Part of being the fun parent is making sure you're a safe space for your kids to try "riskier" things.
Eddie is that parent.
When the kids are older and they want to try smoking weed, they go to him. Both because they know he's got the hookup and because they know he won't snitch on them to any of their actual parents.
Eddie, to their surprise agrees but with the stipulation of rules. Any and all snacks must be purchased and prepped before smoking starts, no one leaves the trailer once smoking starts, and anyone with breathing issues has an edible instead. (Eddie portions it out himself so no one eats too much and has a bad time.)
The kids all happily agree to those rules and soon The Party has their first smoking sesh.
Unsurprisingly they're all toasted before they've finished a whole bowl as a group, but that's fine.
Eddie settles in to watch over them, but also just to watch them because these kids are better than cable.
First, to his surprise El and Will handle their weed like champs. Hardly any coughing, and it takes El one hit more than the others. He was frankly surprised both of them were down to smoke in the first place but far be it for him to judge. El's eyes stay the clearest while Will looks like he's been staring into the sun for an hour. The two of them immediately start talking shit about Mike in their own little language they've derived since starting living together. Its hilarious because Mike clearly knows they're talking about him but between the cyphers and the giggling he can't make heads or tails of it and hes just high enough to be paranoid.
Lucas and Dustin want to build a fort, and they really do try, but Dustin can't stop laughing for two fucking seconds to hold the cushions still enough. Lucas keeps zoning out so its not like hes much more help really. Max tries to lend a hand but ends up just laying on top of the cushions with a blanket draped over her. Eddie eventually checks for signs of life, only to find her vibing, perfectly fine but musing over the finer points of how the universe works.
Erica took an edible and takes a little longer to catch up to the others. She's usually the most in control of herself of the group, and Eddie honestly expects her to stay relatively buttoned up. She does not. She and Dustin end up making dumb parody songs after the fort fails, and she spends her time slumped against her brother, probably being the most affectionate she's ever been with him. She smiles so much Eddie knows she's gonna have a jaw ache the next day.
Ultimately the Party end up piled together on Eddie's floor, a giggling mass of teenagers all babbling whatever comes to their minds in one of the most ridiculous and enthralling stream of consciousness chats Eddie has ever had the privilege to bare witness to. He's delighted by it, but more so at getting to see this group of stressed out, traumatized teens hes adopted goofing off like normal kids, safe in his home.
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Headcanon 1:
Despite the fact that Stormkit had been renamed to Crookedkit by his mother, Rainflower, as a way to treat her son differently and to make him feel bad, the rest of RiverClan supported the injured Crookedkit and deeply respected him as he grew older for surviving such an awful injury.
The injury to his jaw, not only became a fun talking point at gatherings, but was used as a way to honor Crookedjaw(star) later in life for the work he had done for RiverClan and the relentless effort he put into being a better warrior.
It was also looked at as a way of StarClan looking down upon Crookedstar in a favorable light and became a point of pride for Crookedstar later in his life, for surviving the accident.
Headcanon 2:
When Crookedkit had moved into the medicine cat den for a short while, he was treated by Brambleberry for the infection and the jaw itself. While he always deeply respected her for her help, he also thought of her as his foster mother, because Rainflower treated him so poorly.
He always used to talk to her a lot when he was an apprentice, and at one point in time, was almost considered by Brambleberry to have him by her next apprentice. However, Shellheart, Hailstar, and Brambleberry all agreed unanimously that Crookedpaw deserved to become a warrior, as they had all seen his spirit when training and knew he would become a great warrior.
Despite this, Crookedstar continued to treat her well throughout his time in the clan and up until her death during Crookedstar’s venture as leader. He always spoke to her and always enjoyed their conversations, even if they sometimes lasted for hours on end. She always thought of him as her son in return, despite that she could never have kits, and still treats him as such, even after both have joined the ranks of the warriors in StarClan.
Headcanon 3:
After Brambleberry had passed away during Crookedstar’s reign, he held a full ceremony for her, as all clan cats have received. However, despite the normal idea to only sit vigil for the night, Crookedstar did a full vigil for two days and two full nights to honor her passing. Once the clan had taken her and buried her, Crookedstar could be seen lying inside the Medicine Cat den some days, still unable to process she had passed on, despite her long and prosperous life.
Mudfur, throughout all of this, helped the leader with the loss and the two also had long talks about Brambleberry. In the end, the talks helped Crookedstar move on from her loss, but also help him honor the medicine cat’s legacy for all she had done to not just help him, but the clan as a whole.
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Had an idea you might be able to use for something: Klingon Soap Operas.
(sigh)
Thanks for the thought. I appreciate your kindness!
But unfortunately, because you've sent me the idea and I've read it, I can now not use it, ever. No matter how much I might like to.
This isn't about you, you understand. And in its way it probably seems like a cruel paradox. You were only trying to be helpful! But if I was working on something for Trek and this concept came up even in casual discussion, I would be honor-bound (and contractually required) to inform them that the idea had come to me from a reader or fan. And then—rightly, from their point of view—they would forbid me to use it, because the idea's originator might some day, despite all their friendly intentions now, sue them over it. And the evidence that I was at fault would be easy to obtain. Sending a DM on any major platform generates an electronic "paper trail" that will confirm its target has opened and read the message in question. And that electronic record can be subpoenaed and submitted as evidence, and would stand up in court.
"Oh, come on, who'd do a thing like that, what are the odds...?" people will say. But it's not generally known that I've already been involved in a high-stakes lawsuit in which someone tried to sue Mattel over material I wrote when developing the initial form of the "Barbie: Fairytopia" universe (and the first Fairytopia film) for them. I'd never so much as met or communicated with the person suing them, had never read even a word of their work... but they still went to great trouble and expense attempting to prove that I'd had access to their material and used it without permission.
Mattel won the suit (as I'd frankly been expecting: the attorney handling their defense was one of the most expert IP lawyers in the US). But it gave me the chills... and made it clear how very wrong things could go, and the kind of damage that could be done to my career and my personal life, if I even accidentally used ideas from unauthorized sources.
Seriously, folks. I know you all mean well! But please don't make me tap the sign. DO NOT SEND ME STORY IDEAS, no matter how vague or general or unformed they may be. To do so is to absolutely guarantee that they will never, ever happen.* (And in my own universes, your innocently-meant suggestion could mean that neither you or anyone else will ever see that particular Young Wizards or Middle Kingdoms plot, no matter how much you'd like to... because I take this stuff seriously.)
...Thanks, all.
*This is also why I don't read fanfic set in my universes. Which you also shouldn't send me: please and thank you.
ETA: I would really, really appreciate it if y'all would refrain from giving @eldritchcatpossumamalgam grief in the tags. They made an honest, well-intentioned mistake, that's all, and they don't deserve to be personally raked over the coals for it. (And any of you who think I would derive any kind of satisfaction from that happening plainly don't know me very well.) So thanks in advance for your cooperation.
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in sickness and in health | S.R.
Minutes before your wedding is supposed to start, Spencer gets cold feet, and you have to find out why.
who? spencer reid x fem!reader
category: fluff (a smidge angsty)
content warnings: alzheimers, weddings, children, babies, sad!spencer, reader wears a dress and makeup, cursing
word count: 1.8k
a/n: so this became sadder than I had initially intended. also i decided to try something new and write in a different POV and i don't know if i like it.
this is my entry for @imagining-in-the-margins' new beginnings challenge, because nothing says new beginning quite like getting married! thank you for having this challenge!
If it were up to you and Spencer, your wedding would’ve taken place at a courthouse with no fuss, just rings and a certificate. Especially after he shot down your idea of a 24-hour wedding chapel in Las Vegas.
In your defense, you pitched it to him as an intimate wedding in his hometown, but he didn’t take the bait.
But when the team found out that the two of you were planning what they deemed unsuitable, they all volunteered to help throw together a ceremony and reception. Everyone was under the duress of Penelope at the time, but they all volunteered.
She could be very formidable when she wanted to.
Your now maid of honor’s eyes were shimmering as she carefully adjusted some of the last few strands of hair upon your head, you had managed to talk her out of a tiara, but to Penelope Garcia, a veil was non-negotiable. “You look gorgeous,” she says, “the perfect bride.”
Laughing uncomfortably, you turn to look at yourself in the full-length mirror and take a deep breath, “Thank you, Pen.”
“I know I may have slightly nudged you in the direction of a bigger wedding-“
“More like punted,” you interrupt, an affectionate smile on your face.
Rolling her eyes, she leaned over to grab her buzzing phone on the velvet chair in your ready room. “Whatever, I just think that after everything you and Spencer have made it out of, you deserve a celebration that reflected that,” she speaks passionately, as she always does when discussing people in love.
Turning around to look back at the mirror, the tulle of your veil cascading over your shoulders as you grew giddy. Your dress was a whimsical, white chiffon that fell to the floor and moved with you as you walked. Small straps of fabric were delicately draped over your arms for an off-the-shoulder effect, you had never felt more glamorous. Although, if there was a day for glamor, your wedding day would certainly qualify.
You snap your head around to see Penelope furiously typing on her phone, “Uh oh,” she whispers, looking at the screen.
Humming, you step off of the pedestal and over to her, careful not to trip on your dress, “What’s wrong?” You murmur, trying to see what was distressing her. Dread built in your stomach; the team couldn’t be getting called away? Two of its members were about to get married. This is why you should’ve just gone to the courthouse; you never should’ve let Garcia talk you into this.
Jolting you out of your panic induced stupor, she answers, “Something’s up with Reid.”
Your heart clenches, “Reid? My Reid?” You whisper, “Is he okay?”
The two of you jump when someone bangs on the door, and she moves to open it, just a crack at first – to see who it is – and then all the way open to reveal Luke on the other side. Naturally, the members of the BAU made up your wedding party, and Luke as the best man was the easy choice.
He was mostly dressed, save for the bowtie that remained undone around his neck, “I need to steal Y/N.” His shoulders were rising and falling quickly like he had run across the building.
“She’s getting ready for the wedding. Her wedding,” Penelope answers, gesturing back to you. “Besides, it’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”
Really, you were mostly ready, you just needed to put your shoes on and line up. “There won’t be a wedding if we can’t get the groom out there,” Luke replies.
You warily approach the doorway, peeking around the door, “What’s wrong?”
“He just needs you,” Luke explains, gesturing toward you with his hands.
Nodding determinedly, you step out the door and run over to the other side of the building to where the groom’s ready room is, pulling the fabric of your dress up so that you don’t trip. Along the way, you pass a few guests, but you don’t stop.
It wasn’t news to most of them that you were a grounding force for Spencer, the two of you had been put through, as Luke put it, the wringer together and still managed to come out the other side. You skid to a halt in front of the door and knock quickly, “Spence, it’s me.”
“It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony,” he murmurs through the door, echoing the earlier sentiments of Penelope. You know he doesn’t believe in it, which only adds to your concern.
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fidgeting with the doorknob just to discover it’s locked. “If you don’t unlock the door, I’m going to go find Derek and have him kick it down for me,” you threaten, wondering if the reminder of all of the people here would coax him out.
There was no response from the other side of the door.
Sighing, you turn to look at Luke, “Can you give us a minute?” He nods, letting you know he’ll talk to Garcia before walking down the long hallway.
Once he’s gone, you hear the tell-tale click of the door unlocking, “Garcia will kill you if you walk in here.”
“Penny isn’t here, baby. It’s just you and me, okay?” You speak lowly, “What’s wrong, my love?” Dropping your hand on the doorknob, you startle slightly when it turns and the door swings open.
You yelp when Spencer pulls you in, closing the door behind you before he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Immediately, you feel his body relax against yours, “Isn’t this supposed to be bad luck?” He murmurs.
Humming, you return his hug gratefully, “We’ve had enough bad luck, don’t you think? It’ll be okay.” His arms loosen around you, and you pull away slightly so you can look up at him, placing your hands tenderly on his chest, thumbing the satin fabric of his lapels. “And besides, I’m not fully dressed yet. I’m fairly certain that means it doesn’t count.”
“You look beautiful,” he whispers, holding you out at arm’s length. “You’re perfect, and I’m…” His voice trails off as he takes a step back from you, sighing as he takes a seat in one of the white chairs in the ready room.
Tilting your head to the side, you felt the fabric of your veil flow to the side, “You’re what, Spence?” You ask, slowly approaching the chair he was sitting in.
He furrows his brows in apprehension, “I think I might be scared of you,” he answers candidly.
You couldn’t help the giggle that spurted from your lips, “Am I really that scary?” You inquire softly, seeking more answers from him. You saw him better now, the darkness of his tux offset by the purple bowtie and handkerchief, joined with the light florals of his boutonnière. Spencer’s hair was a mess, a tell-tale sign that he had been running his hands through it.
Clearing his throat, Spencer looks up at you with a look in his eye that you can’t quite place, “I passed by your room earlier, and I heard you laughing.” He took a deep, tentative breath, “I thought you sounded so happy, and now I’m not sure I can keep you happy.”
Sighing, you duck your head slightly, “Spencer,” you say seriously, “are we still getting married today?”
“What?” He says in disbelief. “Of course we are, that’s not- I’m sorry,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “We’re still getting married; I’ve quite literally never wanted anything more in my entire life. I’m just worried,” he speaks quietly.
Gingerly, you step closer to the chair before he reaches out for you, placing a hand on your waist and gently guiding you down until you are sitting on his lap. “You make me so happy, Spencer Reid. I know that somewhere in that gorgeous brain of yours you know that, but I also know that you are your own worst critic.”
You’re sitting sideways on his lap with your legs latticed on top of each other. Gingerly, he places a hand on your thigh and another on the small of your back, “You deserve everything you want in the world.”
“And I want you. Doesn’t that count for something?” You ask him, emotion beginning to rise in your throat – you cannot cry, then the wedding would really be delayed. “Spencer, I’m so ecstatic that at the end of today, I get to be your wife. That’s such a privilege to me. You and I, we get to be so fucking happy today. We deserve that.” You tell him gently, “We get to be married and go on our honeymoon and come home and we can tell all of your stories to your mom, and we’ll have a baby or two and we’ll be so fucking happy.” You swallow your emotion, looking up at the light in the hope that it will clear your tears. “For the rest of our lives, we’ll be so happy.”
Then it came, “I don’t want to forget you.” His voice is almost imperceptible, but you hear him still.
The ache in his voice feels like a stab to your heart, you were well aware that his mother had Alzheimer’s. She wasn’t having a good day today, but the two of you had gone to visit her in the morning. Ever since she was diagnosed, it’s been like Spencer has a storm cloud hovering over him – he can’t be tested for the gene markers, not for a few more years. Taking a deep breath, you reach over and smooth his hair back, “If you get Alzheimer’s, I will sit down with you every day and remind you. I’m going to walk down that aisle today and tell you that I’m going to love you in sickness and in health and I’m going to mean it.”
“I’m scared,” he murmurs, leaning into your touch.
Using your free hand, you reach up and tenderly wipe a tear from his cheek, “We can take it.”
He nods in agreement with you, “Together, as a team,” he concurs, a slight amount of confidence returning to his voice.
Resting your head on his shoulder, the two of you take your moment. The last moment before you officially unite as one, and you let that moment take as long as you need. “I should go,” you whisper, looking over at the clock, the ceremony was supposed to have started by now.
Spencer leans down and kisses you, “I’ll see you out there?” He asks expectantly.
Nodding assuredly, you reach up and wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth, “I’ll be there.”
During the ceremony, you impressively were able to keep yourself together, until you promised him you would love him in sickness and in health.
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