#again i am sorry if this doesn’t make sense

[padawanoftheyear]

summer - luke hughes

in which: a childhood crushe turn into a summer that no one will forget

paring: Luke Hughes/Reader

☆-☆-☆-☆

Never in a million years would I even think Luke Hughes is cute, but of course, this was the summer my brain decided to look a little closer. 

 The Hughes and the (Y/L/N)’s families have been friends for, well… ever. I have known Quinn, Jack, and (of course) Luke all my life. We’ve gone to the Hughes family lake house every summer since I was a baby. 

 A lot has changed in two years, AKA since the last time I saw Luke. I finished Uni and Luke had just finished his rookie year in the NHL.

 So, when I saw Luke again (after being crushed in a hug by Jack and Quinn) I nearly had whiplash. His tall frame towered over me by about a half a foot as he walked closer. We hugged each other (i mean, it would look weird if we didn’t) and his cologne took over my senses… ahem…

Quinn and Jack snicker as we walk past them and Luke shoots them a glare. I laugh softly, maybe out of nervousness or just pure confusion. 

☆-☆-☆

After a few hours of hanging out with the Hughes boys, it feels like I never left two summers ago.

That night was a blur of late night boat rides and a few drinks around the fire (and Jack telling terrible jokes). Of course, fate likes to play jokes, too, because me and Luke were miraculously the last ones by the fire. 

“You grew.” I say, breaking a soon-to-be awkward silence. 

“So did you, more beautiful, I mean.” He smiles at me softly.

I matched his smile, “ Is that a compliment or a Star Wars reference?” 

He shrugs as his smile turns into a smirk, “Reference, obviously.” He takes a sip of his drink, his smirk growing wider. I let out a fake gasp that turns into a laugh, “Nerd.”

He rolls his eyes, “You are beautiful, though,” he mumbles and I nearly miss it. I pretend I never heard him, leaning back in my chair, hoping he doesn’t see my redding face. 

“Summer didn’t feel the same last year.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I say with a sigh.

Picking Uni over an actual summer vacation was not an easy decision, but working towards an early graduation was the best one.

“Any big drama I missed?” I crack a smile to lighten the mood a bit. 

He smiles back, a lock of his curly hair falling in front of his face, “Family drama? No. School drama? Well…”

I lean forward in my chair and rest my forearms on my knees, my smile growing into a smirk. Luke laughs at my reaction which makes my heart soar. 

☆-☆-☆

About two hours (and many drinks) later we get through nearly two years of stories and just as many laughs. His bright smile and his silhouette in the moonlight make my chest squeeze. 

Luke and I have always been the closest of the bunch, considering we were the closest in age. I always thought of the Hughes boys as, well, my own brothers. So, what's different this summer? 

Maybe his curly hair that he has grown out since being in the NHL? His taller stature? Maybe it's just being alone with him is what sets off the bomb of butterflies in me.

“...(Y/N)?”

My head snaps up from my blank gaze at the water.

“Sorry?” I shake my head and look back at him.

“Am I that uninteresting, Butterfly?” His brows furrowed as he leaned towards me.

Butterfly

Gods, I haven't heard that nickname since the 8th grade when all three of the Hughes boys made it their mission to give me the most random, awful nicknames.

First, Poppins (as in Mary) because of the time I spoke in a British accent for a week at a summer camp with Jack.

Next, Centipede, because of the time I confessed to being scared of anything with more than eight legs. For the rest of the year I was constantly chased by Quinn or Jack who had one of the devil-bugs in their hand. That name comes back quite a bit.

But, Butterfly never got an explanation. I always thought it was about the bug thing but I asked Luke and he said no and shrugged me off.

Luke's hand touches my cheek lightly and I come back into reality. 

“Are you ok?” he asks softly.

“Yeah, yeah sorry…” I mumble as blush stains my neck and cheeks.

“You seem tired, wanna head in?”

“Yeah, ok.” He helps me up from my chair and we grab the trash, then head inside.

☆-☆-☆

The rest of the week goes on without a hitch, but it’s the last day that’s my favorite.

Me and Luke are sitting out in a secluded area of the lake on our paddle boards. We used to go to this place all the time as kids. We would steal his dads little motorboat and ride to this spot in the dead of night when no one else was awake. 

“I missed our cove,” I say and smile into the afternoon sun.

He hums in agreement, “Remember when we always brought, like, dirt cheap beer out here?”

“Oh lord, I'm trying to forget…” I shake my head at the memory.

One summer we decided it would be a good idea to bring beers out on the lake. In short, we had really, really bad hangovers the next day.

“It could’ve been worse,” He says as he runs his fingers through his hair. 

I wish those were my- No, no. (Y/N), stop. 

I sigh and shrug. “I guess,” I retort. He tilts his head, and so do I.

“What?” He asks.

“What??” I ask back.

“Something is on your mind,” He scoots forward, “tell me.”

I furrow my eyebrows but he cuts me off before I can think of a reply, “last night you spaced out now you're acting weird he looks down so what's on your mind?”

 I smile softly and shake my head “you've changed, Hughes”

“Is that a bad thing?” 

“Not at all.”

 “So, why do you say I changed?” He paddles towards me again and holds my board so we don't float apart 

“You're more… confident, I guess” I say and he leans in.

 “Confident?” He draws, teasing.

 I scoff and push him back slightly, “maybe I should have said cocky-” 

He rolls his eyes as I speak, then pushes me off my board. Water rushes to my ears as I fall backwards.

 I paddle back to the surface and my head bobs up, “LUKE!! What the hell?!”

“In my defense,” he takes off his shirt and lowers his body into the water. I watch him the whole way down. “You called me cocky.”

I roll my eyes and swim the small distance to him. “You are cocky Luke Warren Hughes.”

Now he rolls his eyes and I laugh softly. He pauses for a moment Scanning my face. “You're beautiful,” he says softly.

“What??”

 “You heard me”

 I stutter. How do I respond to that?? The guy I've known my whole life (and liked for the past week) just call me beautiful. “I uhm-”

“I know it's weird for me to say it out loud but I've liked you forever, butterfly. I don't know what it is about seeing you again- but it gave me the confidence to say something.” He wades closer and I am at a loss for words.

“I know this isn't the best time to tell you this,” he retorts, “but I can't keep it down. You're the most amazing person I have ever met, (Y/N), and maybe I don't always remember that but every single time I see you I- I realize I don't want anyone else. I don't need anyone else, just you.”

 ….Am I dead? Am I dying?! I probably died when he pushed me into the water…

“Really?” I squeak out. It’s the only thing I can muster. He laughs nervously and I get back on my board. “Really really.”

I flush and look down at him in the water. “I was right, you're getting more confident, Hughes.” I lean in slightly, my breath shortening.

He gets the hint. 

He kisses me softly and butterflies erupt in my stomach. His lips are tender and sweet against mine, his taste imprinting into my brain in a way that I know I will never taste anything as warm, as loving, or as fulfilling as his. He leans deeper into me and my hands cup the nape of his neck. His hands circle my waist and I feel my skin heat under his touch. 

Memories flood my brain, all of him. The notes we passed in middle school, the dances we went to together, nights cuddled watching ‘The Mighty Ducks’. It all comes back to me.

He breaks the kiss first, catching his breath. I let him clamber onto my board and sit beside me. I look at him, taking in his Greek nose and cornflower eyes. He presses his mouth against my jaw and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My hands smooth over his chest, the pads of my fingers collecting small droplets left on his skin. My fingers drift up and I tangle my fingers in his hair to tug him closer.

He looks up at me with his beautiful, beautiful eyes. He cups my face and his breath ghosts over my lips. My stomach flips, the same way it has this whole week. From chatting at the fire or sunbathing on the deck…

Never in a million years would I even think about kissing Luke Hughes, but of course, this was the summer my brain decided I should take a chance I will never regret.

☆-☆-☆-☆

A/N:

EEK!!!! I did it... I finally finished this fucking fic... whew.

I hope you enjoyed this little one-shot about our boy, Luke. Please leave comments about anything you liked (or disliked) about this fic :)

I will (hopefully) be making more NHL fics in the future, but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If you are reading this, I would like to say thank you to my friends, Lily and Nora, for looking over this fic and giving me support for my delusion (and hockey obsession).

[wewillbeseen-butnotbeheard]

okay. genuinely

i think there’s a subtle layer of insecurity over your entire community. it’s hard to describe but a lot of the “i hate my body” talk could be questioned. how many hate it because it’s just them? or how many don’t know how to articulate those feelings so they come to the conclusion that they’re somehow another creature entirely, instead. if it’s not all of you, it’s some of you. i don’t have to directly prove that (that in itself isn’t that important) as much as i can safely estimate

i do understand all of this though. over the last few months i’ve gained a genuine understanding of “nonhuman/alterhuman”s, etc. i don’t come from a natural stance of opposing the concept or anything. it’s actually hard to stand with my own thoughts on this, especially because i WOULD agree. why not? i don’t know. it doesn’t really matter

i don’t think i can go so far into this without contradicting myself. i feel as if my position on this subject is volatile so i apologise if i end up doing exactly that

i should again insist that your community is in fact comprised of humans, but the argument doesn’t hold up if i deny that it’s based on self-perception and you are arguably animals in some way. (arguably.) i do not know you better than you know yourself, yet outside perception is also something to consider

“why does it bother you so much that i am the way i am?” i would say that is slightly confusing and kind of vulnerable to explain. i think i have some idea but i’m not sure

i’m willing to deprecate myself in this, and “being in the wrong” doesn’t necessarily mean that i’m wrong myself, and it doesn’t mean that i’m doing to flip my beliefs

what i think i mean is that; it’s complicated. i’m not afraid to say that my own view is hard to hold up, but that’s only because i already have some understanding/experience in this sort of thing. i don’t want to do a 180 on myself(again) yet i’m not ignorant enough to NOT give the the time of day to self-reflection if it comes down to it. i hope that makes sense, sorry

i don’t think my words hold much value to people like you, and i don’t think you would be willing to listen or take it to heart, but it’s still worth trying. i would like you to realise that you are human in every way. you are not an animal, you are not a dragon. (you probably already know this. maybe you’re in denial. i don’t know) either way, none of you would actually be willing to give it even a second of thought because you’re insecure about yourself, and you’re insecure because you know you’re human. i assure you that you will not reach full personal contentment until you live out your life without pretending to be a mythical creature. wtv have a good day

Ooh, I haven’t gotten one of these asks in a few years.

So I ask this, and every other question I will follow up with, completely genuinely, and if you’re willing to really get into the weeds discussing it I’d love to do so (though I’ll probably reblog any follow-ups to my other blog): why do you think you know me and my experiences better than I do?

Why do you think you can armchair diagnose me with insecurity? What evidence do you actually have for that, besides the fact that I’m nonhuman? What evidence do you have that I’m not already content and fulfilled in my life?

Is it possible that identifying as nonhuman is unrelated to those things entirely, and you’re making a false assumption?

I get it. It looks crazy, when you’re completely new to the concept. It’s weird - it is! But pause and listen to us when we talk about our experiences for a moment.

For many of us, myself included, finding nonhumanity is a moment of suddenly understanding - of pieces falling into place, of my life experiences suddenly making sense. Awakening is something that made me more content and fulfilled, not less - there’s a sadness in it sometimes, yes, but so too is there the comfort of understanding yourself in a new way, of realizing, oh. I’m not just weird. There’s not something wrong with me. There are other people like me.

(If this sounds a lot like the experience of figuring out you’re queer, there’s a reason for that.)

To use myself as an example of the flaws in your hypothesis: there’s… honestly not much dissatisfaction with my life right now. I’ve got a stable job with decent income. I’d like to be able to cut back my hours a bit, but that will come in time. I’ve got enough free time as it is to do my art and play my tabletop games with friends in my off time. I’ve got family and friends around me. Sure, I miss my wings, but I’m hoping to pick up powered paragliding in the near future and hoping that’ll scratch that itch at least somewhat. I’m doing pretty well, honestly. This isn’t the case for all otherkin, but it’s not the case for all orthohumans (people who aren’t alterhuman in any way) either. What it does indicate, however, is that your hypothesis that being otherkin inherently means you’re insecure and unhappy with your life is false, or at minimum flawed - if it were true, I wouldn’t exist.

So, I ask again: why do you think you understand my own experiences better than I do? And moreover, why does it bother you so much that I am the way I am?

The name for the thing you’re doing here, intentionally or not, is concern trolling - trying to push me out of an identity by professing concern for problems that don’t exist. Why? Why are you going out of your way to tell other people they’re wrong about their own identity? Why is your reaction, when you see an identity you don’t understand, to decide it’s unhealthy, or just make-believe, or whatever, and then to make that the problem of the people who identify that way? What exactly makes you think this is inherently unhealthy?

Would it not be better to devote that energy to trying to understand us, instead of trying to change us?

You don’t have to answer these questions to me, obviously, but I do encourage you to answer them to yourself at least. Pick apart your worldview for a minute and see if it actually holds up under scrutiny - it’s good for you, and mental enrichment to boot! If you are willing to really get into the weeds of this discussion with me, again, I’d love to do that - I love having discussions like this, and it’s good for me to have my worldview challenged every so often too! Please, genuinely, pick at the flaws in my logic if you see them - if it can be pulled apart under scrutiny, it needs to be pulled apart and rebuilt. No one on the internet is obligated to let a stranger do that, obviously, but personally I enjoy it - it’s a meat pumpkin for me - so let’s talk, if you’re up for it. It’s been a hot minute since I’ve gotten a good interesting antikin to debate with.

[honeycollie]

hi hello! i don’t usually make posts like this but this image has always intrigued me:

the fact that jeeves is with a poodle, even though it doesn’t appear in the show, is what intrigued me the most. but in retrospect it does make sense. poodles are considered a rather intelligent breed and they love to work. they are/were also bred for waterfowl hunting. now i know waterfowl hunting and fishing are two entirely different things but it does fit! poodles are also known to be well groomed and shit! having jeeves with an intelligent “water breed” makes perfect sense!

i like assigning dog breeds to characters, combining my two favorite things and whatnot, so when i saw this picture it like ignited something in me. i mean the west highland terrier with bertie also makes perfect sense! they are highly sociable, loyal, and quite stubborn.

i just love this photo so much and i think it’s so cute that the dog breeds fit them perfectly! i also like that the dogs coat colours also match with their outfits, like that is so cute!

i am also sorry that this probably doesn’t make sense! i am not that good at writing, so i do apologize if you don’t understand some things.

[turtleblogatlast]

One of the biggest things that makes me see Leo as trans is absolutely the size of his carapace in comparison to his brothers’.

And I’m not talking about height! I’m specifically looking at his shell here, because when you compare him to the others, particularly Donnie who is nearly the same height as Leo, it’s very clear that Leo’s carapace is much longer in proportion to the rest of his body.

Like - standing side by side, even though Donnie is shorter his carapace ends noticeably higher up than Leo’s does. And I like this not only because it really helps push the idea that Leo could very likely be trans (or intersex!), but it’s also just a fun design difference between them.

(It also lends way to future scenarios of Donnie eventually getting taller than Leo, but sitting down still has Leo being the taller one haha.)

[clock-06]

Curly Mouthwashing I dislike you but I could never hate you.

Mouthwashing has me by the throat rn shoutout to ADHD and hyperfixations

The only truly innocent person on board is Anya, Daisuke I love you dude but I feel like you could’ve helped Anya and just kinda assumed someone else was gonna do it. Swansea, you kinda redeemed yourself but not enough.

Jimmy deserves to live in horse purgatory forever

[cant-get-no-worse]

Your writing is always great, I need you to write something to either making us optimistic about the future of the club or to make us realize how much in deep shit we actually are please 😭

Babe, just browse through my La Liga 2022/2023 tag and mourn with me. 💕

[higgs-the-god]

Big wieff….

[pussypounder2000]

Hello ! I was just looking on a few plural servers on discord… especially the fictives….. and the surprisingly small amount of other pressure fictives from what I can tell? At least from the two (relatively) okay servers were in.

Bad idea, I know, something is just bound to make your blood boil over in those hellish lands.

anyways I really don’t mean any harmful criticism for this (just kidding, I do) but in my personal opinion I just.

on one of the servers, in one of the channels for fictives source venting, there was a Sebastian fictive talking about how they would often poke themself with some sewing needle or similar to somewhat replicate the “feeling” of being experimented on as to be closer to their source and all that, then asking what they could do to try and stop due to bad memories and that jazz

Personally(as another seb fictive), replicating that not my jam, but the amount of people who were just going after this poor guy instead of helping them at all was actually frustrating to even watch, and solely because they weren’t “acting like they did in their source” by deliberately repeating that

Now, this is your reminder that fictives don’t need to act like their source, because they aren’t really the same. They don’t need to act like their source to be valid, and if you think that if a fictive isn’t a perfect carbon copy of their source then they aren’t good enough, what the fuck is wrong with you.

Fictives don’t owe you anything, no matter what. Not even if you share a source. Not even if they’re a fictive of your favourite character, and especially not if they’re a fictive of your “fictional crush.”

They don’t need to act a certain way or say certain things, everybody reacts differently to issues, whether internal or external, and asking for help with something like that can be genuinely difficult

The fact that they are a fictive should have no affect on your view of them no matter what. Fictives cannot choose their sources, and they are still people with feelings.

It should not ever be the tipping factor between helping someone who’s struggling, or making fun for not “acting like their source.”

The fact that people do that in the first place is the very reason our system doesn’t usually interact with the community(ies).

this feels like such a niche but I’ve heard from other systems that they’ve seen or experienced similar things

It’s disappointing, really.

[appreciatingtokrev]

the thing abt the pain my scoliosis/kyphosis causes me (mostly left side of my ribcage, then left side of my back, then left shoulder, then it slowly starts spreading to the right side + my hip, the more physical anything apart from lying i do the worse it gets) is that it started and worsened so slowly that i just. didn’t realise it. now it’s been a normal part of my life for a few years and. i hardly notice it. i hardly notice that half of my body aches. it’s normal. now that my knees hurt i’m truly aware of it for the first time in months, and— that’s not normal. it shouldn’t be normal that my ribcage & back hurt every day just because i go to school. what the hell. what the fucking hell.

[isame-allen]

…can imagine there’s some like dredwew angst in sibling au

With the whole Ed being a bodyguard to his bf and bad people existing

Oh do I got a comic for you

Next

[loderlied]

If they haven’t been answered already: Philia 1 and 3 for Zeke, or any other oc you might find interesting to write about

Philia 1: Does your OC have a Best Friend? If they do then how long have they known each other and how did they meet? If they don't then do they have a close group of friends they love equally? Or are they more of a loner?

first of all, zeke is definitely a loner. when he was still living outside the temple with his adoptive parents he used to stalk kids he wanted to befriend and never talk to them at the very most. he was content with that amount of social interaction. if other kids approached him first, they were quickly creeped out if zeke didn’t like. hiss at them in fear lol.

this lack of true companionship stretches into his years in the temple as well. he never bonds with anyone except orin, which is honestly. a complicated thing. he was the talented, perfect apex predator, her older brother who she will always compete with. and zeke sees as a competitor as well! she will not, cannot surpass him no matter what. and despite all of that zeke is no more than 10 when he’s found by sceleritas and orin is a few years younger. she talks for him in the beginning. he hides behind her constantly despite being at least a head taller always. she begs him to read her bedtime stories when he starts talking. he says that he hates it and the books she likes but always relents in the end. they know they’re going to kill the other one day.

and then there’s also sceleritas! sceleritas was the one who taught him how to speak mostly (orin never thought that he needed to, really) a couple years later when zeke decides (and the temple allows it, because zeke told a half-truth about him being an assassin, which is true but truly a side gig compared to the his other career) to pursues his detective work sceleritas is his helping him as his assistant. disguised as a halfling when they’re out and about.

so, he gets out—lots of opportunities to make some friends, right? here’s where gortash comes crashing in through the metaphorical wall and beats us all to death with a steel chair. so, a couple months after zeke is quickly rising in status as an ace detective, he starts investigating gortash. the moment the war started etc etc. what’s relevant to this question is that while zeke’s obsession did make it impossible to find companionship, gortash also isolated the fuck out of him. zeke started having intense paranoia around everyone in fear they could be working for ‘the spider’, and just fearing and suspecting ulterior malicious motives and everyone and everything. of course the fact that zeke is fucking losing it also turns some potential clients away from him, so that all that is truly left IS gortash. (it is always going to be but y’know). then there’s outright manipulation of the situation when they’re together. example: business partner days. gortash is away chatting to important people at a meeting. zeke sits alone at a table watching him. someone joins him, starts talking to him, they seemingly get along, they ask zeke to leave this boring snooze fest and do something fun, and then suddenly gortash, who’s immediately noticed the absence of zeke’s gaze, puts a hand on his shoulder and whispers in his ear that he’d make sure that nobody would disturb him during his kill. shit like that.

(there’s is one person zeke gets closer with pre-game, menena, but that was orchestrated by gortash from the beginning. complicated bullshit this is already long enough lol. but she’s the gal that he ends up forcefeeding to zeke in the dinner fic)

ok hopefully last paragraph for this fuck. so obviously, after the big brain scramble the temple is out of the equation and gortash is. still there but not AS present. his actual best friend is also his lover, shadowheart. i’ve talked about their relationship quite a bit, so. the other person he’s really close with is astarion. they’re. extremely messy and awkward. like. astarion, putting on a performance in a manipulative attempt to keep himself safe, sleeps with zeke, a fucking virgin at this point. it’s the most awkward thing in the world. they’re both dissociating not really into it. when astarion later confesses they both realize that they just see each other as friends and try to make it work. astarion is the first of the companions to actively realize that zeke’s scars are torture scars. they never talk about it more than ‘…so. those aren’t from battle, aren’t they?‘ ‘…i think so.’ but for these two that’s. a lot of opening up. of course this comes crashing down later in act 3. gortash sees the bite marks on zeke’s neck and immediately pulls out an expensive healing scroll and forbids him from ever letting that happen again. gortash manipulates zeke into killing astarion after killing cazador in the end. big part of this is out of genuine concern about an ascended vampire roam his city, but part of it is definitely out of possessive rage. so, zeke is (/knows the truth but wants to be) torn about it, but when he sees astarion hurt and overcome and kill cazador, he ends up making his decision to end his best friend out of jealousy. this was a semi-trauma bond and seeing astarion achieve what he never will without killing himself too was what ended it. astarion ascends, getting rid of all the vampire spawn, and then zeke stabs him in the back. he is not screaming and crying anymore like he did when losing lae’zel and jaheira. it is resigned, quiet, jealous anger. minthara dips at this point and only shadowheart is left (not for long!)

(okay last tidbit about this: i’m using withers’ hirelings in the actual gameplay, but in the story it’s gortash who provides him with backup soldiers, since i don’t believe he’d ever let zeke choose his own companions again. he makes sure to find soldiers that resemble astarion, lae’zel, jaheira, minthara, and gale though. a reminder. a claim of victory)

Philia 3: What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?

zeke can’t truly have friends for the same reason he can’t truly love. he looks for someone who can distract him from the truth momentarily, that’s it. that’s all they will ever be. in the end it will always be gortash.

[blueish-bird]

sorry if I don’t remember your name or conversations/experiences or basic things about myself, every few weeks my brain gets factory reset and I have to relearn how to be alive

[missallblues]

Hey, I have a question. Is there any more depth to your headcanon about Mario being selectively (?) mute? Just curious.

hey anon idk if you wanted me to explain why I headcanoned Mario being selectively mute or if you just wanted more headcanons so I just explained my reasoning for this HC maybe i’ll do more HC’s later when i’m off work sorry if i misunderstood your sentence i’m kind of stupid and i struggle with comprehending sentences sometimes 😭😭

Okay so for me personally there’s just a lot of in game evidence for mario canonically having selective mutism for starters the only time we hear him full talk is whenever he’s alone with Luigi (Bowser’s Inside Story, and if i remember correctly he doesn’t actually speak again when Starlow joins the team only his signature grunts and hmmm) or when he’s by himself (Mario 64 Start Screen). In any other game he’s in if he’s not alone with Luigi or by himself he never talks, in Paper Mario he’s the only character that doesn’t have a text box and in any of the 3D platforming games (most notably Bowser’s Fury and Super Mario Galaxy) his only responses are grunts and even then those are limited (and primarily when he’s by himself).

That’s game!Mario though, Movie!Mario and Show!Mario are two complete different characters in my head (although I still enjoy show!mario whilst movie!mario is…..i don’t wanna talk about it #notmymario) so anybody who disagrees with me is completely fine i don’t really care it’s more of a personal HC for me then anything else (even if there is some in game knowledge with it but again it’s just the silent protag trope)

IDK just as someone who used to have selective mutism and also has autism (I hc’d Mario to have autism as well but autism and mutism aren’t always linked to together so it’s sort of unrelated) it just brings me a lot of comfort since this guy is like so beloved by people in game and out of game and it’s like oh wow I can almost pretend ableism just does not exist!

Anyway yeah hopefully this explains some stuff!! I’m not really good with expanding my thoughts and talking with them so if you need me to go further in detail pls don’t be afraid to send a message i genuinely struggle with these kinds of stuff 😭😭😭😭

[cipher-fresh]

[ID: A tweet reading “Sorry for freaking out earlier man, didn’t realize everything would be okay” /End ID]

[yellowsubiesdance]

trying to cope w the fact that after many years on the internet getting bombarded with misinformation, i am in fact full of misinfo, and my coworker calls me out on it every time

[luveline]

Hiii!! Could I request a bombshell reader x Spencer where someone (a local police maybe) says something rude to her about her appearance or something and normally it doesn’t really get to her, but something snaps and she kinda shuts down/is rude to Spencer until he coaxes it out of her? Sorry it’s long I had an idea and ran w it loollll

ty for requesting angel! confident fem!reader, 1k

Spencer shouldn’t expect his colleague to hold his hand, especially one so confident. What sense would that make, a woman as established as you are, who smiles without a lick of worry nor smugness, wanting to hold his hand? 

But you do it all the time, is the thing. In the car on the way to crime scenes, in the hallways of the office, under the round table. It started as a tethering for his distractedness, when one day he’d wanted to talk but hadn’t had the presence of mind to walk at the same time, so you’d taken his hand and led him to the office. You’ve been taking it at your discretion ever since.  

Spencer knows something is wrong —you haven’t tried to hold his hand all day. And even if you aren’t interested in him romantically, Spencer has come to crave the touch. He’ll accept platonic hand holding. Anything, really. 

“You’re staring very deeply, Dr. Reid,” you mutter, shades from your usual lightness. 

“I’m thinking.” 

“Aren’t you always?” 

“About you.”

“Well,” you smile fleetingly. “You should always be thinking about me.” 

“You’re truly humble.” 

His joke doesn’t land, it crashes and burns; your smile fades completely into a short, sharp line. Your gaze moves back into the restaurant, waiting for the team's food order in silence once again. 

Spencer’s pinky finger twitches across the gap. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. 

“Fine.” 

You stay quiet, Spencer worries. He takes the bags before you can when they bring your food to the collection desk, two lumps of heat he holds to his thighs as you begin the walk back to the hotel. Tonight, the team will pick at their food together and rehash the same arguments they’ve been making all day, filling in each other's gaps, and tomorrow the work will start again. He can’t have you this unhappy again tomorrow. 

“You’re amazing,” he says, watching you turn to him from the corner of his eye, “you know you are, we all do, everyone who meets you. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, or to feel better, but… I’m here for you. If you want to talk. It’s been a hard couple of days, and talking about traumatic events as they happen and directly afterward make them easier to recover from.” 

“I’m not traumatised.” 

“Upsetting,” he corrects. “Having a shoulder to cry on is good for you, and I can be that shoulder. You know, if you need me to be.” 

He can’t know this in the moment, though maybe one day you’ll tell him, further down the line when the hand holding is better defined, but you look at him and you love him. To know Spencer is to love him. Or at least that’s how you’ve always felt. You’d love to cry on his shoulder about what transpired that morning if it weren’t embarrassing to think about, you’re upset over a throwaway comment made by nobody important. 

Spencer offers his company earnestly. He stammers. It’s amazingly sincere, as he usually is. He won’t mind if it’s embarrassing, he’ll just listen. 

You clear your throat. “I know I’m not to everyone’s taste. I know that the way I… present myself isn’t what most men like. People love confidence, but not when it’s bossy, not when it’s– when it’s vain. And I am vain. I think about my appearance a lot, I think I’m beautiful most of the time, I try so hard to have that be true.” You eye him thoughtfully. “Do you realise that?” 

He shakes his head gently, one ear toward one shoulder and then the other, as though balancing. “Sort of. I know you put effort into your appearance, but I also assume a lot of it to be natural.” 

“Right, well. It’s not natural. Not really. My natural beauty wouldn’t be all the beautiful to most people. And I’ve accepted that, I know what I like about myself, and–” You’re losing the thread of your point, an upset creeping into your melodic tone and turning it ragged. “When people tell me they don’t like how I look now, I guess it hurts because I know they wouldn’t like me before, either, and I feel defeated because I know I can’t win.” 

“Who said they don’t like how you look?” Spencer asks, confused, on his way to annoyed. 

“Officer Friendly.” You look to your shoes, watching the steps you take. “Guess he wasn’t as nice as we thought.” 

“What did he say to you?” 

You shrug. “Same story. He doesn’t like girls who wear makeup. Doesn’t like uppity women.” 

“Did he call you that?” 

“What are you gonna do if he did?” you ask without malice. 

“Morgan’s teaching me self defence for a reason.” You smile at his light joke, though it doesn’t last. He transfers the takeout bags into one hand, the other held out to you, his fingers sliding down your arm to your wrist. “You know you’re beautiful, with or without makeup. And you’re not uppity, you’re out of his league. There’s a difference.” 

“You’re flirting with me.” 

“No.” He wishes he had the wherewithal sometimes, but this isn’t flirting. “I’m being honest with you. Men like that don’t like you because they know they’ll never, ever have you, or anyone like you. There isn’t anyone like you,” he adds, sliding his hand into yours. 

He squeezes all your fingers together twice in quick succession. 

“Don’t let a jealous chauvinist halfwit make you think you’re not good enough,” he says. 

You curl your fingers around his before he can take his hand back. Slowly, you squeeze his hand. Then, smiling, you let him go. 

“I’ve never heard you say something mean like that,” you say. “Halfwit. That’s crass.” 

“I was going to say he’s an asshole, if that’s better.” 

Your laugh echoes off of the sidewalk. “That’s perfect. Say something meaner.” 

The insult he uses next doesn’t bear repeating.