#the effort i put into this was.... minimal

[parfaitblogs]

i have more than enough ❀ s. reid x reader

in which the holiday season is achingly difficult to get through, when you are spencer reid, who believes he is no longer allowed to enjoy them. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader genre: hurt/comfort tags: established relationship. post prison!reid. word count: 2k a/n: and for my final act? the parfaitblogs special (post prison reid fic to a searows song). merry christmas from australia because it IS the 25th here!!! this is the end of my christmas advent calendar!! i had soo much fun writing these stories thank you to all that requested ♡

❄︎ advent calendar masterlist

He does not deserve a Christmas. 

Perhaps that is the only thing that runs through Spencer Reid's mind the second the Halloween decor filtered out of the stores, reindeer mugs entered them; while candy canes and Santa hats adorned every little item, and Christmas trees lit up every corner of every mall.

No matter what state he traveled to, he couldn't escape the festivities of the holiday season. He's pretty sure he's the only person who wants to. 

You waited for him. He feels immensely guilty for just how much waiting you've had to do all year. Waiting for him to go to trial, waiting for him to get out of prison, waiting for him to let you in again. 

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

You're waiting again. A Christmas tree that blandly sits empty and undecorated in the corner of your shared apartment; a Christmas roast you aren't sure if you'll even cook takes up too much space in your fridge; gingerbread cookies you promised your friends weeks ago remaining unbaked. 

He knew you were upset about it. His Christmas loving girlfriend forced to mute the celebrations of her favourite holiday because he couldn't find it in him to be excited about it. 

He didn't know how to fix it, really. 

You had tried everything to get him back into the Christmas spirit he's had for the past three years you've spent together. Baking with him, picking out the very Christmas tree that leaves the room smelling like a pine forest together, Christmas shopping for the presents he had no will to buy for his family and friends. 

Nothing had worked. 

"Spence?"

Sitting awkwardly at his — now — very minimally decorated desk, his head lifts from the papers in front of him, eyebrows frowning towards each other as his eyes land on you.

"Hi," he murmurs, putting the pen in his hand down in an effort to give you his full attention. He was getting better at that, these days. 

"I finished dinner," you tell him, fingers fidgeting with one another; a recent habit he had noticed you'd developed in the months between his arrest and release. "If you want to come eat."

He doesn't, but then again, he never does. And despite how awful he feels, he feels even more so for what he's putting you through, and the guilt that chews away at him is enough to will him to do small things — like eating — for you. 

"Yeah," he breathes out, and stands up from the desk, following you silently over to the meal sitting at the edge of the kitchen bench you had cooked for the two of you.

Silence overwhelmed you two as you ate, as it usually does. Sitting curled up beside one another on the couch, sharing a blanket and yet still feeling so distant from each other regardless. 

"Did you call your mom?" you ask him, and his fork pauses in the plate. 

Right. It's Christmas. The time for calling family members and sharing love for them during this supposed to be joyous time. 

"Not yet," he shakes his head. "I'll... get to it. Before Christmas is over."

"You have a week," you remind him, though it isn't to be passive aggressive at all. You genuinely wonder if he's forgotten the date of Christmas that has quickly crept up on you both.

"I know."

You stare silently at the coffee table after a short nod to his words, and you wrack your brain for things to say, just to keep him talking.

"Can I give you your gift before Christmas day?" 

He lifts his head, and you feel his eyes transfix on you.

"If you want."

You want him to want it too, but you aren't sure if that's a reasonable wish anymore. 

"I do," you nod, and quickly finish up your food, before you stand, and leave the room altogether. 

He places his plate next to yours on the coffee table — he'd remember to get to cleaning those later — just as you return, a square shaped brown paper gift in your hands, a purple ribbon tied in a bow around it. 

"You got me a square?" he asks you, and your heart warms at the teasing tone in his voice. He's trying. 

"Open it," you press, instinctively shaking his shoulder with both hands pressed up against it. 

"Okay, okay."

He's meticulous in pulling the plain wrapping paper off, and you almost want to open the gift for him. 

"Did you make this?" he asks you as he carefully pulls the square apart in front of your eyes, though he does already know the answer before you have a chance to start nodding your head. 

A Victorian Puzzle Purse situates delicately in his hands. Hands that pull it apart ever so slowly, taking note of every little drawn and painted detail on the paper, opening it up to a letter that he spent two minutes reading through — confirming that he was not only reading it once through. 

"Do you like it?" you ask him, almost hesitantly. 

"Victorian Puzzle Purse's were how lovers would communicate for Valentine's day," he says, instead of answering your question directly, as he neatly folds it back up into the intricate origami square it was originally when he pulled it out. "Sorry," he quickly adds, his eyes landing back on you. "That wasn't an answer. I do. I like it a lot."

"I know it isn't much, but I don't want to overwhelm you with gifts this Christmas. I'm honestly not even expecting anything big. We can just order food in and watch movies or something this year, if you'd prefer. You just have to promise me you'll at least let me put mistletoe up outside our bedroom, because it's kind of become tradition and... sorry."

He's staring at you, half dumbfounded, half in awe, as you realise you were rambling instead of sitting in the moment of him enjoying something seasonal, but you can't even find it within yourself to be frustrated at it. For he is letting a small smile grace his lips, and you're leaning forwards with a smile of your own, and for a second or more, he is not the shattered prison man, and you are not his distanced girlfriend. 

"You can put mistletoe outside our bedroom," he says, and you're breaking into an even wider grin.

"Really?"

"It's tradition."

You light up enough for there to be no need for a decorated Christmas tree in your apartment anymore, and you're threading your fingers through his hand to drag him up off the couch. 

Your gift to him remains on the coffee table as you lead him over to your bedroom door, prompting him to stay still, as you disappear to find the piece of familiar fake greenery. 

"Mistletoe!" you present it to him, and he takes it from you habitually, using the pin you also hand him and pinning it above your heads on the doorframe.

"I think we need to buy a new one," he says, hands dropping back by his side. His eyes are trained on you, but your own head is still tilted back, inspecting the faux plant. 

"I think we need to buy a real one," you answer conclusively, finally dropping your gaze to him. 

"Next year," he confirms. "Tradition complete?"

You shake your head. "The tradition ends with a kiss."

Hesitation follows your words, and you instantly regret them. 

It wasn't that you didn't kiss, or weren't intimate in any way. It's simply that it was on occasion now, and almost always motivated by something more important than a silly mistletoe tradition.

"It's okay," you cover your unwelcome disappointment with a smile. 

He ignores your reassurance. "It does end in a kiss, you're right."

"But we don't have to," you mumble.

"Yes," his hands encase your waist to do nothing more than to pull you closer to him. "We do."

"Not if you don't want to."

"Did I say that?"

You open your lips to respond, but the words die on your tongue. 

"What did I do to make you think I don't want to kiss you, angel?" he's frowning now, and you feel guilt settle in your chest. 

"Nothing, really. We just—um—don't kiss... as much. Anymore. Which is fine, by the way, and I can understand it. You're under no moral obligation to kiss me. Obviously."

His frown deepens. "I think we're experiencing a bout of miscommunication."

"What?"

"I thought you didn't want to kiss me," he explains, and suddenly, you're mirroring the confusion on his face. 

"Why would I not want to kiss you?" you ask him, incredulously. 

His shoulders slump at the question, and you force yourself not to fill the silence that follows.

"Prison," he replies, quietly. "I didn't think you'd really even want me once I got out of prison. You don't initiate anything anymore, either. I just assumed."

"I didn't initiate anything because I was waiting for you to initiate stuff."

"I can see that now."

"I didn't want to rush you," you tell him, as earnestly as possible. "I know prison was a lot, and you still haven't told me everything that happened, but I wanted you to not rush yourself. Or... us, I guess."

He swallows the lump of emotion that lodges in his throat. "I thought you were disappointed in me. Or—well, scared of me."

"No," your heart shatters, and you're sure he can hear it in your voice as your hands instantly cup his cheeks, fingers brushing over his cheekbones. "No, oh my God, Spencer."

"You shouldn't use the lord's name in vain. It's Christmas," he jokes, weakly. The smile you give him is weak, too.

"I was terrified for you. I was so worried about you in prison, and—and what they were doing to you in there. But never of you. Not a single part of me will ever be scared of you, sweet boy."

"I'm scared of me," he whispers, and his voice cracks in a way that has tears welling in your eyes. "I think differently, you know."

"And that automatically means I should be scared of you? Or makes you any less deserving of love?"

His silence is enough of a response. 

"I love you," you settle on telling him. "No matter what baggage you came back to me with. You deserve so much love, and I hate that you have been through so much. So much so that you believe yourself undeserving. You are not. You never will be. I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you, if I must. Or as long as you will let me."

"Forever," he replies, and you feel his hands close over your own on his face. "I will let you forever."

"Thank God. It'd be kind of embarrassing if I say all this and then you were to break up with me tomorrow," you say, and his cheeks stretch beneath your hands as he huffs a laugh.

"I won't break up with you."

"I wouldn't let you, anyways."

"Oh really?" his hands slide down to your waist once more. 

"Yeah," you confirm with a small nod, your own hands dropping to his neck, interlacing behind it, as you draw his head closer to yours. "You're stuck with me."

"I have not a word of complaint," he replies, and he's close enough that you feel the words tattoo your lips. "I love you."

And then he's kissing you, and there is an overwhelming amount of neglected feelings you had been missing poured into you, from his soul to yours. 

It was a kiss so unlike what you had grown used to in recent months. Fingers dug into your waist as a violent reminder of what you mean to him, and for the first time since May, you believed it. 

When he goes to pull away, you barely give him time to get air before you're chasing his lips again, and he tugs you impossibly closer with a laugh that vibrates against your face. 

You kiss him until your hands go numb behind his neck, and your legs begin to ache, and your waist is sure to have bruised in the shapes of his fingertips. Chest heaving and eyes full of more adoration than you think one human can have for another, you meet his gaze once more.

"Tradition complete."

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[lxnu1t]

To explain this a little bit further and show why it’s real, I strongly believe that manifestation is rooted in science and has a clear explanation behind it. Dr. Tara Swart, a well-known neuroscientist, has explained that manifestation isn’t some outside force. Instead, it’s a process that can be understood through psychology and neuroscience. It’s about how your brain works—focusing on clear goals, visualizing what you want, and taking actions that align with those goals.

This explains why things like mood boards and visualization are so effective. Even when I put in minimal effort, the things I visualized eventually happened because I knew exactly what I wanted. Over time, without even realizing it, I saw my manifestations come to fruition.

I’m pretty sure there’s plenty of articles, research studies, evidence, and other sources to back this up. The key is understanding that science and spirituality are interconnected—they’re not separate but work together to help us create the lives we want (it’s not one or another).

Manifesting is definitely REAL.

My grandma believed in manifestation, the law of attraction, and the use of affirmations. She used all of these to help herself become a very successful and empowering woman, providing a comfortable life for herself and her family, including me, her granddaughter.

I can also attest to this because I practice manifesting and have used it to achieve whatever I want. I END UP GETTING WHAT I DESIRE.

It’s all about changing your mindset and perspective. You should believe that you’re already going to get what you want easily and swiftly. Your thoughts create your reality. Debunk all possible doubts and have faith. Twist the doubts until you can tell yourself that nothing will stop you from having it. Trust that it will happen, should happen, and can happen.

I used to be very depressed at one point in my life and kept telling myself that “it won’t get better.” Until one day, I decided I was tired of this mindset and wanted to believe that “life will get better.” I held onto this thought and had faith. I told myself to stop feeling miserable, stop the victim mindset, and change my mentality. I wrote down affirmations, created mood boards of how I wanted my life to change, and constantly dreamed about it until it happened. Now, I’m grateful for my life and everything in it.

Obviously, it’s not just that. I have manifested other great things, and they have come into my life.

Just have FAITH.

[imustbeimaginary]

Alright, so. I've read a lot of fics where everybody (or at least everybody sensible) knows that Endeavor is a bad hero. They know he causes a lot of collateral damage or even just straight up kills people sometimes. Data proves how terrible he is.

But listen. I want you to consider the scenario where he's a Good Hero. (hear me out) -He's still a piece of steaming shit as a person. He beat his wife, abused AND neglected his children, and I think there were allusions to sexual abuse with Rei. He's irredeemable. But he's also just a good hero. He's competent at his job. He minimizes collateral damage. He has an impressively high success rate. He still can't bring himself to stoop so low as to be nice, but come on-Trump won the elections. A good PR team can perform miracles.

So I want you to just. consider the way Shouto has to bite down the urge to break down in hysterical laughter every time someone talks about How kind Endeavor is, to have donated so much to that charity for Abuse Victims and How he must be such a softie under all that gruff exterior. And consider the moment when he realised that he could put 0% effort into hiding everything and it wouldn't matter. People would rather press their hands against their ears and sing La La La.

Also consider the fact that Izuku's father had a Fire Quirk. And while Endeavor had nothing on All Might, maybe Izuku used to look up to him, maybe he thought he was cool. Consider the hit he takes when he realises the truth. (because of course he believes Todoroki. that's practically a no-brainer for him. it is earth-shattering for Shouto) Consider the way he will later break a nail- while clawing, ripping, tearing the posters off his wall.

just. consider that.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

this is their first date

[catmask]

does anyone have like an anti aesthetic. like something you look at and can recognize as a complete fashion/interior design/artistic movement and understand it but it makes you shudder seeing it. i am not talking like “its morally bad” “its poorly structured” like just sheerly devoid of joy for you actually invites a repulse response.

[flapjack-biscuit-scone]

fairly soon after the museum first awakens, a tiny roman has another awakening of his own…

[wardingshout]

I'm also having a lot of fun with this game!!

[lunapegasus]

please tell me no one's down this yet

[robinwithay]

i think a lot of people in the fandom have a bad habit of acting as if aziraphale should know everything we, the audience, know about crowley, and that he should therefore be more sympathetic to feelings that aziraphale literally doesn't even know crowley has, because crowley hasn't told him.

[blurboyy]

[chaseacer-ghostedition]

Happy pride month

@reanimatedgh0ul mentioned that vlad would do a rainbow capitalism and I couldn’t agree more. He would 100%

[zours025]

This is for bunny day but I didnt finish it in time so now im late 💀

[sneckoil]

less than 24 hrs to get my 161-page comic Dr. Limos Plays God. it's about the messiest guy in the world. imagine if your clone realized you were awful before you. the answer is here

@shortboxcomicsfair

[thenationofzaun]

Fans can come up with a million analysis posts, interpretations, metas, and theories as to why a character acts the way they do. But if none of those things are ever explored within the story itself, what the hell is the point? It's great that fans can come with their own interpretations but there comes a point when the writers have to actually put in the work and not expect the audience to fill in every single blank for them lol. You could pull a thousand and one reasons for Vi's decisions out of your ass, at the end of the day, every single one of those would be headcanon if there's not an inkling of it in the show.

Again, Vi is a main character and one of the two leads of the show. Her relationship with Jinx is at the heart of the narrative. Their mirror arcs of one becoming a fighter for Zaun and one becoming a fighter for Piltover should balance each other and be equally explored in depth. Vi's reason for joining the enforcers is driven by a complete rando side character giving her an ego boost. It is over and done with in one episode. The effect long-term prison as a child has had on her goes unexplored. Vi forgets about Ekko, her childhood friend whom she just reunited with, and never mentions him in 5 episodes. Vi wants to murder her own little sister whom she raised for reasons also unexplored. This is not a "flawed gray human character". This is a nonsensical mess.

"You just want characters to be Good and Nice", no I want characters to make sense. "Vi is just a bad person", almost every single fucking character in this show is a bad person. You don't see me complaining about how they're not believable as characters. "Of course it makes sense! Vi actually did this thing because xyz and abc and bla bla bla", are those reasons shown in the show? No? Then it's your own personal interpretation. I don't have to accept it and I expect the writers to actually put in the effort to. You know. Write their show.

This is actually pretty pathetic writing for a main character. It's insane to me that so many people have no problem with it. These are the standards we have for character writing?

[dissentersbedamned]

i dont even have a caption for this

[kriscrossapplesaucereal]

Pfp is now suitable for the season of jolly and holly

This was actually a doodle I did at school that I traced over and coloured digitally

Original (I fixed the janked limbs + added silly tongue)