maya*

This is calm, and it's doctor.

[matt-murdockk]

professional spencer reid enthusiast

⋆.˚ About me ꩜

ੈ✩‧₊˚ Spencer Masterlist | General Masterlist ੈ✩‧₊˚

⋆.˚ Latest fic: Um, actually— fluff, comedy, requested

⋆.˚ fic recs at @maya-recs

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have fun!

[7-inches-of-satanic-panic]

i went to the doctor earlier today. they told me if i cant waste time thinking up punny names for psych fics i'll die

[matt-murdockk]

red

remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader words: 650 words warnings: angst? kinda? it borders on fluff too but like it's angsty i think. might even make a part 2 who knows a/n: two in one day??? who woulda thunk it (i can't get him out of my head) red by taylor swift and reader who doesn't remember being in love what could go wrong; also reader is referred to as doctor like one time.

You remembered exactly what it felt like. What he felt like. Problem was, you had no idea who he was. You couldn't remember.

You sat in the dormitory with a Polaroid in your hand, a man kissing someone on the cheek. You couldn't see his face, and the blurry image didn't help much in making out what he looked like either. But they looked happy. You could feel the joy radiating from the picture. It took you a minute to realise that it was you. You still had no clue who this man was, but whoever he was, he made you smile. You could tell that he loved you, and you loved him right back.

You remember the distinct feeling of being in love with him. It was like driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street. All that speed and passion ending out of nowhere, so suddenly. You remember feeling profound loss, grief you couldn't put into words, like mourning someone who wasn't even dead.

You ran your fingers through the picture, staring at it as tears welled in your eyes, aching to remember something about the supposed love of your life, but to no avail. You closed your eyes and let the tears flow. All you could muster were thoughts about him, how he made you feel.

He made you laugh. He felt like the way you do when you remember the lyrics to your old favourite song that you haven't heard in ages. He made stupid jokes that no one except you would find hilarious. He loved to wear t-shirts with corny puns on them.

You sobbed quietly as it slowly came back to you, in flashes and echoes.

He loved to walk with you, no matter how far. He would always find excuses to hold your hand. He used to leave post-it notes with motivational quotes and inside jokes for you to find. You remember distinctly a note that said "bee yourself :)" stuck to your laptop when you found it at work one day, and how you spent 3 whole minutes laughing at whatever inside joke that referenced.

The more you remembered about him, the faster the tears flowed. You had no idea what he looked like or what his name was. The more you tried to remember him, the more it felt like trying to recognise someone you have never even met.

Guilt was consuming you every second. Who was this man? Why did you not remember him? Does he know you're here? Or does he think you abandoned him?

Everything about him was hitting you all at once. His glasses. His cardigan. His smell. His voice. It was all so, so familiar. You could almost make his face out. His name was at the tip of your tongue.

You remember screaming and crying. Begging someone. A woman. Stern and severe. Stratt. You assumed you were begging her not to let you go. To let you stay. You were wrong.

"Please, you cannot do this. You are murdering him," you cried. You were hysterical. You had to be dragged outside by two men twice your size, who, despite their rigid exterior, felt for you.

"This needs to be done. One day, you will understand, doctor."

Oh.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a voice you were well acquainted with at this point.

"Petrovascope is all set up, we'll be getting some action in a few minutes. You coming?"

You gave him a once-over. He was wearing an 'I had potential' t-shirt, glasses hanging haphazardly from his face. His hair was dishevelled, eyes tired but full of wonder. He looked excited, despite the revelation of impending doom you had had earlier that day. He knew he was going to die. He didn't seem to care?

"Yeah, right behind you."

You followed him out of the dormitory and into the cockpit, but not before you stopped to look at the whiteboard.

"May the force bee with you," with a badly drawn winky face next to it.

Oh.

[lastminutescience]

I would like to think that the reader immediately just pulls ryland in and just smacks one on him and he remembers everything just like a disney princess 🧚‍♀️

[matt-murdockk]

i like where you're going with this

[ultrasequel]

I keep hearing “grace wears science pun shirts to break the ice with his students” “aww grace wears those shirts to make science more interesting to kids”. Bullshit dude, in all of the classroom scenes he’s wearing business casual. His dumbass science shirts are for the love of the game and nothing else

[yujateaandpi]

Having a lot of feelings about Ryland “you don’t even have a dog” Grace to beloved Uncle Grace pipeline.

[matt-murdockk]

so many feelings about this and all of them are happy tears UNCLE GRACE

[gumy-shark]

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

[matt-murdockk]

red

remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes

pairing: ryland grace x gn!reader words: 650 words warnings: angst? kinda? it borders on fluff too but like it's angsty i think. might even make a part 2 who knows a/n: two in one day??? who woulda thunk it (i can't get him out of my head) red by taylor swift and reader who doesn't remember being in love what could go wrong; also reader is referred to as doctor like one time.

You remembered exactly what it felt like. What he felt like. Problem was, you had no idea who he was. You couldn't remember.

You sat in the dormitory with a Polaroid in your hand, a man kissing someone on the cheek. You couldn't see his face, and the blurry image didn't help much in making out what he looked like either. But they looked happy. You could feel the joy radiating from the picture. It took you a minute to realise that it was you. You still had no clue who this man was, but whoever he was, he made you smile. You could tell that he loved you, and you loved him right back.

You remember the distinct feeling of being in love with him. It was like driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street. All that speed and passion ending out of nowhere, so suddenly. You remember feeling profound loss, grief you couldn't put into words, like mourning someone who wasn't even dead.

You ran your fingers through the picture, staring at it as tears welled in your eyes, aching to remember something about the supposed love of your life, but to no avail. You closed your eyes and let the tears flow. All you could muster were thoughts about him, how he made you feel.

He made you laugh. He felt like the way you do when you remember the lyrics to your old favourite song that you haven't heard in ages. He made stupid jokes that no one except you would find hilarious. He loved to wear t-shirts with corny puns on them.

You sobbed quietly as it slowly came back to you, in flashes and echoes.

He loved to walk with you, no matter how far. He would always find excuses to hold your hand. He used to leave post-it notes with motivational quotes and inside jokes for you to find. You remember distinctly a note that said "bee yourself :)" stuck to your laptop when you found it at work one day, and how you spent 3 whole minutes laughing at whatever inside joke that referenced.

The more you remembered about him, the faster the tears flowed. You had no idea what he looked like or what his name was. The more you tried to remember him, the more it felt like trying to recognise someone you have never even met.

Guilt was consuming you every second. Who was this man? Why did you not remember him? Does he know you're here? Or does he think you abandoned him?

Everything about him was hitting you all at once. His glasses. His cardigan. His smell. His voice. It was all so, so familiar. You could almost make his face out. His name was at the tip of your tongue.

You remember screaming and crying. Begging someone. A woman. Stern and severe. Stratt. You assumed you were begging her not to let you go. To let you stay. You were wrong.

"Please, you cannot do this. You are murdering him," you cried. You were hysterical. You had to be dragged outside by two men twice your size, who, despite their rigid exterior, felt for you.

"This needs to be done. One day, you will understand, doctor."

Oh.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a voice you were well acquainted with at this point.

"Petrovascope is all set up, we'll be getting some action in a few minutes. You coming?"

You gave him a once-over. He was wearing an 'I had potential' t-shirt, glasses hanging haphazardly from his face. His hair was dishevelled, eyes tired but full of wonder. He looked excited, despite the revelation of impending doom you had had earlier that day. He knew he was going to die. He didn't seem to care?

"Yeah, right behind you."

You followed him out of the dormitory and into the cockpit, but not before you stopped to look at the whiteboard.

"May the force bee with you," with a badly drawn winky face next to it.

Oh.

[matt-murdockk]

Rockblock

You and Ryland have a moment... almost.

pairing: Ryland Grace x Gn!reader words: 900 words warnings: none baby this is pure fluff from fluff land blessed by lord fluffsworth. fuh-lufffffffff. context tho: you're in space with him a/n: This was small as heck and i wrote it on my phone but I HAD TO GET IT OUT OF MY SYSTEM. THIS MAN. OH MY GOD

Contrary to what someone who has never been to space might believe, being stranded light-years away from home with nothing to do except wait for an extended period of time gets boring after a while. Sure, the wonders never cease; it is space, after all, but at some point, you go into the "this might as well happen" zone. And there's no coming back from that one.

Which is how you were currently in the projection deck, eating a delicious tube of 'Day 294 - Meal 3', watching your third cheesy romcom of the day with one Dr Ryland Grace.

Ever the gentleman, Ryland didn't bat an eye when you slowly leaned into him sometime around romcom 2. Sure, he was freaking out on the inside, but he chalked it up to the fact that you were the only other person in a 12 light-year radius; of course, he would be thrown off by a little contact.

He had to test the waters, though. After all, he was a scientist. Yeah. It was for science. Eventually, he moved his arm to rest around you, ever so carefully. So gentle, and very obviously nervous and unsure, and in all honesty, so adorable you wanted to laugh. You eased his nerves by leaning into him more, and Ryland could swear that if you were silent enough, you could hear his soul leaving his body.

As time went on, you got more and more comfortable with each other, and by romcom 3 (i.e., the present), you were lying down on his lap, and he was haphazardly leaning on the makeshift "couch" you had made around week 6 with whatever bags and other junk were lying around.

This was uncharted territory. Literally, you were in space, that's as uncharted as it gets. But yes, in the figurative sense as well. Both your eyes were glued to the screens, but your focus on whatever was playing was long gone.

Ryland was hyperaware of the fact that your head was on his lap, and he was practising insane levels of self-control by not reaching out and running his fingers through your hair. It was right there. He could if he wanted to. It wouldn't even be much of an effort. No, no, he can't. He shouldn't. Should he? He could, right? I mean, friends stroke each other's hair all the time. Maybe. Do they? They probably do. God knows what's normal on Earth right now.

The movie was long forgotten at this point. To Ryland, it was white noise and the occasional laugh from you that made him feel something he doesn't even want to define. He did what any rational, normal person would do in such a predicament: Pros and Cons list of stroking your friend's hair.

Pros:

Pros: ...

Okay.

So, seemingly, there are no pros to this other than the fact that he really, reallllllly wants to.

Cons: This would make things really weird between the two of you if only one person were into it. You could have a thing about your hair where you don't like it if someone touches it. You could genuinely be disgusted with him at the fact that he so catastrophically misread the signs to the extent that he may have to jettison his ass into outer space.

Well.

It's a good thing Ryland Grace is anything but rational when it comes to you.

His hand trembled as he slowly lowered it towards your head. He was having a million second thoughts, his conscience already ready to berate him about this later. He hoped he wasn't breathing as loud as he thought, and he prayed to all the gods he knew that you couldn't hear his heartbeat, because he could hear it loud and clear from inside his head. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, despite the centralised air conditioning. This was it. T-minus 3 seconds.

3...

2...

1—

"What Grace doing, question?"

"Gah—"

You both pulled away from each other like you had been caught in the middle of something unspeakable. You sat up so fast, one would think Ryland's legs were on fire. He retreated his hand, near Mach 15 speed, and nonchalantly pointed at the "night sky" on the projection deck, as though he were counting stars.

"Oh, hey buddy, didn't see you there," he tried to manage.

"What Grace and (Y/n) doing, question?" he inquired again, ever the curious.

"We were just watching a movie. Nothing much. Just... there was a movie, and we were watching it. That's it. Movie was being watched. By us. Just a couple... Movie watchers." Real smooth, Ryland Grace.

Silence. Unbearable, lethal silence. Ryland's eyes were closed in deep contemplation, running through what he just said. His face scrunched in regret. Rocky stayed still, which was worse than if he were moving, because this stance meant he was judging. Hard. And you? You didn't even know what to make of all of this. Jesus Christ.

"I'm gonna go check on the—" you started.

"Yeah, yeah. Absolutely. Of course," he interrupted.

"...Right. So I'll just—"

"Yeah, no, yeah. Go save the... world," He called after you as you left the projection deck, his voice trailing as he regretted every single thing that left his mouth in real time.

"Is Grace okay, question?

"Nope."

[matt-murdockk]

oh ok can ai do this

[i-am-corbin-dallas]

Elle and Reid are so sibling coded, i love them

[darkmatilda]

the sibling in question:

[barbiehelmet]

so the thing is that desi women have often just been seen as submissive little creatures, right. we're in the background. our stories are rarely told. when tv shows make their little diversity checklists we're rarely included in the poc category. desi people in general are underrepresented but desi women especially.

then you get a character like samira mohan, who is kind and empathetic and cares so much about her patients and esp those from marginalized communities due to her backstory. she did research into a disease that disproportionately shows up in poc and so is often a blind spot for white doctors (or those trained by them, which is to say, most doctors, either via direct mentorship or textbooks/research from white doctors). any condition that disproportionately affects poc more than white people is under-researched and often skipped in differential diagnosis. and samira was working to combat this, applying that knowledge in her practical work, and while she's not perfect - which one of them is? - we could see her grow into herself and be better each episode of s1.

s2 we see her exhausted and burnt out and on the verge of a breakdown and so constantly dismissed and even berated for it. her mentor is out there suicidal himself and lashing out on her for being... exactly like he was previous season. her family life is falling apart and her career is not progressing the way she wants and now she's got all this going on with her patients (orlando diaz and mr. green) and ... now what. two episodes left and we find out she's not coming back. i don't know if there's going to be any satisfying conclusion to her storyline but if there is, it better be brilliant considering the short timeframe. and in the meantime all the excitement i have for parker ellis having more of a role is somewhat dampened because samira, the desi female character we all spent time with and got attached to, is the cost.

women of color are not interchangeable. you cannot swap one out for the other. and brown people, especially women, deserve to have our stories not just told but treated with the same respect, love, and care, that everyone else gets. we fucking matter. and we deserve to see ourselves represented on screen with dignity and care.

[bbutterguns]

it’s crazy how much I lowkey hate Robby at this point. because every woman has been where dana is, where mohan, mckay, al-hashimi, and javadi are; every woman has been there and had to absorb a man’s feelings - as nastiness, obsession, slamming things, snide remarks, casual cruelty, pressure, insistence, carelessness, dismissal - not even because he think it’s her job, but because he doesn’t even think of her enough to know he’s making it her job. his feelings are too big, so he doesn’t see her. he doesn’t hate her, of course not, but by god he’ll make her feel small. tale as old as time

[emmaharwoods]

the pitt loves putting woc through horrors all in the name of robby’s “growth” and then kicking them off the show once they’ve served that purpose

[matt-murdockk]

fix it fic where samira has a machete, and she says "it's pittin' time" and pitts all over the hospital and hacks robby

[matt-murdockk]

no because you know what the worst part is? i started watching the show because of dr mohan. and i know a bunch of other young women of colour who did. it was so invigorating having someone who looks like you and someone you can relate with be given an actual, complex character arc and not be used as a plot device for once, or atleast we thought. have fun with your fuckass hospital ig

[matt-murdockk]

coming out of a 7 month exile just to say this WRITERS OF THE PITT WHEN I CATCH YOU

[matt-murdockk]

severely astounding lack of smallville clark kent x reader fluff/angst/hurt-comfort we need to GET TO WORK