#he knew this was real. but is nevertheless crushed by the conformation. because he had hoped...

[thewistlingbadger]

Mixed Signals

Summary: Emily and Spencer are trying to see if Derek likes Spencer. Derek is trying to figure out if he's gay with the help from Penelope. The 4 of them come to the realization that they are NOT on the same page at a club, where Emily and Spencer make out to see if Derek will get jealous.

CW: Platonic Spencer/Emily, friends who kiss, Derek has bi panic, gender non-conforming Spencer Reid, intimate friendship, inappropriate language, kiss in the rain, miscommunication, love confessions, first kiss. Y'all asked for me to post the stuff i got in my notes so here ya go. Enjoy.

Okay. So Emily and Spencer definitely came to the club with something up their sleeve. Spencer had always kept quiet about his crush on Derek. After all, the year was 2008. Gay marriage wasn't legal and if you were out you could be called slurs, or worse. And in the workplace? You could be terminated. The only person he ever came close to telling was Elle, but then one moment she was here, the next, gone.

Emily tried her best to be shocked at the news. It takes one to know one, she told herself. But nevertheless she made sure that he knew she was a safe space and that all she cared about was his comfort. He ranted to her about gender dysphoria and wanting to tap into his feminity, but being too afraid to do so. He asked her if she thought Derek liked him back, and tonight, they would find out.

Everyone knew Emily Prentiss was a lesbian. She made it no secret, while also making sure you minded your own business. She read queer romance novels on the jet, there was a pride flag on her desk and if you asked her what was on her calendar, she would tell you next Wednesday she had a meeting with her local LGBTQ+ advocates and that there would be a march next month, if you wanted to come.

In the same breath, she had no problem kissing Reid. They both knew that there was nothing romantic about the them. Kissing just...helped them both I guess. When Spencer would come over because he was having nightmares, Emily would scoot over in bed and make room for him. When she would get up around noon, Spencer would wrap his arms around her and kiss the side of her head as she brushed her teeth. Or when she could tell he was getting overwhelmed, she'd pepper his face with kisses till he'd be calm again.

Most people said I love you in words but for them, they had heard those words growing up from the mouths that did not mean it. Their kisses were tangible, real. They said I love, care, and respect you without even needing to pronounce a syllable.

Everyday, Derek came crying for help in Peneople's corner. He had never considered being anything but straight but his pretty boy got him second guessing himself. Derek didn't have the luxury of being able to figure himself out while young. And now that he was an adult, an established FBI agent, he feared it was too late. Penelope was his shoulder to cry on, filling his ears with positive affirmations. Giving him flyers to queer support groups and telling him when pride would be rolling into town.

"What if I don't like men and I just like pretty boy? Do I even like him like that? What if I'm just overthinking it?" "Well then you'll find out tonight." Peneople said with a wink. She ordered another round as Spencer and Emily found their way to the booth.

Derek tried to act normal but he couldn't help but notice how smug the both of them. Like they were inside a joke, and Derek wasn't. It made something rise in Derek, he just didn't know what.

Spencer still couldn't piece it all together. The looks, the touchs, the names, they had to mean something. Despite contrary belief, he wasn't all that oblivious. He knew Derek had been flirting with him for years. But why? Derek was always pulling girls whenever they went out to places like this and he never had shown interest in men. So why would he like Reid? Although, thought of Spencer being the only male that Derek was attracted to made his heart flutter, he knew it was unrealistic.

"Hey. Wanna dance?" Emily said putting her hand on his shoulder. He smiled. She always knew how to do that, pull him out of thought. As he got up he started to think about all the things he loved about her. Her gentleness without making him feel babied, her understanding without having the ability to understand what he was going through, the way she knew things about him that he didn't tell her that only he knew.

Like how he didn't need to drink to be a good time. As their bodies pressed together and they moved to the RNB beat, they laughed at each other. "Don't forget the task at hand Spence." She teased. "What task? The task of finding you a girlfriend? Because let me tell you, she won't come if your hair is looking like that!" He started to run his fingers through her hair which just made her laugh more.

Derek was watching them have fun while he was downing his drink. "What's wrong Derek, this is your scene! This is where Derek Morgan is Derek Morgan. And let me tell you, Derek Morgan? He does NOT sit at the booth like a sad puppy when the love of his life is out there dancing! Something that is a rare sight for our eyes!" He sighed, taking another sip from the glass, but he stayed glued to the leather seat.

"C'mon Derek! Do something! If you're not gonna go after Reid go after another dude! Or a gal! Scout out the area, look for someone who seems worth while! There's only one single friend out of the 4 of us and right now it's looking like it's gonna be me because Emily is having a grand old time with Reid."

Glad to know he wasn't going crazy, he responded. "Yeah, speaking of which, since when are they so close? Like you said, we barely get to see Reid dance. Then all of a sudden he's taking Prentiss's hand and they're grinding it up on the dancefloor?" He couldn't leave the irritation of his voice.

"Jealous much?" She wiggled her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes. "Don't you think it's weird?" Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. Of course not dummy! If you haven't figured out what Emily Prentiss was by now, you probably never will! Ignoring her thoughts, she asked "well what do you think it is?" He stared at the pair, trying to get get ahold of what it all meant but he turned away, empty handed.

"Did you see that? He was staring at us for a long time..." Spencer said looking over Emily's shoulder. "Do you think it's working?" "I don't know...he looked upset...he's drinking right now. Mil, I don't want to do this if he's drunk..." Emily could hear the doubt stirring in him. She didn't want to push him but she had the feeling that this would be the only chance. She wouldn't get Spencer to agree with her on this again.

"Hey." She tilted his chin down toward her. "It's your call." She smiled. God, you just gotta love her, he thought. He smiled and went for it.

"Hey, they moved away from the dance floor. Where'd they go?" Derek said sitting up straight searching over the crowd of clubbers. "I don't know..." Penelope now getting concerned. She stood up and-

"oh my god-" "What?! Are they hurt?! What's going o-" his search for them was interrupted by Penelope's hands clutching the sides of his face and directing it to the right side of the room, were he could see Emily and Spencer making out.

They both just stood there, jaws on the floor. "I thought she didn't swing that way..." Penelope said, shocked to her core. "Reid?" Morgan said, not as if he was calling for him but as if he was surprised that Emily was kissing Spencer. Or was Spencer kissing her? Unlike the last time he was staring at them, he was now paying attention to every detail. The way Emily's tight long sleeve shirt left nothing to the imagination and how she was pulling Reid in by the inside of his pants, then feeling him up after. She smirked mischievously into his lips, as if it were just a game.

Reid on the other hand, looked like he was about to cum on sight. He was still playing with he hair like how he was on the dancefloor, but this time his eyes were screwed tight. He barely moved his mouth meaning that A, Prentiss was doing all the work and B, when he did move his mouth it was in the smallest way possible and by god did he look amazing. Holy shit, did he just see some tongue?! Oh fuck, Derek thought, the realization hitting him like a truck. I like both of them.

He continued to watch them. Spence's hair was getting in his face and Emily was too busy teasing him by thumbing the hem of his sweater vest to notice. Derek could tell how much it was bothering him but he also seemed so carefree, so trapped in the moment, the sensations. He moved his head back ever so slightly, as if to ask for more but her mouth never left his.

When they parted, Derek could swear he saw a string of saliva in between them. Damn. This is not what I expected would happen tonight. He thought maybe he'd see a beautiful girl or a handsome dude, giving him an answer he'd been craving; Gifting him the knowledge he had wanted this whole time. But that? Whatever the fuck he just saw? Left him with more questions than answers.

"Derek? Are you okay?" He snapped out of it and looked at Peneople who had a worried expression on her face. That's when he realized that she hadn't been ogling at them the whole time like how he was. "Did that answer your questions?" She tried to approach in a different way. "I uhh." No words could form. "Oh, he's having a gay panic moment-" "No it was definitely for both of them." he blurted without being able to stop himself.

Penelope spit the shot out of her mouth. "You like them BOTH?" "No I-" He was completely out of his element. He started racking his brain, trying to process what he just saw. Why was that so hot? If he had a crush on Reid (like he thought he had the whole time) then wouldn't seeing his boy being kissed make him freak out? But somehow, seeing Spencer being man handled by Emily made him speachless. An "ohhhh" from Penelope was what broke him out of thought. "Well, congratulations Derek. I think you just might like guys and girls."

"Holy shit" they laughed hysterically. Spencer was about to fall to the floor. "What was that?" Emily laughed. "I was trying to make it look believable!" "Yeah by acting like a slut? Okay." She went off in a giggling fit. "Well I think it worked." "No shit?" She asked, looking to the booth. Both Derek and Penelope were standing up. "Well I'll be damned. I don't think I've ever seen him that red." she smiled "holy shit. I did that?" "Hell yeah you did! go get 'im lover boy." He hugged her and thanked her for her help, then made his way back to the booth. He got intercepted by peneople on the way there.

"So. What the fuck was that?" Peneople shouted over the music. "Go ask Emily! I'm going to Morgan." What? "oH!" The pieces somewhat clicking into place. "Oh my god how did I not know!" She gave him a hug. He gave an uncomfortable chuckle "thanks Penelope. But I really gotta go-" "But! He likes you too!" Penelope called after him but Spencer was already too far away to hear. God damn the level of miscommunication that's going on right now! Annoyed at the circumstances, she walked off to Prentiss.

Spencer slid the booth, "Hey." Spencer said. He shifted uncomfortably. A few seconds ago he was having the time of his laughing with a friend. Now he sat across from a different friend, a friend who he didn't want to be friends with. The person he wanted something more with looked down at the ground with a hand over his mouth.

Spencer frowned "what's wrong?" Reaching for the other's hand. Derek looked at him, doe eyed. "Boys." Was all he said. Huh? He had never seen Derek like this. "...Do you wanna dance?" He asked concerned. Derek nodded rapidly and they were off.

Whatever groove Spencer had while dancing with Emily had left because he was back to his normal stiffness. He wondered what was wrong with him but he couldn't decide what it was considering the amount of events that had just occurred. How do I make this less weird? What does he want? Spencer's thoughts reflected on his face.

Fuck. What's going on? Derek wondered. Sure, they were swaying and he had his hands on him, a big improvement on their relationship but he knew something was off about Spencer. So naturally, that's when Derek turned on his profiler mode and started pawing for answers.

"I was watching you earlier, you had some moves pretty boy. Didn't know that about you." There's a lot you don't know about me the genius thought. Instead he responded with "really?" "Yeah. I thought you didn't dance." "I'm not good at it." Spencer laughed. Derek couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the comments. You were practically fucking on the dancefloor talk about 'I'm not good at it.' Boy please. Spencer caught his eyes rolling though. Becoming defensive, he said "we were just being silly. It didn't mean anything." "That make out didn't look so silly. Looked pretty serious from where I was standing."

Spencer was taken aback. Was he mad at him? There was a hint of protectiveness but why would Derek be protective over him when he was with Emily? They've known Emily for a while now, they trust her.

Spencer didn't let him slide away with the snideness. "So what's your problem tonight. Had too many drinks and are now pissed you're not the only one who knows how to have fun?"

"I'm not drunk." Derek grumbled. "Oh really? Derek we've been here 2 hours now and the whole time all you've done is sit down with Penny and drink drinks. And all of a sudden you're acting all strange? How do you explain that hm?" Derek looked away realizing his error, licking his lips.

You're gonna profile me? Two can play it that way. "It's the fact that it's Prentiss huh. Do you like her?" Derek still couldn't meet his eyes. "Or did you just think I couldn't get her?" Spencer wasn't one who got easily mad but the bullshit Derek was pulling was infuriating. Do I just let the cat out of the bag or do I see how he plays it out?There's too many mixed signals going on.

Spencer scoffed annoyingly, letting go of Derek and storming off. "Kid wait!" God damn it Derek this is the one thing you're not supposed to fuck up. Emily stood up from the table that she was at with Penelope. "What's going on?" "I don't know!" They both watched Spencer leave. "Oh no..." "What the f-...he likes him Emily I swear! It's all he's been talking to me about for months! I really don't know what's going on!" Emily tried to make her way through the crowd but Derek was already out the door, trying to reach Spencer.

This is just fucking great. I go out to a club, a place that I already don't like just to try to make a move on some dude, some asshole, and now it's raining. Could it seriously get worse? "Spencer, c'mon man!" Derek heard him curse in a language he didn't understand. "I don't have time for bullshit Derek! Don't waste my time!" He kept walking back towards him.

Derek caught up to him, his feet splashing into puddles. "Look man, I'm sorry. Just let me explain!" Spencer didn't even look at him, he just kept walking. As a final attempt, Derek grabbed his hand, Spencer now facing him. "I'm not trying to waste your time pretty boy. Or bullshit you." The rain drops sliding down both their faces. Despite there being no light other the moon, they looked into each other's eyes. Derek didn't have a firm grip on Spencer's hand, but Spencer didn't feel the need to let go.

"You should start explaining yourself because I don't like dealing with nonsense." His chest rising and falling with every deep breath he took. "For the past couple of months I thought I was seeing you differently so I talked to Peneople about it. She suggested we go to the club to see if I liked you or if I only liked girls or maybe even if I liked men in general. When I saw you and Emily kissing, I- I can't explain it. I liked it. I liked watching you two kiss but then you came over to me and I started feeling jealous and I don't know what's going on with me-" "shut up." Spencer grabbed Derek by the collar of his wet shirt and their mouths smashed together.

It wasn't a pretty sight. It wasn't delicate like how most people want their first kisses to be. But it reflected every emotion that the both of them had felt that night. The rain helping their mouths slide together, the small droplets getting smushed when their checks or chins touched. Derek thought that getting kissed by Spencer looked good but oh man did it feel better to actually be kissed by him. Derek slid his fingers through his hair, imitating Spencer when he kissed Prentiss. The water droplets clinging to the ends of his finger tips. Their bodies closer than Reid's and Emily's ever were.

Spencer pulled away, resting his forehead on Derek's. They both felt the breath of the other, the rapid in and outs trying to get back to their normal speed's. Spencer still had his fingers on Derek's collar, still keeping him close. "Please tell me that that cleared up some stuff for you." Spencer breathed.

"We could be that. Friends who kiss but not romantically." Derek offered. All he knew was that he would die a sad man if that was the only time he'd get to kiss Reid. "If we kiss, I'd like it to be in a romantic way. I didn't spend countless hours watching you go home with countless women to not have you kiss me in a romantic way Derek." Derek laughed at his bluntness. "Alright kid. Good. Because I wouldn't have it any other way." He went in for another kiss, and Spencer happily kissed him back.

"I think it did." Derek panted back. Spencer moved his arms around Derek's neck, pulling him into a hug. "I've had a huge crush on you for forever. I didn't say anything because I didn't think you were gay. Emily and I only kissed like that to see what your reaction would be. I don't like her, she doesn't like me. We're just friends. There's no romance behind it." He explained, still hugging him.

By: Mic

#mic writes fanfiction #criminal minds #cm #spencer reid #moreid #derek morgan #emily prentiss #peneople garcia #emily and spencer #emily prentiss and spencer reid #spemily: friends who kiss #bi derek morgan #bi spencer reid #Derek has bi panic #kiss in the rain #wingwoman penelope garcia #wingwoman emily prentiss #gender non conforming spencer reid

[clairecrive]

"Insecurities" - Eames x reader (Part 2) [Requested]

I'm sorry for the long wait. I made it super long to make up for it. Anon and @kingarthurscat I hope this is what you had in mind when you made the request or that at least you like it. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

requests are always open!

Tag list: @mollybegger-blog (let me know if you wanna be added)

A/n: Prompts are in bold.

The very reason you had been picked to be a part of the group was your ability to became whoever they needed you to be. It wasn't quite like Eames who could really become that person, it was more like an interpretation of a character. Like an actor would do, only you wouldn't be performing in a movie or a theatre. Usually very shy and stubborn you weren't so keen on putting yourself out there the way they had asked you to. But the need for money and your acting skills collected through the high school years as a way of getting more credits did the trick and with a little convincing on Dom's part, you were one of them.

Tonight was no different, you left your shy and awkward self in your hotel room, ready to be Sandy, a confident outspoken entrepreneur, for the rest of the night. The job was very easy to be honest, even though you usually hated when they used you just for your "womanly weapons" as Dom called them. However, being the only woman on the team, your input was required and there wasn't much you could do.

The plan was very simple: distract the wealthy, sneaky Arabian entrepreneur while Eames took whatever information he needed and then make your exit quickly and smoothly when Eames would give you the signal that it all went according to plan.

Flirting with wealthy men was quite the same every time. If you asked them about their job or a thing they have that makes them proud you could have them talking for hours on end. You would just have to throw a smile or a small laugh at the right time and that would be it. Easy job right? The fact that sometimes the men would be smoking hot it's just a bonus. They were boring but at least they were pretty to look at.

Much to your delight, this night, Azir was not only very handsome but he had a few interesting ideas too. Maybe you had been enjoying yourself too much, really engaged in a conversation with him, that you didn't notice Eames trying to catch your attention at first.

Over the years, you had come up with a complex sign language that would allow you to communicate in tricky situations without making a sound. Just a movement of an eye or a finger and the message or warning had come across. So when you noticed the English lad walking towards you while scrunching his nose, you knew that he needed a diversion.

"What is happening here?" He approached you and Azir that was quite startled by Eames' appearance. Thinking he was going for an angry/jealous boyfriend you played along.

"What are you doing here?" You asked feigning a shocked expression.

"I told you that I had a business meeting tonight, but you failed to mention that you'd also be here flirting with a stranger." He explained getting worked up.

"First of all, this is not a stranger, his name is Azir. Second, I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd have cared."

"In what twisted universe I would not care about my fucking fiancée flirting with a man that's not me?!"

"Wait, what? What are you talking about mate? She doesn't have a ring." Azir chimes in, apparently disturbed by the idea of being accused to flirt with an engaged woman. Nice to see you have morals Azir, not just a pretty face uh.

"Where is your ring Y/N?" Eames inquired staring intently at your naked ring finger

"Funny you should ask, still keeping up with this game I see. It's not endearing anymore, cut it."

"What the hell are you on about?" He looked at you as if you had suddenly grown three heads, glancing towards Azir for support.

"I was so thrilled that after eight years you had finally found the guts to propose to me, that I couldn't wait to share the news with everyone I have ever shared a word with. Also to let them see the beautiful ring you gave me. Imagine my surprise when Karen comes up to me and say: "Do you know that the diamond in your engagement ring is fake?" Of course, I didn't believe her, she had always been jealous of me. But she insisted so to prove her wrong, I stepped on it. Diamonds, real diamonds, are unbreakable. But the one you gave me fell apart like a bread crumble." For added emphasis you turned to Azir, "can you believe it? A fake engagement ring!"

The poor lad had been swapped in this mess and was so lost that if someone had asked him his name right now, he probably couldn't be able to answer right.

"So what if the diamond was fake? My intentions behind the gesture were not."

"Do you even still love me?" You asked scoffing at his words. Noticing three bulky men storming into the hall you were in, you gather your things and without glancing towards both men, you stormed off into a hallway on your right knowing that Eames was hot on your trail. You turn around to see if you were safe but before you could check his hand wraps around your arm and drags you into a dark room to your left. The door closed behind you leaving you standing in the dark catching your breaths.

"Were they still behind us?" You whisper just in case they were close. You couldn't see him in the dark but even if you felt him close to you, when he put his hand on your mouth to shush you it still caught you off guard. Well then, I'll take that as a yes. Even if you couldn't see his face, being this close to him that you could feel his breath on your cheek, made your mind wander and suddenly you were thankful for the dark otherwise your reddening cheeks would sorely stand out and Eames would tease you endlessly.

Turns out that you spoke too soon seeing as, while you were lost in your daydream, he must have drawn out his phone, because a light suddenly shone in the room. It was a janitor closet because at your feet there were cloths and buckets. It was indeed a small space as you've presumed, your chests were touching and if he wasn't taller than you, your noses or worse mouths would too. This realisation certainly didn't help your blushing situation.

"Is there a reason why you're blushing like that?" He asked and really, you knew it was coming.

"Can we get out, please? I think we're safe." You said trying to play it cool. The twinkle in his eyes made his amusement very clear to you, nevertheless he spared you and moved his hand to the door handle. Much to your dismay, it wouldn't budge, even when he tried with more force. Eventually, he had to stop and admit defeat. He turned to you and almost as if you had rehearsed it you exclaim at the same time:

"Well shit."

Groaning you lower yourself to the ground while he wrote something on the phone, probably asking for some help but you know that you'd be here for a while if you had to wait for one of the guys to rescue you. Sensing your discomfort he sat beside you and you knew that he was going to confront you about your weird behaviour. Being observant was part of his job, nothing went past him unnoticed, he was the best in his field for a reason after all.

"So, since we have a lot of time to spare, will you tell me what's wrong darling?" As you predicted he asked softly. Having worked alongside one another for quite some time together with his observant self, made Eames one of the person who knew you best. It wasn't something you were happy about but it was a fact.

"Oh that was Sandy, Eames. Don't need to worry about a fuss over a fake ring." You joked trying to deflect. Classic textbook move and he knew it.

"That was a good stunt out there, not going to lie, but you know I wasn't talking about that. You've been acting weird since we've come out of the room." He insisted. You knew Eames so you were conscious that if you told him to let it go he wouldn't press you but for some reason, you needed to know if he saw you. I mean even if he did, it wasn't a big deal right? No one was perfect and as you were painfully aware of his annoying habits now he knew that you hadn't a perfect body. You could live with that. Conforming to the standard norms of beauty wasn't something you had to do. Besides, nothing was ever going to happen between you. So even if you had a crush on the man and your constant bickering was more subtle flirting, why do you care so much about what he thinks of you? Yes, he probably has been with a lot of breathtaking women but that didn't mean anything. You couldn't compare yourself to other, imaginary in this case, women. It's not a healthy thing to do and besides everyone is beautiful in their own way. You knew that it's just that most of the times you have trouble applying that way of thinking to yourself.

Well then, here goes nothing. This pep talk is pointless if you don't address the elephant in the room. And so gathering all your courage, you did. But wait- how exactly am I going to go about this?

"So, you know that I'm usually very quiet and reserved right?"

"Yes, I know how important your private space is to you. I promised I've not touched anything." He said reminiscing that time when you literally went ballistic when you saw him entering into your room without your permission.

"I know you've learned your lesson don't worry, I wasn't referring to that."

"Then what's the matter?" 

"I'm not saying you did it on purpose but have you, by any chance, stumbled upon a very naked me early today in the bathroom?" I finally let out not meeting his eyes. I think it's a fair question to make, sure the answer won't change the fact that he saw me if he did but at least I'll stop wondering about it. However, Eames was known to be very unpredictable so you hoped that he wouldn't feel offended about it nor that he'd tease you for it. For a little while, he didn't say anything but you could feel his eyes on you. Knowing him he was probably studying you and thinking about what to say.

"Will you go mad hatter crazy on me if I tell you that I accidentally took a peak? I honestly thought that you were done and telling me that I could enter when you opened the door. However, I didn't do it maliciously or anything. It just happened, I'm sorry." He explained confirming your assumptions. So he did see you. Now what? However stupid it may sound, you believed him when he said that it was an accident. How different could my body from others anyway? Pretending to not be affected by his confession you just shrugged your shoulders muttering a quiet "it's okay". Needless to say, it was not okay. How were you going to look at him now that you knew he's seen you in your most vulnerable state? Ugh, why did you have to be so complexed? Couldn't you be just as easy going as Sandy? Life would surely be easier.

"If it's okay, then why won't you look at me, darling?" He insisted. Gosh, why won't he let this go?

"There's literally no light in here, how do you know if I'm not looking at you?"

"Because I know you and apparently this held a deeper meaning to you than you want me to know. You should know by now though, that I notice everything. Besides, how can we still work together if you refuse to look at me?"

"I can pretend to be a different person then so there's no problem." you mutter jokingly

"There's no need to pretend with me. We're room buddies!" He said making you laugh. He could be so silly sometimes.

"You can always be yourself with me you know. To be honest, you should never be afraid to be you but I know that that's a tough thing to do. However, I thought I was part of the gang now. That you trusted me and all."

"I do trust you, Eames. I wouldn't be working with you if I didn't. And yes you're part of the gang but neither of them has seen me naked you naked."

"And that changes things how?"

"You have seen me in my most vulnerable and truest form. No filter, no pretending no anything. I can't imagine I was a very pleasant view. I'm just ashamed, that's all."

"You shouldn't be. I didn't think you'd be so insecure about yourself, that only proves how good at your job you are, honestly, but if it makes you feel better, I really like what I saw." 

"Yeah sure. Don't need to flatter me to make me feel better. I'm not delusional."

"No, but it seems that you're blind. I thought that my scandalous and obvious flirting was a dead giveaway of me liking you."

"Oh shut up, you flirt with every living thing. It does not make me special." You sassed because it was true. You actually thought he was into Arthur before realizing that he was like that, flirting seemed to be the only way of communication he knew.

"You don't need my validation to consider yourself special. You are no matter what I or any other guy says. Although, you shouldn't really question me. You know I'm always right."

"Could your ego be bigger?"

"Hey, I'm trying to help you here. No need to insult my ego. But it's not the only big thing I have if you know what I mean."

"You know what? I really appreciate your wise words but I think it's best if we wait for whoever you called in silence. Your ego is already sucking up all the air in this cubicle." you said nudging his shoulder letting him know that you were joking. Who would have guessed that he could manage to make your doubts disappear just with a few silly words?

He seemed to have understood because he wrapped his arm around you and you rested your head on his shoulder, getting comfortable beside him. The silence between you now wasn't uncomfortable but very welcomed, you knew he wouldn't be quiet for long so you enjoyed it while it lasted, your insecurities long forgotten.

#eames imagine #eames imagines #eames x you #eames x reader #eames inception #eames #eamea fanfiction #eames fanfic #eames fic #inception fanfiction #tom hard #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy x reader

[cfleury315-blog]

I Have a Purpose. Just Tell Me What It Is.

I miss the provider role. I know that sounds misogynistic like the next few lines should say with a slight twang to my voice, “I feel less of a man because I don’t bring home the bacon. Instead, my wife brings it home, and I’m expected to fry it up.” No. I miss working. I miss making my own money. I miss the simplicity of going to the nine to five and contributing to the good old Canadian dream. I don’t miss what I did, working with blisters or burnt hands isn’t my kind of fun. Plus, I had to work with powdered lead, and really, nobody should have to take the risk with that stuff. Nevertheless, I guess what I am saying, I miss having a purpose.

The last time I had an economic sense of purpose was, I guess, about four years ago. I worked for a company named Activation Laboratories. They specialize in rock sampling. Basically, survey companies would go out and drill in various spots in the countryside looking for expensive, well, rocks. They would send us their samples, and we would process them. It isn’t as glamorous as I make it out to be. You stood in one spot feeding a machine all day. It crushes the core into pebbles; then another device turns it into dust. From there, it’s bagged, tagged, and sent to me. I take the sample and measure it, stick it in a cup full of lead, and set it on fire. After that, the fire melts everything into tiny sliver lead beads, and I put them into a test tube. I don’t know what happens after that; that kind of information was above my pay grade.

I assume you’re thinking, “Really, you miss being drenched in lead and sticking your hands into a hot molten furnace?” No. I miss the paycheck. Slightly above minimum wage, but, after taxes, all mine. You need to understand, I earned my money like all slavery-wagers do, with good old fashion blood, sweat, and tears. Yes, there were tears. You don’t suffer from second-degree burns and not shed squirts of salty sorrow. I may be masculine, but pain is pain, and second-degree burns are the worst.

The problem with low skill tertiary labour is the lack of job security. The work depended solely on supply and demand, so if there is no demand, employers don’t supply the work. Therefore, lay-off season was roughly every four to six months and lasted anywhere between two to four months. Employment insurance is dependent on the amount you pay into, and if you close out your EI claim from the last time you were laid-off, you must go through the entire process again. A six-week waiting period and all. I was foolish enough to close my claim because the EI benefit website does not tell you to keep your application open just in case you get lay-off again. With that realization, I felt this moment of sudden dread when my boss gave me a pink-slip. My mind kept running through moving pictures of the worst-case scenarios leading to the hardest question I had to answer, “What am I going to do now?” I was the sole provider. The fire that kept the pilot light burning. But without the oxygen compensating my flame, we were in cold water.  

At this point, I had been through a fist full of jobs since coming to Thunder Bay, and quite frankly, besides Act. Labs., the only thing I’m significantly qualified to perform is cleaning toilets, scrubbing floors, and wiping tables. I didn’t want to go back to that again. Nevertheless, being the provider, I had no choice but to find something. Anything. So, I laced up my worn-out sneakers and hit the streets with a bag-pack full resume.

Guess what? Businesses don’t accept walk-ins anymore. They kept turning me away with the same explanation: “We can’t take your resume, you need to submit it online,” said the receptionist from the Public School Board. Skeptically my eyes narrowed as I looked passed her thick frames into her formal stare. I shook my head in disbelief and replied, “Really? But your ad says you are looking for someone right now. So here I am, with my resume in hand, and ready to work.” In hindsight, I should have kept my tone a little less snippy, but earlier that day, I had that same conversation with the customer service representative in Walmart. “Sorry sir, you have to submit your resume online,” the receptionist reiterated arrogantly. Her composure was like thick ice, cold and transparent. She was professional, and I was some fool off the street.

After a few anxious weeks with a cell phone stuck to my hand, I came to realize that the job market wasn’t going to give me a break. There was nothing out there for an uneducated labourer. The only interview I had was with the Econo Lodge Hotel. I walked in with ten years of experience cleaning up other people’s messes, so working for a two-bit drive-in Hotel, I’m not too proud to say, I was over-qualified for the housekeeping position. However, the interview lasted five minutes and I left feeling uneasy. There was nothing out of the ordinary, the manager was a pretty nice guy, but I got the impression he was trying to convince me that this position wasn’t for me. His exact words were, “You know this is a cleaning position. The work doesn’t involve any heavy lifting or fixing furniture.”  I thought, “Hey, that sounds awesome.” I replied, “I know, that’s why I’m here. I’m a cleaner.” The manager looked at me like I was from Venus. I went on to tell him, “I would be a great asset to your company. I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty, and I’m no stranger to hard work.” (Cliché after cliché after cliché) “As you can see on my resume, I know how to use a carpet shampooer, plus, I’ve done minor floor covering, so I know how to fix wear and tear.” The manager just nodded and smiled without any attempt to feign interest. He finished the interview with a shake of my hand and an assurance I’d be hearing from him in the following week. However, a week later, I found out from an old colleague that she has gotten the job. I asked her how; she chuckled as she said, “I’m a woman. Companies don’t like to hire men to do housekeeping.” You’ve got to be kidding me. She laughed uncontrollably at my naivety, and tried to comfort me by saying, “You should try the school board or the restoration places. They have good wages and they have more labour intensive work for a strong guy like you.”

My mind raced with this old information. Why did the Econo Lodge even bother calling me in for an interview, if he was going to end up conforming to traditional gendered roles? Does having a male name on the interview log sheet give a perception of gender diversity? The difference between my friend and me is not our work ethic.

I had never thought about the differences between the sexes as being anything more than biological. There were the old schoolyard stereotypes, yet, as far as I knew, real life didn’t replicate recess. I was living in the real world. The adult world. The world my teachers explained we are all equal. We lived in a democratic society built upon principles of morality, liberty, and justice for all. I thought about any kinds of inequalities because I was living in the twenty-first century and gender-politics should be an archaic notion. My wife and I have always lived equally. We both worked. We both looked after the house. We both took part in the child-rearing responsibilities. Having been denied work because the job involves a male performing domestic chores is completely backward.

Somberly, I turned to my wife and said, “I give up.” At that moment, I knew what I was implying. She didn’t. She looked at me curiously, her eye rapidly blinking as she spoke, “What do you mean?” I wanted to tell her that I was giving up what society defines as a man. I officially cracked under pressure. I was handing in my provider card, and taking a vacation. Instead, I told her, “I think I’m going to have to try McDonald's.” Those words slide out of my mouth, which tasted like stale, salty french fries, and regression. We sat on the couch in silence for a long time before she finally answered the hard question: “Why don’t I look for a job?”

Shockingly, her statement made a lot of sense, and why didn’t we think about this before? The simple answer: We had, but the retail market has no set hours so we would be working at all hours of the day and had no one to look after our kids. Our two oldest children were in school, but our youngest child was three years old at the time, and he would need daycare. That’s the other problem; daycare costs are astronomical. A licensed daycare cost $40-$70 a day, and the waiting lists are long. However, unlicensed daycares charge $25-35 a day, and well let's say, you get what you pay. Either way, if both of us are working, one of us would be working to pay for the daycare, which doesn’t make economic sense.

Being the product of our generation, we both believed that she should stay home to look after the kids because mothers are naturally nurturing, and they need her more than me. I had to work because I was told it was my responsibility to support my family, and I failed miserably.  But, my wife’s idea of going back to work was our only choice. She was more qualified than me. She has a high school degree and is a certified Personal Support Worker.

Within a few weeks of our conversation on the couch, she was working in Respite care and making double what I was making at Activation Laboratories. I settled into a life of domesticity. One thing I’ll have to admit: I love every single minute of it. Cleaning up the house took me an hour on most days, (two to three if I felt constructive) the rest of the time I got to play around with my son. We went on long walks to the park and the library. We chased each other around, or we laid in the sun reading a book. When my other two children came home from school, we would sit at the dinner table and help each other with homework. Then, we all pitched in with some chores. Most of the time, my wife would come home and not have to lift a finger, but there would be days when she would take the kids off my hands while I made dinner. I would be chopping some lettuce and thinking about how beautiful everything turned out. The window in front of me had a perfect view of the strawberries my son, and I had planted together. I smiled at the western sun shining off the vibrant red fruit, and I thought, “Wow, I’m actually managing to keep them alive.”

Suddenly, I felt a sting on my right butt cheek, and I turned to meet my wife’s playful gaze. “Hey dear, your butt feels more jiggly than usual.” As my knife sliced through the cucumber, I turned my head with a jaw-dropping expression, “How could you say something like that to me?” Her comment stung, but not as much as the knife hitting my fingernail. Luckily it didn’t pierce the skin. I took a step back nursing my finger as she laughed hysterically at me. “What? I was only pointing out that your butt feels jiggly. You put on some weight since you stopped working.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing; I was quite offended by her comment. Sure, I gained a few extra pounds. Somedays, my son and I sat on the couch munching on goldfish crackers while I folded laundry. Not every day can be beautiful. On rainy days, I like to put my feet up. There is only so much housework I could do before I begin to look around and nitpick at the single piece of cat food that happened to fall out of the bowl as they were eating. In a matter of seconds, I lament all this information to her, and she continued to laugh at me as she replied, “You need a hobby.” I threw up my hands in frustration, “Oh, like I didn’t have enough to do around here.”

She was right; I did need a hobby. The biggest problem was that I was getting bored. I filled my time with chores, maintenance, and children. Once it was done, I sat around and ate. Domesticity was my new purpose, and I was bored. Increasingly, I found myself scanning the want ads and job banks looking for something, anything to find some relief from the monotony of domesticity. There was nothing out in the working world for a high school dropout. The demographics had changed, and the jobs requiring brawn over brain were gone.

One day, I received a text message from a friend of mine. She had gotten wind that the Catholic School Board was hiring custodians, and most importantly, I didn’t have to apply online. I raced at the opportunity and submitted my resume. The hours were causal and in the evening. I could be home during the day with my son and go to work after my wife came home. I could finally get back to some normalcy, reach back into the provider role, and feel a sense of purpose other than a housekeeper and a father.

Nervously, I filled out the application. I squirmed as I tried to remember how to spell the names of the various equipment I had been trained to operate over the years. When they called my name, I met a group of men dressed in expensive suits sitting around a boardroom table. It was quite intimidating. It didn’t feel like an interview. It felt like any second a big man in a red candy apple suit should spin around in his desk chair like a bond villain. Then, unravel a sixteenth-century scroll and tell me to, “please sign here,” in a malicious voice. Realistically, I wanted to ask them if I was applying for the right position. Maybe, I checked off the box that was labeled teacher, not the box marked: the guy who scrubs poop off toilet seats.

Overall, I nailed it. Every question the interviewers asked, I had a great answer. I knew the equipment. I knew the safety procedures. I knew the lockdown policy. I knew how to handle hazardous waste, which also told them I could pass the WHIMIS test (for the millionth time). They said to me, on the spot, that this job was mine, except for one question I couldn’t answer: “Can you provide us with a copy of your high school diploma?” Crap! I tried hard to hold my composure and keep myself sounding as sincere as possible when I said, “Yeah, I mean, I don’t have a copy with me, but I’m sure I could find one you.” They told me if I could get one to them as soon as possible I could start right away. I shook their hands with a fake smile and left feeling like a failure. I had achieved so much in my short time on this earth. I had rubbed up against barriers before, but this one was like fate slammed my face up against a brick wall and using it as a cheese grater. There was no walking around this barrier. I had to go over, what I needed was a ladder.

Lucky for me, I came home, and the house was empty. A friend took my son for the day, so I sat on the couch stewing in my own self-pity. My laptop was open on the coffee table, and I sat there watching Google’s scream at me with its daily graphic of a nineteenth-century schoolmarm lecturing her students. I typed my only option in the search bar: Adult Education. Scrolling through the results, I found myself wondering if it was possible for a guy my age even to tease the idea of going back to school. I mean, at this point, I felt like I had forgotten more than I have ever learned. If I did this, could I succeed? Or was my age another barrier?

Well, I went for it, and I did succeed. I found my ladder. Now that I think of it, it seems so simple. The ladder was in front of me the whole time. Instead of looking forward, I should have looked down. The stupid part was what I couldn’t do in four years of high school; I did in three months. I went once a week to the adult education center for four hours a day. They set me up for the GED exam. I paid my two cents and passed. I hit the average passing grade for every subject, except English, I passed with an eighty-seven percent in the writing category.

           I must have stared at the certificate for hours after receiving it in the mail. I was proud of myself, yet there I was, a high school graduate after ten years of being out of high school, with the hard question still on my mind: “What am I going to do?” I could reapply at the Catholic School Board. Run in there screaming, “I have it, here it is, let get started.” Or, I could tempt fate once more, do the unthinkable, and take it one step further.

           So, here is where I should say, I’ve always wanted to be a writer. The truth is, I had the idea when I was young, but the idea was usually attached to some adult questioning, “What do you want to be when you grow up young lad.” Yeah, I wanted to be a writer as much as I wanted to be an astronaut or a firefighter. I always thought of it as a childish dream, yet as I stumbled through the university website with my eyes closed pointing at random programs, I felt like I was sitting on the opportunity to do something I’ve always wanted to do. I just needed to pick.

The day I walked onto the Lakehead Administration Office grounds. I had the same adult voice echoing through my head. The sound was so intensely amplified, I thought blood was going to start leaking out my ears, “What are you going to do? What do you want to be?” I figured, if I picked something, eventually, I would figure out what I truly wanted. However, the only way I could make the voice stop was to answer the hard question with certain honesty. So, I closed my eyes, reached deep inside myself, grabbed on my inner child, and let him make the decision, “What do you want to do? What do you want to be?” The child’s voice overtook my own and shouted, “I want to be a writer.” I opened my eyes to find that the entire administration office was staring at me like I was a mental patient. I saw a tall, brawny man with his phone in his hand, in which I assumed was calling security. I took a step back and babbled, “Hi, I was wondering if I could talk to someone about registering for next year’s classes.”

So here I am at the end of my third year as an undergrad. Trying to stuff as much information in my head as possible before it explodes all over the blank page. I know that most of my papers come back to me with the words “awkward” printed all over them, which makes me begin to believe that this is a defining characteristic. However, I’m finally confident enough to break out of my shell. But just because I know what I want to do with my life, I am still longing to get out there. Beyond this desk. Beyond these walls. I still feel like my sense of purpose is unfulfilled. Time is moving too damn slow, and it needs to hurry up. I’m craving my purpose.

Don’t get me wrong, going to university is excellent, I found some purpose in being a student, but it’s not the same. In a way, being a student is artificial. I work just as hard, but I can’t reap the rewards right away. Although I should be finding some sense of self-satisfaction about gaining additional knowledge about the world around me, I can’t take complacency to the bank, cash it in for prestige, and feed my kids on nineteenth-century poetry. They have a hard enough time digesting twentieth-century poetry. (One fish, two fish, no fish, boohoo fish.) I know when I get out of here, I’ll have more walls to climb. The important thing is I’m not afraid of those heights anymore. So, I have to wait a few more years for a piece of paper that tells me I’m good enough to re-enter the workforce. Then, I’ll officially be certified. No more legwork. No more knuckle dragging. No more backbreaking labour for minimum wage. Right?

#my writting #writer #nonfiction #purpose #education #workforce #struggling #elegy #prose #nonfictionprose #genderpolitic #stayathomedad #back to school #university #highschooldropout