, but everything is just so hazy. So confusing. For a moment the world doesn’t feel dark – it feels blindingly bright and he has a sense of urgency, a need to be awake. He tries to open his eyes but everything is just light. He turns his head. There is a figure dressed in white. It looks like her. That can’t be right. They’re not speaking these days. It must be angel. He doesn’t believe in such things, but what other explanation is there? It may just be his brain playing visual tricks on him but that trick must be an angel. His angel.

But then his eyes feel so heavy. Sleep would be nice. He slips back into the haze.

Reid isn’t sure how much time has passed when he suddenly jolts out of the fuzzy feeling. He’s asleep but he’s in a bed and everything hurts and he should probably try to open his eyes. With much effort, he does. He blinks at the bright light of the hospital room – he’s been in enough to recognize immediately where he is. If he’s alive, that means they got the antitoxin to him in time. Which means his team has figured out what’s happening, and he can just breathe easy now. Or as easily as his aching lungs will let him.

Someone clears their throat. There’s almost always a member of his team waiting with him, but he’s surprised to turn and see Captain Dobson sitting there beside him. Reid nearly jumps, the heart rate monitor spiking to emphasize his confusion.

“You’re alright, Doctor Reid,” he says. “Everything’s fine. You’re in a hospital. You were poisoned.”

“I know,” he says, his voice raspy. “It was… the poison was in the-”

“Coffee beans?” the captain finishes. “You were saying something about it before you woke up.”

“I must’ve been dreaming then. I remember thinking about the coffee. And I thought I saw an angel. But that doesn’t make any sense.”

But then the door opens and Y/N steps into the room in a white dress and cream-colored cardigan and it absolutely does. “Hi,” he says, sitting up in the bed.

“Hi,” she replies sheepishly.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Arthur says, standing up from his chair. He and Y/N make eye contact briefly before he steps out of the room, closing the door behind him.

After a moment of awkward hesitation, she sits down next to him in one of the plastic chairs. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I made things weird between us.”

“I think we both did,” she says. “But no matter how much I try to pretend that I don’t care about you, when Garcia called me I was so scared.” Her voice shakes. “I thought I might never get to see you again and that the last thing I ever said to you was to leave me alone.”

“I was scared too,” he admits. “I missed you.” He missed every conversation, missed the sound of her laugh, missed the promise of a free weekend meaning he could spend a little more time with her. Even if it would only hurt him in the end, he wanted to see her.

“How did this even happen?” she asks.

“Morgan and I were revisiting the last known locations of the victims. I wanted to get coffee before we drove back to the precinct. The closest place was called Café Coco. I figured it was safe because I watched the barista grind a fresh bag of coffee beans before brewing my cup and she never added anything to it, but before we could even finish giving the profile I was out.”

“Café Coco?” she asks. “I went there this morning.”

“What?” Reid gasps. Panic surges through him, the adrenaline countering the exhaustion he feels. Oh this can’t be good. Did she drink the same coffee? How much did she drink? Is there enough antitoxin in supply? This is it, this is proof that the moment he starts to love someone the universe conspires to strike them down. “We need to tell a doctor, we need to-”

She puts her hand on his. “Spencer, it’s okay. I didn’t get coffee. I ordered tea. For some reason I just... felt like caffeine wasn’t a good idea.” He stares at her and he has absolutely no words. The panic ebbs and gives way to a stunned quiet. Because this is new. This isn’t anything he’s prepared for. Y/N waltzed right through the heart of danger and was unscathed. Maybe, just maybe, the universe has spared her. Maybe this time he gets to be happy after all. Maybe there is still one thing he can love without ruining.

But then he remembers. And his chest aches for a reason that has nothing at all to do with the poison. “It’s not fair,” he says quietly.

“What’s not fair?” she asks.

“I care about you and you’re okay. And that’s never happened before, but it doesn’t matter because you’re leaving.”

“What do you mean?”

“The IRT job,” Reid says. “Your dream job.”

“I didn’t take it.”

“You didn’t?” Now he’s confused. “But why? Y/N, you said it was your dream.”

“I didn’t take it. I mean, I still have to give them an official answer, but I’ve known my decision for a while now. I knew the moment you walked away. I thought a job like that was the only thing I wanted. But lately I’ve started to question that. And when you told me about the people you’ve lost and how much you missed them, I knew for sure. I want to fly,” she insists. “I want to be in the air and in a plane and loving the sky. But I want a home, too.”

Her eyes are shining and the soft smile on her face as she speaks makes all the pain fade when he’s looking at her. “I’ve been flying for a long time. But I’ve never had a place to call home like this before. With Yeeqin and all of our friends. With Arthur. With the BAU. And with you,” she adds. “Even without you, I finally feel like I have a place where I belong, and I don’t want to lose that. My airplane heart has been circling for a long time. I think it’s about time I found a safe place to land.”

“I can be that,” he says without thinking. But he means it. “I can be that, if you’ll let me.”

“Do you want that?” she asks.

“Yes. Very much so. When I realized what was happening to me in the precinct, I was thinking about a lot of things. About the coffee beans and my team and what they needed to figure out. But I thought about you, too. I wasn’t sure what would happen but I was afraid I would never get the chance to tell you that I missed you and that I was wrong. That I felt it too, that I felt so deeply for you. And I still do.”

She laces her fingers through his and he’s never held hands with someone like this before but god does it feel so right. “Flying was my first love,” she tells him. “And I never thought I would find anything that felt as magical as the moment a plane lifts off the ground. But you do. Every time you look at me it’s like that. Like gravity doesn’t matter anymore. Like everything is a little bit lighter.”

While he has never quite fallen in love with flying the same way, Reid knows exactly what she means. Every second he’s with her is like finishing his favorite book. Each time he makes her smile he feels like he’s solved the most important puzzle in history. She’s the first chemical reaction he completed, the first equation he solved. All that and more.

“I think,” he says, “that’s how love is supposed to make you feel.” And maybe it’s too soon and maybe it’s too much but he’s nearly told her once already and he just doesn’t think he can bear to hold the words in his chest any longer. “I love you.”

Her face absolutely lights up. “I love you, too,” she says. And he wants so badly to kiss her but with the mess of the IVs and cannula and monitors he can’t turn to do so he just squeezes her hand a little tighter and they sit there grinning at each other feeling like the luckiest people on the planet.

“So,” she says. “You, um, thought I was an angel?”

A laugh escapes his lips. “Well, yes. But I still kind of think you are.”

---

That evening Arthur grabs both of their bags from the Graduate so that she can wait with Spencer while he’s discharged. The doctors caution that there may be some aftereffects over the next twenty-four hours and send him with medication in the event anything changes during the flight back. The three of them ride over together to the airport to meet the rest of the team and head home. All of their passengers are accounted for. Everything is okay. Even so, she doesn’t let go of his hand the whole ride, and can’t stop from asking him each time he winces if he’s feeling alright.

They arrive at the hangar soon enough. Spencer rubs circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ll be alright,” he assures her, noticing the worry on her face. “It’s not even two hours. The team will keep an eye on me and we’ll see each other soon.”

“I’ll just get changed and then be ready to prepare for takeoff,” Y/N tells Arthur.

“Actually, that won’t be necessary,” he replies.

“What do you mean?” The captain has always been strict about the Bureau mandated dress code.

“I told you that I need you focused when we’re flying. And I know that your thoughts are elsewhere at the moment, so I called an old friend in Nashville. Sheila will fly as my co-pilot tonight so that you can stay close to him. I think it’s what you both need.”

Despite all of their formalities, Y/N throws her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“And Y/L/N? About the IRT offer,” he adds. “Malik and I have been talking. He’s retiring this year and there’s a lot of things on our bucket list we have yet to do. I’ve been thinking that perhaps it’s time for me to do the same. Spend some time traveling for enjoyment with my husband rather than crossing the country multiple times a month. And if I were to retire, I would want you to succeed me. If you’d be interested, of course.”

“Really?”

He smiles. “I think you’ve found something good here. And it would be a shame to leave that behind. But I also think it’s time you were promoted – and time I took a page from Martin’s book and enjoyed the time I have with the person I love most.”

“Of course. Yes, yes absolutely.”

“Then it’s settled,” he says, putting his cap on. “I’m glad you didn’t listen to me all those month ago.” He disappears into Geff, and she bounds back over to Spencer.

“Arthur called in a favor,” she says. “So that I could ride home with you, if that’s okay?”

“That is more than okay,” he tells her, grinning. And it’s such a perfect smile that she can’t help herself. She leans in and presses her lips to his and he reciprocates immediately, his hands gently cupping her face and it’s all too brief but all so wonderful and when he pulls away the grin has shifted to dazed, blissful smile that she is certain mirrors the look on her own face.

“Well damn,” Morgan says behind them. “Garcia’s gonna be so mad she wasn’t here to witness that.” Kate elbows him and Spencer turns beet red but the smile never fades.

She’s been in the cabin plenty of times before, but she’s never flown. It’s an incredibly nice interior and they sit side by side in seats that are more comfortable than she’s imagined. Geff speeds down the runway and Spencer holds her hand, her head on his shoulder and his head against hers just like that night on the couch. They lift up into the clear blue air and it’s still so magical and this feeling is still so magical and she doesn’t know how it could possibly get better than this.

---

“Are you ready Doctor?” she asks. “You look a little nervous.”

Reid looks at her. “Y/N, angel, you know I trust you. I’ve just never been in a plane this size before.” After three months, the BAU has taken down the trafficking ring, Kate has taken a leave of absence, and everyone has been given a week off to take a much-needed break. And his girlfriend has convinced him to spend one day of that week in a tiny prop plane with her. She insists that there’s nothing quite like being in the cockpit when the plane takes off, and this is the best way to experience it.

They sit side by side in the small cockpit of the plane, the sky above them a perfect clear blue. She has already run through the preflight checklist, identifying all the valves and instruments she’ll need in a matter of seconds. “It’ll be okay,” she promises, turning the key. “Headset on.” He puts it on as instructed, ensuring that they’ll be able to communicate with one another despite the roar of the engine. She pumps the throttle and the engines and front propeller spring to life.

“Charlie Mike eleven ready for takeoff,” she says into the microphone.

“Charlie Mike, proceed to two,” he hears from the headset.

“Charlie Mike proceeding to two.”

“Winds one ninety at fifteen, Charlie Mike cleared for takeoff.”

“Here we go,” she says with a grin. Reid holds tighter to his seat as she turns the plane down the runway. She puts the break on just at the turn and her hands work away at the switches and instruments faster than he can keep track of. The engine roars louder and the propeller becomes just a blur before them. They advance down the runway faster and faster, her hand on the throttle, and the asphalt is coming to an end, the grass approaching and he braces himself but then she pulls the yoke down and just like that they are up in the air. So smooth it’s hard to believe, as the burden of gravity seems to fall away. He stares out over the window as they go up and up, the horizon stretching out before them, falling open like an invitation. Like magic.

It’s incredible.

He turns to look at Y/N and she wears an awestruck smile, staring straight ahead and while he’s seen her near Geff so many times and he knows how flying works, it is something else entirely to see her in her element like this. And he thinks that she too, is like magic.

Reid can see how she must have fallen in love with this. The lightness and wonder of it all, the way the world looks from up above. The sensation of lift and defying the pull of the earth.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asks.

“It is,” he says, though he’s only partly focusing on the view.

She turns to glance at him and the sunlight on her face and the glow of happiness she wears makes her simply radiant. He thinks back to what she said in Nashville all those months ago. It’s true after all – this is what love feels like. With her, it doesn’t feel like falling at all. It’s like liftoff. It’s like soaring. Up in the air above all odds, with nothing but open sky and sunshine and that weightless wonderful sensation.

It makes sense to him now, why J.M. Barrie wrote that the secret to flying was thinking happy thoughts. He’s sure that by now he’s collected enough with her to keep him high for a very long time.

Three months he has let himself love her. Three months and he is happier than ever. Three months and she is still safe. Three months and love doesn’t feel like such a flight risk anymore. Love is a safe place to land.

[Thank you for reading Flight Risk. Please check around your seat for any personal belongings and use caution when opening the overhead bins, for any feelings you stowed there may have shifted during the flight. If you can, we’d be pleased if you take a moment to share your feedback with our pilots on the way out with a ‘like’ ‘reply’ ‘reblog’ or ‘message’. And on behalf the author, and the entire cast of characters on this flight, thank you for joining us. We hope to see you on board again in the future!]

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader #flight risk #brywrites #imagine #spencer reid imagine

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haruno-sakura-san · 3 years

Text

Can't remember if I posted this before, but I was reading through my notes on my phone and found it. Either way, enjoy this playful one shot with Sakura and a mystery man!

🌸❓

"Rough day?" A man who slid into the seat next to Sakura at the bar asked. "None of your business." She snubbed him. "It's been a while since ive seen a leaf nin drink like that," he observed unprompted. She mentally noted that she wasn't wearing her heite. He was either assuming from her gear or he recognized her. "I'm off duty." "I would hope so." Her gaze cut back over to him. A hood and tinted glasses obscured any identify features, but even so he looked incredibly mundane. In her line of work, that was also incredibly dangerous. "Listen, you seem like a nice guy-" "That assumptions a bit premature." "But I'm not here to meet anyone so if you don't mind-" "Actually I do." She glared at him for a long moment, not wanting to be interrupted again. "See, I'm waiting for someone myself." He offered finally. "You don't say" her tone thick with disinterest. "But I'm beginning to think I've been stood up." He sounded more amused than put out. She wondered if it was some kind of pickup strategy to get her to feel bad. "I can't imagine why." She said in the same flat tone. "My thoughts exactly."

Sakura made a sharp sound of disapproval. "My deepest sympathies. I don't see how this has anything to do with me." "Well, it really doesnt, on the surface. But you see, here I was feeling sorry for myself when I see you stomping in here, looking like you've just dragged yourself through a pigsty-" "It was a river bed." "Oh thank you- a river bed. Possibly the sorriest sight I've seen all day - not that I would normally say such a thing to a lady. I'm sure you look at least pleasant under normal circumstances." "Does this story have a point?" Feeling her anger swell at his commentary. "Of course, I just thought it might be nice to commiserate together - one passing stranger to another." She hates the cocky way he inclines his head, gesturing between them with his glass. "No, thanks." "Oh come on - why else come to a bar?" "For a drink - unbothered." "If that were the case, then I'd think the liquor store down the street would have done the job." "And what, have a few drinks at the store front? They have laws against that, you know." "You dont have a hotel room to drink in?" "Of course not" "Interesting." He purred. She realized she said too much. "So your plan was to get tipsy and then travel back to konoha or wherever your headed, seemingly alone, in the middle of the night." "I don't have to explain myself to you." "No, I think I've got a good handle on the situation without any explanation. Where are your teammates anyway? Isn't there someone around to keep you from making dangerous decisions like this. A captain maybe or a boyfriend?" Sakura slams her glass down against the wood of the bar. "For your information, I can more than take care of myself. I have an extremely high alcohol tolerance. And I've had too long a day for a pretty boy like you to be picking at me when all I want to do is have a drink in the peaceful Haven that is my own mind. So shut your trap. Am I clear?" "No, I have several questions." She snarls and begins to crack her nuckles in preparation to put this idiot though a wall when the bar tender yells, "No fighting in my bar! Take it outside if you want to act like animals." She settles back into her seat. "Sorry, sir. No need for that. This poser isn't worth the energy," she grumbles under her breath. "Lets backtrack to pretty boy. That had a nicer ring to it." Clenching her jaw, she takes a deep breath, exhales and takes a long drag on her drink. "So are you going to tell me the river bed story, Pocahontas?" "If I do, will you leave me alone?" "It certainly won't hurt your chances" She huffs. "Fine. I got caught in a fishing net." There was a beat of silence. "And?" She gave him a long-suffering look. "And was dragged behind a fishing boat." His eyebrows rose. "And how did that happen?" "I was pushing the boat. It was beached on a shallow part of the river." "Pushing it?" "Yeah." "Remind me to tip that bartender for not letting you deck me into next week." She smirked into her drink. Damn straight. "So when the boat broke free these fishermen did what? Cast their nets right done on top of you?" "Yup. I had to cut myself free and everything." "No good deed goes unpunished I guess." "Technically it wasn't a good deed, they were paying me to help." "That's even worse. And no one noticed you were missing onboard?" "Well, they wouldn't let me on the boat in the first place -" "Why not?" "It's bad luck." "Bad luck?" "To have a woman on board." "Wait a moment. So before the ship got stuck in the first place, while it was sailing, where were you? Nearby on the shore?" "No. I was running alongside them in the water." He laughed outright. "Running alongside them. That's too good. They didn't even give you rowboat." Her face flushed. She hadn't thought to ask for a row boat. "They were absolute assholes. Usually I can take quite a bit of crap from a client, but when he told me to pay for the net." "Pay for the net!" "And the lost profits for the day" "Ha!" "I told him just where he could shove his

lost profits and came to the nearest bar. I feel a little less sorry for myself now. Glad I could help. Now leave me be." "You don't want to hear my story?" "Not part of the deal. Now scram." He pouted, cheek resting on his hand. "But we were getting along so well." "You have a very twisted sense of relationships if you think that was getting along well." "I cannot argue with that." She didn't know if it was the alcohol or the bickering, but she was finally feeling a little unwound. Studying his profile for a moment, she thought it must definitely be the alcohol. "If you're going to stare, i might as well tell you my story." Definitely the alcohol. "I wasn't staring." She huffed, turning sharply away "Would admiring be more accurate?" "Do you ever shut up?" "For the majority of the time yes I do. It's quite liberating to go on and on like this. Strangers make some of the best conversation. You don't have to hold back because they will never see you again, probably not even remember speaking." She hated that he was right. She also hated that she couldn't see his eyes, instead watching his lips move. Kami must hate her because he had rather nice lips. "You're admiring again." They said. "Staring," she corrected. "Staring then." He said in a low voice, leaning in slightly. "Tell me your story." She said, trying to break the moment by divert this exchange to something hopefully safer for her psychy. Those damn lips curlled up in a feline grin. "Of course, my little mud pie." "Don't push it." She snapped, "You were meeting someone." "Yes, I've been seeing them for some time now. We are both wonderers so we meet about once a month. " "How long is some time now?" "Hmm, about ten years maybe." "And you guys haven't made it official yet?" "Well, it's complicated. They are a little old for me, and I'm not sure what society would think." She got the feeling he was making fun of her, but didn't get the joke. "They've never once been late or missed a meeting. I'm a little worried you see." For the first time since meeting the guy, Sakura felt a little bad for him. "Plus theyve got hands and eyes that wander a bit too much for my liking." "Sounds like they finally got bored and left." She commented. "Well. Even so, the meetings were as much about business as pleasure." "And just what kind of business are you in exactly?" "I'd say we were in the same field." She scoffs, looking him up and down again, not able to make out anything helpful from his form from under his travelling cloak to back up his claim about being a Shinobi. It was convenient line for civilian men who hit on kunoichi, so she rolled her eyes. "Sure you are." "Don't believe me?" "I believe you'd say just about anything to get on my good side."

"Hmm," his lips curled in that feline way, "And I thought leaf nin we're very skilled at seeing underneath the underneath." She froze, recognizing her sensei's phrase. "Who exactly did you say you were meeting again?" "I didn't." She slowly turned toward him, hand sliding to her thigh pouch under the bar, but it was too late. Here eyes were locked on his red, glowing gaze, pin wheels spinning. She felt her consciousness being torn from her body and into the inky black of his sharingan.

🌸❓

Quite sure this was supposed to be Itachi but it's quite OOC for him. So I'll leave it to you reader to fill in who it is. I guess I like Shisui for it myself but don't limit yourself haha.

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

I want to hear about gay knights. Please.

Ahaha. So this is me finally getting, post-holiday, to the subject that was immediately clamoured for, when I volunteered to discuss the historical accuracy of gay knights if someone requested it. It reminds me somewhat of when my venerable colleague @oldshrewsburyian volunteered to discuss lesbian nuns, and was immediately deluged by requests to do just that. In my opinion, gay knights and lesbian nuns are the mlm/wlw solidarity of the Middle Ages, even if the tedious constructionists would like to remind us that we can’t exactly use those terms for them. It also forces us to consider the construction of modern heterosexuality, our erroneous notions of it as hegemonically transhistorical, and the fact that behaviour we would consider “queer” (and therefore implicitly outside mainstream society) was not just mainstream, but central, valorized, and crucial to constructions of medieval manhood, if not without existential anxieties of its own. Because medieval societies were often organized around the chivalric class, i.e. the king and his knights, his ability to make war, and the cultural prestige and homosocial bonds of his retinue, if you were a knight, you were (increasingly as the medieval era went on) probably a person of some status. You had a consequential role to play in this world, and your identity was the subject of legal, literary, cultural, social, religious, and other influences. And a lot of that was also, let’s face it, what the 21st century would consider Kinda Gay.

The central bond in society, the glue that made it work, was the relationships between soldiers, battlefield brotherhoods, and the intense, self-sacrifical love for the other that is familiar to anyone who has ever watched a war movie, and dates back (in explicitly gay form, at least) to the Sacred Band of Thebes. Medieval society had a careful and contested interaction with this ideal and this kind of relationship between men. Because they needed it for the successful prosecution of military ventures, they held it up as the best kind of love, to which the love of a woman could never entirely aspire, but that also ran the risk of the possibility of it turning (homo)sexual. Same-sex sexual activity was well-known in the Middle Ages, the end, full stop. The use of penitentials, or confessors’ handbooks, as sources for views or practices of queer sexual behaviour has been criticised (you will swiftly find that almost EVERYTHING used as a source for queer history is criticised, shockingly), but there remains the fact that Burchard of Worms’ 11th-century Decretum, a vast compilation of canon law, mentions same-sex behaviour among its list of sins, but assigns it a comparatively light penance. (I don’t have the actual passage handy, but it’s a certain amount of days of fasting on bread and water.) It assigns much heavier penalties for Burchard’s main concern, which was sorcery and the practice of un-Christian beliefs, rituals, or other persistent holdovers from paganism. This is not to say that homosexuality was accepted, per se, but it was known about, it must have happened enough for priests to list in their handbooks of sins, and it wasn’t The End of The World. Frankly, I am tired of having to argue that queer people existed and engaged in queer activity in the Middle Ages (not directed at you, but in general). Of course they did. Obviously they did. Moving on!

Anyway. Returning to gay knights specifically, the fact remained that if you encouraged two dudes to love each other beyond all other bonds, they might, you know, actually bang. This was worrisome, especially in the twelfth century, as explored by Matthew Kuefler, ‘Male Friendship and the Suspicion of Sodomy in Twelfth-Century France’ and Ruth Mazo Karras, ‘Knighthood, Compulsory Heterosexuality, and Sodomy’ in The Boswell Thesis: Essays on Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality, ed. Matthew Kuefler (Chicago; University of Chicago Press, 2006), pp. 179-214 and 273-86. I have written a couple papers (in the ever-tedious process of one day being turned into journal articles) on the subject of the Extremely Queer Richard the Lionheart, some material of which can be found in my tag for him. Richard’s queerness has been argued over for a long time, we all throw rotten banana peels at John Gillingham who took it upon himself to deny, ignore, or minimize all the evidence, but anyway. Richard was a very masculine and powerful man and formidably talented soldier who could not be reduced to the stereotype of the effeminate, weak, or impotent sodomite, and the fact that he was a prince, a duke, and a king was probably why he was repeatedly able to get away with it. But he wasn’t alone, and he wasn’t the only one. He was very much part of his culture and time, even if he kept running into ecclesiastical reprisals for it. It happened. If you want a published discussion that covers some of my points (though not all of them), there is William E. Burgwinkle, ‘The Curious Case of Richard the Lionheart’, in Sodomy, Masculinity, and Law in Medieval Literature: France and England, 1050-1230 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 73–85. Also on the overall topic, Robert Mills, Seeing Sodomy in the Middle Ages (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2015).

Peter the Chanter, a Parisian cleric, also wrote De vitio sodomitico, a chapter of his Verbum abbreviatum, fulminating against “men with men, women with women [masculi cum masculis […] mulieres cum mulieribus]” which apparently happened far too often for his liking in twelfth-century Paris (along with cross-dressing and other genderqueer behaviour; the Latin version of this can be found in ‘Verbum Abbreviatum: De vitio sodomitico’ in Patrologia Latina, ed. Jacques-Paul Migne (Paris: 1855), vol. 205, pp. 333–35). Moving into the thirteenth and especially fourteenth centuries, this bond only grew in importance, and involved a new kind of anxiety. Richard Zeikowitz’s book, Homoeroticism and Chivalry: Discourses of Male Same-Sex Desire in the 14th Century (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), explores this discourse in detail, and points out that the intensely homoerotic element of chivalry was deeply embedded in medieval culture – and that this was something that was not queer, i.e. unusual, to them. It is modern audiences who see this behaviour as somehow contravening our expected stereotypes of medieval knights as Ultra Manly No Homo Men. When we label this “medieval queerness,” we are also making a judgment about our own expectations, and the way in which we ourselves have normalized one narrow and rigid view of masculinity.

England then had two queer kings in the 14th century, Edward II and Richard II, both of whom ended up deposed. These were for other political reasons, but their queerness was not irrelevant to assessments of their character and the reactions of their contemporaries. Sylvia Federico (‘Queer Times: Richard II in the Poems and Chronicles of Late Fourteenth-Century England’, Medium Aevum 79 (2010), 25–46) has studied the corpus of queer-coded historical writing around Richard, and noted that while the Lancastrian propaganda postdating the usurpation of Henry IV in 1399 obviously had an intent to cast his predecessor in as unfit a light as possible, the accusations of queerness started during Richard’s reign, “well before any real practical design on the throne […] and well before the famous lapse into tyranny that characterized the reign’s last few years. In poems and chronicles produced from the mid-1380s to the early 1390s, and in language that is highly charged with homophobic references, Richard II is marked as unfit to rule”. E. Amanda McVitty (‘False Knights and True Men: Contesting Chivalric Masculinity in English Treason Trials, 1388–1415,’ Journal of Medieval History 40 (2014), 458–77) examined how the treason trials of high-status individuals centred on a symbolic deconstruction of his chivalric manhood, demoting and exiling him from the intricate homosocial networks that governed the creation and performance of medieval masculinity.

This appears to have been a fairly extensive phenomenon, and one not confined to the geopolitical space of England. Henric Bagerius and Christine Ekholst (‘Kings and Favourites: Politics and Sexuality in Late Medieval Europe’, Journal of Medieval History 43 (2017), 298–319) traced the use of ‘discursive sodomy’ as a rhetorical tool employed against five late medieval monarchs, including Richard II and his great-grandfather Edward II, John II and Henry IV of Castile, and Magnus Eriksson of Sweden. In all cases, the ruler in question was viewed as emotionally and possibly sexually dependent on another man, subject to his evil counsels and treacherous wiles, and this reflected a communal anxiety that the body of the king himself – and thus the body politic – had been unacceptably queered. Nonetheless, as a divinely anointed figure and the head of state, the accusations of gender displacement or suspected sodomy could not be placed directly on the king, and were instead deflected onto the favourites themselves, generally characterised as greedy, grasping men of ignoble birth, who subverted both social and sexual order by their domination of the supposedly passive king.

None of this polemic produced by hostile sources can be read as direct confirmation of the private and physical actions of the kings behind closed doors, but in a sense, this is immaterial. The intimate lives of presumably heterosexual individuals are constructed on the same standards of evidence and to much greater certainty. In other words, queerness and queer/gay favourites could not have functioned as a textual metaphor or charged accusation if there was not some understanding of it as a lived behaviour. After all, if the practice did not physically exist or was not considered as a potential reality, there could have been no anxieties around the possibility of its improper prosecution.

This leads us nicely into the deeply vexed question of adelphopoiesis, or the “brother-making” ceremony argued by some, including John Boswell, as a medieval form of gay marriage. (Boswell, who died of AIDS in 1994, published the landmark Christianity, Social Tolerance, and Homosexuality in 1980, and among other things, controversially argued that the medieval Catholic church was a vehicle for social acceptance of gay people.) Boswell’s critics have fiercely attacked this stance, claiming that the ceremony was only intended to join two men together in a celibate sibling-like relationship. A Straight Historian who participated in a modern version of the ceremony in 1985 actually argued that since she had no sexual inclinations or motives in taking part, clearly it was never used for that purpose by medieval men either. (Pause for sighing.)

The problem is: we can’t argue intentions or private actions either way. We can understand what the idealized and legal designation for the ceremony was intended to be, but we cannot then outrageously claim that every historical individual who took part in it did so for the party line reason. Maybe medieval men who joined together in brother-making ceremonies did live a celibate and saintly life (this would not be surprising). It seems ludicrous to argue, however, that none of them were romantically in love with each other, or that they never ever ever had sex, because surprise, formulaic documents and institutional guidelines cannot tell us anything about the actions of real individuals making complex choices. Even if this was not always a homosexual institution (and once again with the dangerous practice of equivocating queerness with explicitly practiced and “provable” sexual behaviour), it was beyond all reasonable doubt a homoromantic one, and one sanctioned and organised according to well-known medieval conventions, desires (for two men to live together and love each other above all) and anxieties (that they might then have sex).

The medieval men who took a ‘brother’ would probably not have seen it as a marriage, or as the kind of household formation or social contract implied in a heterosexual union, but as we have also discussed, the definition of marriage in the Middle Ages was under constant contestation anyway. The church was constantly anxious about knights: their violence, their (oftentimes) lack of religiosity, their proclivity for tournaments, swearing, drinking, and other immoral behaviour, the possibility of them having sexual affairs with each other and/or with women (though Andreas Capellanus, in De amore, wrote an entire spectacularly misogynistic handbook about how to have the right kind of love affair with a woman and dismissed same-sex relationships in one sentence as gross and unworthy, so he was clearly the No Homo Bro Knight of his day). So, as this has gotten long: gay knights were basically one of the central social, religious, and cultural concerns of the entire Middle Ages, due to their position in society, their necessity in a warlike culture, the social influence of chivalry and their tendency to bad behaviour, their perceived influence over the king (who they may also have given their Gay Cooties), their disregard of the church’s teachings, and the ever-present possibility that their love wasn’t celibate. So yes. Gay knights: Hella Historically Accurate.

The end.

#history #medieval history #queer history #gay knights #long post #i have a lot more to say but yes #the old guard meta #for reference #though this post was originally written in december 2019 #anonymous #ask

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savnofilter · 3 years

Text

TW: MENTIONS OF DISCOURSE, GR//MING, P/D/PHILIA, ASS//LT, C//NSENT, D//RK CONTENT.

- this isnt under a read more because i want people to read this, but please read past this/tread carefully if you cannot handle such topics. this is not meant to be interacted with.

I'm not sure how to really go about this. I've been overthinking if I should address this and bring up some stuff while I've been gone, so sorry the absence. I deleted the tumblr app a few days ago and I downloaded it again today so i could post this. I really don't like making posts like this because it cuts the vibe that I've been trying to portray that everything is okay and it makes me feel really disconnected to you guys. I am sorry for the abrupt absence and cutting off any source of communication between us. I knew if I left any form of direct line of talk to me that I would receive hate and I just mentally decided that I cant sit through being harassed right now.

Have you guys ever paid attention to the same people who always have a statement to say or is always in discourse? It's very telling how everyone can post about me, but I shouldnt dare post about them. I'm tired of not being able to post about what I want without people vague posting about me, bringing me up every time they start another discourse with another writer or directly talking about me. My days on here are starting to feel the same. Its good then it goes bad. Good goes bad and bad goes good. It's not even tiring, annoying, or angering -- its repetitive. When I'm not saying anything people create fake stories about me, and when i speak about it im the one starting discourse. Don't get me wrong, I'm nowhere near perfect and I have made my own mistakes. But why the fuck am I always being told to be the mature one, why am I the one who should've done better, why do you people expect so much from me. It's the fact people are always quick to say, "no one cares about you, youre fishing for attention" when they're the ones who vague and interact with me while ive been minding my business for months now. Hm. The fact people have me proudly blocked but still harass me anyways shows a lot about themselves than it does for me. How its such an issue that im a minor until it comes to demonizing, tearing down my character, gaslighting, lying and bullying. I'm a literal example of how their friend group manipulates their followers and exiles people from fandoms for not kissing their ass. except now its in your face.

Consider this my last post about this discourse. I'm not going to waste my time on people who fail to digest other peoples thoughts and opinions time and time again because theyre weak narcissists. If I so choose to decide to shit post my opinions or argue with someone, none of you should be aggravated or moved by it because youre not even supposed to be on my page. If its not something serious i will not be wasting energy that i can be using to build on myself as a growing person than on miserable old ladies that have to use fanfiction to have excitement in their pity, depressing and lackluster lives. If people so do choose to create stories or vague about me, I do not care. So I ask respectfully to people who do lurk on my page to not attempt to message, post or vague about me please. This includes sending anons to yourself to make shit happen.

Past that, something got me thinking. My (older) friend had showed me screenshots of adult writers (no one i have spoken to) that were very excited to write underaged reader with adult characters. There are other instances where writers (that you have probably read from) on here openly made reader underage while aging characters up as adults/with adults. There are many more but there's really no point in listing them nor do I really care. But least to say, the same people who are gung-ho over these pedophilic themes/stories are the same people who support predatory people.

I've been thinking about whether or not i should continue writing for the students anymore. Granted, I still think they're attractive because one snap of the fingers cant stop that. I had been teetering on this thought for awhile because of how borderline pedophilic the people are here towards my age group. I enjoy writing but not to the point of willingly being in a straight line of sight where people who are well over 16 are harassing me and lurking on my page, especially to other minors solely because they are my friends. Backtracking to the statement before, I honestly dont know if I will either stop writing or just for the students as a whole. It shows that clearly some people are using their attraction to teens with the excuse that the characters are fake. The rapid normalization on dark problematic "kinks" is disgusting and vile, and the fact that its discourse now to shame said interests is appalling. Concluding that combined with my experiences here, i feel unsafe.

***(TRIGGER WARNING)*** I dont talk about my personal life on here that much cause I dont see the need too nor do i think its anyone's business. Paired with the fact that the people i have trusted personal information with have used it against me, I will be preventing myself from opening that door. Besides that for now, I have sparsely shared I've been assaulted before. This is my first time really opening up about this and i kind of find it necessary now. Coming from someone who has been a victim of assault and CP by people my age and well over, writing nsfw has been the only way where I could feel comfortable with sex in general. I won't get into details because mentioning this is triggering already and can make people uncomfortable. It feels like anywhere I go, I'm constantly putting myself in a position to be abused. The same people who told me I didn't have to worry about my age and be judged for it, exposed the minimum comfort of keeping myself private online to demonize, judge and hurt me. People call me "extra" for being distraught about my face and age being posted because they think im trying to be sneaky which isn't the case. Its the principle that they KNEW I wasnt ready to share said things, and coming from someone who is inherently a private and closed person, she knew damn well what she was doing when posting screenshots of me on Tumblr. There is no excuse for it. The same writers who write dub/non-con can BARELY understand basic consent and its fucking terrifying. This site was the only other place I could cope without being criticized. To see people who some i was close to proudly lie on my name, (adults) say that i sent them pornographic content without their consent is so very hurtful. To watch people supposedly be victims and then use their own trauma to invalidate my own was so fucking humiliating, disgusting and nerve wracking. Although I knew I made the terrible decision to interact with stories, I have never initiated any NSFW discussion with anyone in DMs unless they did it with me first and a few times -- and trust me raise your hand I'll show you the proof. I was sure that everyone I talked to regularly knew that I was a minor, and to my general consensus, people were under the impression I was 15/16 (which I was and am).***

Whether it be victim blaming from the grooming discourse, I've been met with racism, harassment towards my friends, people wanting me to harm myself and be assaulted. I fear what will happen when i will turn 18, if the harassment will escalate and what not. A big part of me is that I'm still here anyways because it pisses people off and I don't care when I receive hate. I can take it but I don't want it. A good conscious of me knows that I should be doing what's best for me but at the end I'm still attached to my ego-self with the added fact that I sincerely enjoy interacting with my followers and posting stories.

I just don't know how the options look. I'll probably be updating my blog rules as of right now. I've been writing more sfw lately because of this and it'd be nice if you guys supported those until I properly decide. I still have plenty of requests of a bunch of characters (mostly Bakugo and Dabi) and original stuff (all sfw & nsfw) that I really wanna share with you guys. But I just ask that what I do modify that you will respect it like you would to any other writer on here.

Stay safe, keep your mask on, and thank you.

#discourse #tw discourse #tw: discourse #sav talks

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lenniewip · 4 years

Text

Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)

11.09 PM Unknown Number

>I’m writing songs about you again.

11.20 PM Unknown Number

>its stiles btw.

>in case you deleted my number

>I did.

>I mean I deleted yours.

>but I still remember it apparently

11:41 PM Unknown Number

>I only have 2 lines so far

11:57 PM Unknown Number

>I bleed you from my veins.

>I grieve you like I love you.

>alone.

>its better with the chords.

>u were always better at writing lyrics than me

12:34 AM Unknown Number

>u were better everything than me

2:00 AM Unknown Number

>I hate that I miss you

2:07 AM Unknown Number

>do u want to hook up?

>I promise not to propose again

2:15 AM Unknown Number

>im sorry.

>ignore me.

>im drinking

Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.

What the hell is a Stiles?

2:17 AM Unknown Number

<I think you have the wrong number

>Lydia?

<no

>oh thank fuck

>I mean

>I’m sorry

>for disturbing ur sleep

>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this

>bullet dodged right?

>is this what near death experiences feel like?

<I wouldn’t know.

>of course

>hey

>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?

>all my friends are asleep

<probably because its 3am

<everyone’s asleep

>2.39

>and ur not

>asleep that is

>so?

>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead

>what do you think?

>of the lyrics

<im the wrong person to ask

>never experienced heartbreak?

<no

<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me

>oh

>yeah I guess it does

>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?

<do you want to be rupi kaur?

>sure

>not to be dramatic or anything

>but

>I want to be anyone but me

>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho

<regina spektor?

>singer/song writer

>shes my fucking inspiration

>her lyrics are like poetry to me

>you should listen to her music

<I dont really listen to music

>what the fuck?

>are you an alien?

<no?

>nice fucking try ET

>thats exactly what an alien would say

<…you got me there

>akdjfen

>is this you admitting I was right?

<no

<but this is me going to bed

<because its now 4AM

>already?

>fuck

>ive got an early start tomorrow

>good night random stranger

>and thanks

>for listening

>or reading ig

<good night

“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.

Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

Derek hated the look she gave him then.

The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.

“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.

“No.”

An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.

But this was enough.

It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.

2:40 PM Laura

>I’m here if you need to talk.

Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.

So instead he doodles.

Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.

Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.

But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.

10:18 PM Unknown Number

>I don’t remember it anymore

<You have the wrong number again

>No

>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?

<right

>So here’s the thing.

>I always thought if I needed to text her I could

>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk

>But I can’t remember it anymore

<Oh.

>I have some of her things still

>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now

>Unless she messages me first

<When did you two break up?

>Last year

>and I know what you’re thinking

>’it’s October’

>and I should be over her by now

>Trust me I know

>So you don’t need to lecture me

<I wasn’t going to

>Oh

<Stiles?

>That’s weird

<what is?

>I forgot I told you my name

<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.

>you’re right

>I don’t like it.

>but you’re right

>…thanks

<What for?

>for listening

>reading**

>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain

>so this is nice

<sure

<anytime

>dope

>no take backsies

<am I going to regret this?

>for definite

>you’re stuck with me now

That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.

Stiles keeps messaging after that.

Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.

Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.

He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.

Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.

He’s not above admitting he’s scared.

Derek draws Stiles sometimes.

More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.

Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.

The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.

They don’t always talk about Lydia.

Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.

Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.

Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.

Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.

And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.

2:02 AM Bad Poet

>sometimes I feel like too much

>and too little

>at the same time

>u ever feel like that ET?

<not really

>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless

>like a never ending echo

>or a recurring decimal

>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it

>I have no depth

<youre not meaningless

<you’re a rhythm.

<like breathing

>…

>was that a regina spektor reference?

<it might have been

>I thought you didn’t listen to music?

<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry

<so I thought I would check out a few songs

>well fuck

>what did you think?

<she’s good

>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong

<I still prefer poetry

>of course you do

Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.

Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.

10:30AM Bad Poet

<my sister bought me flower seeds

>I didn’t know you had a sister?

<she’s everything I have

>oh

<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow

>…with flower seeds?

<yes

>you sound extremely paranoid

>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?

<shut up

>noted.

>keep me posted on how your gardening goes

>also

>as a side note

>you know you have me too right?

>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you

<thanks

>anytime

On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.

She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.

Once their family had been so alive.

And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.

They both knew it.

Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.

He was too scared to ask.

That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.

And then several more followed.

1:14 AM Bad Poet

<seh haars me

>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again

>try spell checking before hitting send

<she.hates mee

>who?

<larn

>are you drunk?

<yeh

<tyongs ndrf

*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*

The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.

“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”

“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”

“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”

“Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.”

“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”

“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”

“She should. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”

Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.

“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.

“What?”

“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”

“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”

Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”

“Th-thanks.”

Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.

Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.

“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight bud.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.

I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hummed in answer.

“Your shape is beautiful too.”

A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”

7:50 AM Bad Poet

>how are you feeling today?

<better

>good <3

Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.

He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.

But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.

Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.

But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.

Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.

9:48 PM Bad Poet

>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?

>don’t feel like you need to say yes

>I just enjoyed talking to you

>and hearing your voice

>ugh.

>why are words so hard?

<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call

*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*

“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.

“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.

Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”

“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.

“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”

Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.

“It’s Derek.”

“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.

And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.

Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.

The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.

The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.

6:42 AM Bad Poet

>you need to talk to your sister

And Derek knows he’s right.

It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.

But he forces himself to take the dive.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.

Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”

“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…

There never would have been a fire.

Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.

“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”

“I might as well have.”

“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”

The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.

He found himself crying to.

“I’m so sorry, Der.”

Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.

They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.

He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.

He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.

“Hello?”

“No - Derek’s asleep.”

“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”

“Who is this?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Derek let sleep over take him once more.

2:29 AM Bad Poet

>sorry for calling so late

>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow

9:07 AM Bad Poet

<sorry, I was really tried

>no worries man

>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me

<was something wrong?

>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten

>im fine

>how are you?

<im good actually

<I spoke to Laura

>yeah?

>I’m proud of you

>how’d that go?

<we both cried

<a lot

<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch

>look at you, opening up and shit.

>think I might cry now

<shut up

>literally never

>better men have tried and failed to silence me

2:40 PM Laura

>Want to see a movie on Friday?

<sure

One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.

“Duhreek.”

“Doreck.”

“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.

“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.

Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.

He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.

“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”

Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.

He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.

He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.

He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.

He wants.

1:58 AM Bad Poet

>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?

>maybe not intentionally

>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know

>maybe we already have

Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.

<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?

<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you

>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)

<I think id still know

<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?

<of me

>dkfajd

>for reals?

>you would do that?

>you?

<well…not for free

>there’s always a catch

>what do you want?

>my soul?

>a blood debt?

>you can have whatever it is

<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too

<geez stiles

The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.

>I could do that

>a photo for a photo

>I kind of look like shit rn

>so no judging me

Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.

And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.

But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.

He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.

As he pressed send another photo came in.

Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.

His heart stopped.

Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.

But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.

>Fucking hell

>are you for real?

>you gave me a heart attack

>am I being catfished right now?

>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?

>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?

>Derek

>oh my god

>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit

>still there?

>did my selfie scare you away?

>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis

>Derek?

<still here

>of thank fuck

>so…

<so?

>come on

>your going to give me a complex

>the selfie…was it okay?

>I know it’s not much

>but we can’t all be greek gods

<its beautiful

<you’re beautiful, stiles

>oh

>thanks

Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.

9:49 AM Bad Poet

<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend

<this is all your fault

>how is this my fault?

<because she never wanted to introduce us before

<and then you got me to talk to my sister

<and now she wants me to meet him

>…and this is a bad thing?

<yes

>because?

<I don’t make good first impressions

<it’s going to be awkward

>yeah probably

<you’re not helpful

>I wasn’t trying to be ;)

>have fun, Derek!

Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.

But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.

Maybe not all change was bad.

Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.

“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I know.”

God did Derek ever know.

But Stiles is different.

“Just…be careful.”

“I am being. I promise.”

Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”

“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”

“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.

Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.

‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.

A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.

It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.

She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.

“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.

“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.

“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.

It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.

Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.

No.

She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…

“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”

“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.

“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”

Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.

“It’s him.” He manages to get out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Laura. It’s him.”

It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.

“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”

“What?”

“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”

And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…

The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.

And it all falls apart.

It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.

11:08 PM Bad Poet

<you’re stiles stilinki

>fuck

(And yeah, it was really him).

>how did you find out?

<Laura

>I was going to tell you

<Were you?

>Yes

>I’ve wanted to for ages

>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up

<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner

>Me too

>I’m sorry

>Please don’t hate me

Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.

<I don’t

>Thank fuck

>seriously

>can I call you?

<sure

Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.

“Hey.”

“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.

“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.

“What?”

“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”

“Stiles…”

“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”

Derek feels his heart break in two.

“Stiles…I can’t.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.

“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”

I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.

There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.

It was better for him to just… fall out of love.

6:17AM Laura

<it’s really him

>are you sure

<I’m sure

>what are you going to do?

<nothing

>Derek you’re in love with him

<I’m aware

<it doesn’t matter

<it wouldn’t ever work

>I’m sorry

<don’t be

<I’m going to be fine

>Im coming over with wine

That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.

When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.

He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.

Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.

He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.

It’s still not enough.

1:11 PM Bad Poet

>I wrote you a song

>I know you don’t listen to music

>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link

>bad poetry at 2:00am

The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”

The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.

When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.

He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.

3:00 PM Laura

>have you seen the video?

<he sent me a link

<he wrote a song for me Laura

<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me

>fuck

<what do I do?

>what do you want to do?

<I don’t know

>I think you should look at his twitter

>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him

>but I think you need to see it

>@stilesstilinki

@stilesstilinski

I want to hug him

@stilesstilinski

Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything

@stilesstilinski

Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.

@stilesstilinski

He makes me want to write poetry

Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.

He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.

And Derek falls impossibly more in love.

He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.

And everything else?

It’s worth it.

Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.

2:00 AM Bad Poet

<so I looked at your twitter

>fuck.

>how much did you see?

<all of it

>tight

>please excuse me while I go die now

>bye

<don’t leave yet

<I had something I wanted to ask you

>did you want me to delete the tweets?

>I can do that

>I’ll just delete the whole account

>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem

>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy

>but I’m a close second

<stiles?

>yup?

<Will you go on a date with me?

>alkdjf

>yes?

>Ofc yes?

>are you being serious?

>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious

<I’m serious

>yes.

>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

>holy shit

>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you

>im so fucking in love with you

>is it too soon to say that?

>I don’t even care

>I’m speaking my truth

>you obviously don’t have to say it back

>im going to woo you so hard Derek

>you’ll have to love me back eventually

>I’m going to write you poetry

>hell I’ll even read poetry for you

>ill give the whole fucking moon to you

<why would I want the moon?

<im not gru?

>despicable me

>that was a despicable me reference.

>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?

>you’re such an enigma to me Derek

>god I love you so much

<stiles?

>too much?

<no

<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you

<I love you too stiles

<so much

<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up

<I might not be able to live up to it in real life

>impossible

<seriously stiles

>I am being serious

>I’m already in love with you Der

>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done

>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all

>and I would still be in love with you

>all you have to do now is show up

<…I can do that

>perfect

TWO YEARS LATER

@stilesstilinski

Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.

#sterek #eternal sterek #what am i even doing?#i just spent the last two days writing this and banging my head against the wall and nothing else #should i write this into a full fic one day?#i probably wont #hope you guys enjoy #sterek drabble #5k words of them being idiots #i cut so much out how is this still 5k?#stiles stilinki #derek hale #laura is the only other character that makes an appearance #im supposed to be sleeping #but here we are ig #texting #wrong number #celebrity stiles

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skimblyshanks · 3 years

Text

Ok, my thoughts on first viewing:

First, this is something that I always have to remember when watching his videos: A singer/Dancer/actor he is not. While he will vouch for performers against poor direction, he is acquainted with the orchestral side of things first and foremost. This is a glaring flaw in Part V which is probably the most muddled part of the video. While I’ve yet to see him full-on go after an actor alone, he got close this time w/ Corden and Sir Ian, though this was mixed with his general issues about how orchestration was run, I wasn’t a fan of that aspect of this.

I have comments on Part V toward the end of this post.

It might feel like a “Not 1998, so movie bad” argument, but this is based on the score and decisions in music direction

that said, 98 was clearly his primary reference. He didn’t really look at M+R for this reason which I feel was a bit of wasted potential bc if he looked a bit more into the OLC’s score it would highlight how much they screwed Danny over

He used the CATS wiki during his research for this

A lot of small jabs aat the show, but they’re small, scattered, and he doesn’t let his own personal distaste for the show taint his analysis of the score

Very hostile to the film’s musical direction, and calls the vocal performances p bad, but he isn’t knocking the actors on that so much as hooper’s continued decision to put the actors’ performances in control of the orchestra’s tempo to the point they had to set up a 5 track audio system during shoots

I’m forever going to be aware now of the orchestra in Memory and the off-beat cockroaches

related to the above, There is a claim made that most of the singers didn’t properly know the music, due to the level of score mismanagement, and says that the two cleanest numbers tempo-wise, Tugger and Skimbleshanks, are likely so because they are carried by ppl very actively dancing/moving for the most part to the beat of the original piece. He isn’t 100% on that claim, but it’s still one that I wouldn’t give all the weight in the world to.

Personally, I’d say it was more likely that ensemble dance-heavier numbers got away mostly unscathed bc the cast rehearsed those at tempo and came in for shoots knowing them at tempo. He says this himself, bc he talks abt how awkward some of the numbers are for dancing in this portion of the video. so yes, there is still room for his argument, and he was also mostly directing it towards Corden, Wilson, and Sir Ian than all the numbers, but I think it’s worth considering how much of that is also just. You can know a piece, and know it at tempo, but when you’re thrust into a situation where the accompaniment follows you and the click track isn’t the first and p much only line of action while performing this live and seperate from the orchestra like how Hooper does it, the first instinct is to drag, speaking from similar experience.

Still very mad at Hooper

Inadvertently and absolutely unintentionally gave me music-theory tuggershanks justifications

All in all:

Parts I-IV were pure catharsis. He managed to break down and analyze the narrative outline of CATS superbly, and provided it in a way so the unexperienced could understand it beyond “Lol cat ppl cult try to die” and even if he doesn’t care for the show, he clearly understands the story beats and the strengths of the score. I can sit through his negative tone for that. He attacks the writing of Victoria as protagonist, but not because there could never possibly be a protagonist, rather because in introducing her as the protagonist they undermined Jemima’s role in the original story, and saw Victoria touching Grizabella as special because it was Victoria, and not bc for the first time, no one stopped her (All of the younger cats tried to get close to Griz in act I, Vic included, and were stopped. While she is the most visually striking choice, he argues that the impact is meant to be in the fact that this time, she’s allowed freely. Her acceptance is facilitated by the tribe’s acceptance at large). There’s also discussion on Beautiful Ghosts’ placement making her seem unsympathetic, and her generally confused character writing. He addresses how multiple instances of blocking and choreo are directly in opposition to proper breath support. He does a mahor takedown on the way Hooper runs his audio for his movies; having the orchestra follow actor, always.

Part V is the weakest section of the video, bc he ends up spending time arguing that the actors didn’t know the music even when explaining that Having the orchestra submit to the actor was detrimental to all parties back in Part IV. Part V is named dance rehearsal, and you’d think then that he would adress the number of dance rehearsals vs the number of vocal rehearsals, which is where I thought the part was going, but it wasn’t. Good points were raised thru Tugger and Skimble’s numbers; both being fast-paced, dance-intensive, and dancer-led all likely contributed to their objective musical quality being maintained, but there really is a lot to examine in the way of vocal rehearsals, bc for all we know solo actors could have been told to learn their songs at their own pace and not fret the tempo so much, in which case it is ultimately a failing moreso on the director than them.

Part V really highlights Sideways’ distance from the performers’ side of things. While it’s true that when Orchestra enters rehearsal, you should already know the score by that point, this is where an examination of the rehearsal process for this movie would have been most needed, bc for actors there are vocal rehearsals before orchestra is introduced, and if Hooper didn’t have them rehearsing with set click tracks, if he or the vocal director weren’t advising them to practice at tempo, there’s only so much blame to be laid at the actors’ feet. After establishing in Part IV how very muddled the audio system was during shoots, it might also have been good to mention the utter crunch everyone involved in the movie was under, including actors. He ignores that the cast is largely made up of dancers, and in doing so implies that Francesca was unprofessional and didn’t properly learn her song when she had almost no time to learn it. It was a section of wasted potential, basically. He talked in the Les Mis video abt the danger Hooper put his cast in with his directorial practices, but we don’t get a condemnation of the utter lack of proper prep time actors were given before being sent to shoot with a piano and orchestra that weren’t allowed to follow the set tempo.

A reminder that p much all active production for this movie, including dance and vocal rehearsal was done within the year. Times where that works: the 1998 film, where the cast was made of alumni and current cast members, working with largely universal choreography by Gillian Lynne, and all having prior stage experience.

Times that doesn’t really work: When you have a cast with several new ppl, alumni from various casts who learned different choreography, and an entirely new set of choreography to be learned on top of that, along with not casting any alumni in parts that carry large numbers, save for Dame Judi Dench, who instead of playing the role she was once slated for, instead had to manage a role usually played by an operatic Baritone. Francesca and Steven both learned to sing FOR this movie. a good handful of the performers have not been in stage productions before. With the production schedule of this movie, and the convoluted setup for live performances while shooting, it wasn’t fair of Sideways to position it like the actors ought to have known better and shown up with the songs all at tempo, especially when he himself established earlier on and in his Les Mis video that Hooper assumes his actors know what they’re doing and won’t step in.

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