#what do we think is this anything did I do something here

[galactic-magick]

Maybe in Another Universe, You're Still the Man I Love: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You get sent to the same alternate timeline with Ekko and Heimerdinger, and you find out just how wonderful your life could've been.

Words: 2.1k

Author's Notes: Yeah so that finale sent me into deep grief and writing is the only way I can heal I fear. I hope you enjoy this interpretation of what Viktor could be doing in the alternate timeline.

“Are you alright, darling?”

Your vision comes into focus, though your head is still pounding. You’re extremely nauseous, feeling like your body is not your own as you become aware of the all-too-familiar voice that just spoke to you.

You’re sitting on a desk in an Academy classroom, journals and various papers surrounding you. The sun is shining through the windows, cascading gold onto the other desks and tables. It’s a peaceful, simple sight. Something that feels so wrong for precisely that reason.

“I don’t have another class for a while, you can talk to me,” Viktor says, brushing his fingers against your face. “Care to tell me why you’re looking at me like that?”

You suppose you look like you’ve seen a ghost, which isn’t so far from the truth. You must be dreaming—maybe hallucinating—anything to explain how this isn’t real.

“I…” you start, failing to find the words to say.

-

You storm into the lab, locking your eyes on the empty hexcore cocoon, then at Jayce.

“Where the fuck is he?”

“I don’t know!” Jayce fires back at you, clearly just as distraught as you are. “He woke up and told me he needed to leave me and this place. I have no idea where he went!”

“Why didn’t you follow him?” you scream, your mind spinning. Who knows how the hexcore changed him, he could literally be anywhere.

“He didn’t want me to! What don’t you understand?” Jayce slumps back into his chair, his face in his hands. As soon as he notices a tear fall down your cheek, his tone softens. “Look, I...we both know he’s been different since he started messing with the hexcore. He had told me to destroy it...but I couldn’t. And now he’s even more different. I’m so sorry,”

“Jayce…” you walk towards him. “I’m not blaming you for anything that’s happened. He’s been pushing both of us away for a long time. I guess...I just thought maybe when he woke up he’d love me again like he used to. Did he even ask about me?”

Jayce shakes his head, and your heart sinks even further.

-

“I think I’m dreaming,” you finally say, and Viktor tilts his head. “This...this isn’t real. We’re not like this, we haven’t been like this in a long time. You’re not...what are you here, a professor?”

He cups your face and kisses your forehead, “Darling, I don’t think you’ve been getting enough sleep, you’re talking nonsense,”

“No, no, no,” you jump off the desk and pace around the room. “If this isn’t a dream, then where am I? Some sort of other reality?”

“You mean to say you believe...this is not your world?” Viktor takes in your words intently.

“Well in my world, you fell out of love with me in favor of your work, and then you nearly died and got severely mutated by the hexcore. So yeah, I’d say things are pretty different,”

He raises an eyebrow, “Hex...core?”

“You don’t have that here?”

“Seemingly not,”

You sigh, perching yourself back on the desk, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“No, I...I have theorized the possibility of alternate universes before, but I never thought I would come face to face with it in my lifetime,” he starts writing on the wall chalkboard. “I see no reason not to believe you. After all, my wife of this universe would probably not be saying these things,”

“We’re married?”

“Of course. Now tell me, what else is different in your universe?”

-

You’ve tried to find him everywhere—going all the secret places the two of you would go in the past, and asking people if they’ve seen him both topside and bottom. There’s no signs, not even a clue. He doesn’t want to be found.

You make your way back to Jayce’s lab, surprised to see Heimerdinger and a young man you don’t recognize with him. They fill you in on their concern about wild runes showing up around the city, and their plan to check on the hexgates. You’re desperate for anything to get your mind off Viktor, so you go along with them.

You’ve never been to the source of the hexgates before, and it’s even more grand than you imagined. One thing could go wrong and the entire thing would explode, but it’s precisely the potential of destruction that makes it all the more fascinating.

That is, until it becomes entirely unpredictable.

Your surroundings change at the blink of an eye—warped visuals and sounds you can’t make out. You scream for the others, but no one can hear.

-

You do your best to describe all the important events and details of your timeline, while Viktor takes notes on the chalkboard and compares what you say to his timeline. He seems particularly interested in his inventions in your timeline, and his partnership with Jayce—who’s no longer alive in his timeline.

“He died in an explosion here at the academy several years ago, it was a tragic accident that also killed a young girl from the undercity. He was a friend and a brilliant mind,” he pauses. “We...actually named our son after him.”

Your eyes widen, overwhelmed by this possibility of what could’ve been, “We have a son?”

“We do. And he’s perfect,” Viktor smiles softly. “You really are from a different time, aren’t you?”

You nod, trying to hold back tears. Why does this reality’s version of you get to be happy? Why does this Viktor get to dodge corruption and the hands of hubris?

Viktor gazes once again on the chalkboard notes, looking for patterns and causes for the differences in your timelines. Would he have reached the same fate if Jayce was still alive? What caused the Undercity to heal and thrive in his timeline but not in yours? Was this hextech you speak of really so destructive?

You are the same person he fell in love with, there’s no doubt in his mind about that, but you’ve been significantly more hurt than the Y/N he knows.

He steps close to you again, wiping the tears from your face and pulling you into him, “I’m so sorry your version of me has taken a different path.”

You sob into his chest, gripping his clothes. He runs his fingers through your hair and rubs your back, soothing you as if you’re his own.

But you’re not his. This isn’t your life.

You pull away, taking a deep breath, “As much as I want to stay here, I can’t keep taking over the consciousness of the me in this world. I need to find the others,”

“I don’t know if it’s possible for you to get back,” he says. “You say you got here through hextech, and that was never invented here.”

“We’ll find a way,” you run to the window, looking out to get a gauge of where you are. Heimerdinger might have landed somewhere here in the Academy too, and Ekko probably went back to the Undercity. But Jayce—if he’s dead in this universe—where would he be?

“Before you go,” Viktor places a hand on your shoulder. “Would you like to meet our son?”

Anxiety washes over you, your body going numb from the prospect. Would it only hurt you more to see a life that you could’ve created?

“Don’t you have more classes to teach, professor?” you smile, trying to turn your nervousness into something lighthearted.

“I’ll cancel for today. It’s about the time you usually pick him up from school anyway,”

He grabs his cane with one hand and takes your hand with the other, posting a quick note on his door as you leave.

-

You sit on a bench outside the elementary school, your heart pounding. This child is going to run out that building any minute, eager to see the mother he’s always known.

But you’re not her. You didn’t carry him, birth him, or raise him. You don’t have the same memories and experiences.

But you must pretend that you do.

You know which one he is immediately. He’s a perfect combination of yours and Viktor’s features, just like you’d imagined. His smile is contagious, and he wastes no time jumping into your arms.

“Look what I made at school today, Mommy!” he puts a crafty contraption in front of your face, a colorful collection of sticks and paper glued together.

“That’s so creative, honey, I love it,” but your attention is solely focused on him, his sweet face glowing with pride and joy.

“Quite the little inventor, aren’t you?” Viktor applauds him. “What else did you learn today?”

“We did reading and spelling. I can spell family now. F-A-M-I-L-E!”

“Close, sweetheart. There’s a ‘Y’ at the end,” you laugh,

“Are you sure about that?” he says, wincing his adorable face in thought. “Whatever. I learned how to spell brother and sister too, but I don’t have any of those. How do I get one of those?”

Viktor chuckles, “I’ll talk about it with your Mommy, how about that?”

“Okay!” he jumps up and starts walking home with the two of you.

-

What if I stayed? You wonder.

You’re playing with your son on the living room floor, with toys mostly made by Viktor himself. The house is small but cozy, a home you wish was really yours. What if you just stay in this dream reality forever?

What if you never find the others? What if there really is no way to get back?

But no, that wouldn’t be fair to the you of this reality. She’s the one who has this life, not you. Besides, Viktor and his son deserve their wife and mother back.

You hear a knock on the door, and Viktor goes to open it.

“Oh, Viktor, it is so good to see you.”

Your head swivels instantly towards the yordle in the entryway, “Heimerdinger! You found me!” you join Viktor at the door, “Where’s Ekko and Jayce?”

“I have not found Jayce as of yet, but I did find Ekko and sent him back to his timeline about a week ago. We found some hextech fragments and were able to use them to jump through time and space.”

“So...I can get home too?”

“As soon as you’re ready. We built the machine in a young girl’s lab in the Undercity,” he looks between you, then Viktor, and finally your son. His attitude of urgency dissipates as he begins to understand. “But...I could not blame you if you want to stay longer.”

Your son Jayce comes running to join you, grabbing onto your leg, “Who’s this guy, Mommy?”

“This is Professor Heimerdinger, he used to work at the Academy,” you pat his head, “Your dad used to be his assistant.”

“I’m sure you already have a brilliant mind, my boy,” Heimerdinger says. “Your parents must be proud.”

Little Jayce giggles.

“Actually, I would very much like to see this new invention you’ve built, Professor,” Viktor speaks up. “I’m now quite intrigued by the prospect of other universes.”

“I have no rule against you observing, Viktor, but I’m sure you understand I must destroy it after we all get back. It is too dangerous to be left here unsupervised,” Heimerdinger’s tone becomes more serious. “I’m sure Y/N has told you of the destruction hextech caused in our universe, especially to you.”

“Of course, Professor. I understand.”

-

You’ve never seen the Undercity look this beautiful.

It seems that the other version of you comes here often, so many people wave to you and little Jayce automatically runs off with some kids his age to play.

You meet a blue-haired young lady named Powder, who helped Heimerdinger and Ekko in their experiments. She looks so familiar to you, but you can’t place where you’ve seen her in your reality.

Heimerdinger explains how it works, and both you and Viktor listen intently. With everything up and running, you could go back this instant.

The pull to go back is strong, like an obligation to return to your rightful place in the universe. But the pull to stay is equally strong, as you gaze into your husband’s beautiful amber eyes that you want to find solace in forever.

“It’s your choice, my love,” Viktor says, as if reading your mind.

“I know I need to go back…” you exhale, tears welling in your eyes once again. “But I don’t know what I’m going back to,”

“I don’t know either,” he caresses your face, “But I do know you are strong in every universe,”

“I’m not,” you shake your head, “Not without you.”

“Don’t say that,” his thumbs smooth across your cheeks.

You nod, turning towards the device.

“Could you…could you kiss me one last time?” you ask.

Viktor wastes no time honoring your request, crashing his lips to yours with lasting passion. He pulls away only as you back into the circle, leaving you with one last affectionate whisper:

“I’m so fortunate to have met another version of you, my love.”

[hamilando]

ੈ✩ top of everything (smau) ੈ✩

pairing : max verstappen x male reader

summary: max is best because he believes he is the best ( in everything )

tw : fluff; a little suggestive

fc : vinnie hacker

a/n : MY FIRST MALE READER FIC ! if you don’t like reading it, please don’t read, but leaving hate is not an option, AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE ANY HOMOPHOBIC COMMENTS, you don’t like it or support, just skip it ! lysm 🫶🏻

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

liked by nicholaschavez and 636,287 others

ynhacker my love is a monster in the show ( and 🛌 )

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user1 HE IS GAY !?

user2 LMAO BOTH THE ACTORS IN MONSTER ARE GAY !?

user3 CHAVEZ IS GAY !?

nicholaschavez I am never letting you click pictures of mine

ynhacker alright then, you are not licking my tattoos

user4 SIR FREAK !?

user5 OPEN AN ONLYFANS, YALL WILL BE BILLIONAIRES

user6 me being an old fan and sipping tea ☕️

user7 they loooook so good together

user8 if they have a kid- the gene race is won

user9 both of them are so hot

user10 why are hot men all gay ?

liked by user1, maddisonbeer and 763,862 others

ynhacker oh, I am both 😌

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user1 SOMETHING HAPPENED BETWEEN HIM AND NICHOLAS

user2 WHAT !? THEY BROKE UP

user3 no they didn’t, nich still has their pictures

user4 no, I mean, Y/n said that nicholas doesn’t like him posting thirsty pictures so for the past 7 months he had not posted even one thirsty selfie

user5 THIS IS A THIRST TRAP !?

user6 they def broke up if y/n is back to posting fuck me daddy photos

user7 he is def the one doing the cardio, not receiving -

liked by maddisonbeer, maxverstappen1 and 873,367 others

ynhacker they said Latina air and fast cars helps with break ups 🍃

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user1 THEY BROKE UP 😭😭😭

user2 DAD AND DADDY BROKE UP 😔😭😭😔

landonorris it was amazing meeting you !!!

liked by ynhacker

user3 where did lando spawn out of 💀

user4 let him spawn, he is not gay

user5 Lando is dating magui I think

user6 IDC, Y/N'S FUCKBOY ERA IS BACK !!?

user7 we love a hot gay man with hot girl besties 👄

mclaren see you soon again!!!

ynhacker definitely admin, coming for the cars and bundas 🍑

user7 HUH!?

liked by user1, user2, and 736,276 others

enews Weeks after rumours, Y/N Hacker, who is the ex-boyfriend of Nicholas Chavez was seen in his car with a mystery man at the gas station in Vegas.

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user1 my man does not waste time 😭

user2 who is the mystery man !?

user3 that's..MAX VERSTAPPEN !?

user4 ARIANNA WHAT YOU DOING HERE !?

user5 he is soo drunk

user6 WHY IS HE DRIVING !?

user7 they casually be exposing max breaking laws-

user8 not only the FIA but even FBI will be after him 😌

user9 MAX IS GAY !?

user10 nah, they maybe friends ?

user11 I am loving to see this side of max

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 876,279 others

ynhacker Jimmy and Sassy love me, he does too well 🙂‍↕️

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user1 wasn't he a dog person ?

user2 when did he adopt cats ?

user3 those are Max's cats !!

user4 MAX VERSTAPPEN !?

user5 the f1 grid in the likes-

landonorris max is cursing in Dutch here

ynhacker that's a very Charles thing to do

charlesleclerc EXCUSE ME !?

ynahacker excused, now let Carlos overtake 😌

carlossainz55 whenever you come to Spain, tell me, you are not even spending a euro

user6 I am living for these sudden interactions-

maxverstappen1 return my sons

ynhacker they love me more than you 🤭

maxverstappen1 get my sons along with you

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,367,972 others

ynhacker shirtless because he does not own any shirt except the redbull one

view comments

redbullracing glad to see our driver doing his duties

ynhacker you certainly are not doing anything for him tho -

landonorris mate, you are going to get him kicked out

ynhacker nah, they will be digging their graves by kicking him out

landonorris YOU can get banned

ynhacker will they mess with Max's plus one?

landonorris point

maxverstappen1 why do you own a phone!?

maxverstappen1 stop clicking random pictures of me

charlesleclerc give the context of the middle on though

ynhacker one word : REDBULL

maxverstappen1 we look cute in the last one

ynhacker it's all you 🤭

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liked by landonorris, francolapinto and 1,762,576 others

ynhacker Lando's and I are matching 4️⃣💤

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user1 his closet is exactly like I imagined

user2 messy like his driving -

user2 is blocked by ynhacker

user3 KING 👑

user4 are all the f1 drivers gay ?

user5 wasn't he like dating max ?

user6 and now Lando ?

landonorris can I kill you for exposing my wardrobe ?

maxverstappen1 let me kill you before that

liked by ynhacker

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing and 2,765,465 others

ynhacker MY CHAMP IS ON THE TOP OF THE CHAMPIONSHIP ( and me 🤭)

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tg : @callsignwidow

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[the-cybersmith]

All of you are wrong, actually.

I think the absolute most wrong person is @juniaships, because of this line:

Enough of this history repeats type shit.

Generational spin off media is, almost certainly, going to deal with the repetition of historical themes. It's one of the most common patterns in media; largely because anyone who studies history will realise that it does, in fact, repeat!

Your argument here is somewhat anti-art!

The two examples given are Avatar and Star Wars, so let's address them.

Firstly, the central claim by OP, and by @rohirric-hunter is that the media featuring protagonists whose kids grew up with parental issues (note that this is not the same thing as being bad parents) must necessarily be written by people who just can't imagine good parenting for protagonists.

The issue with that is that we can actually see it's not the case!

AVATAR:

Tenzin is clearly a really good father! We see that he and his Pema are good parents!

Korra's parents are good parents by all appearances too!

Rey's parents, despite being stuck in a totally horrible situation, are exceptionally dedicated to their daughter! Dathan and Miramir literally died for their daughter!

STAR WARS:

So that pokes a bit of a hole in your theory.

Secondly, let's see how applicable the claims are of the previous generation's heroes being bad parents are.

STAR WARS:

The only person to claim that Han Solo was a bad father was Ben Solo, AKA Kylo Ren, AKA a man with absolutely terrible judgement who should not be considered an authority on the topic of who is or isn't a good parent.

PICTURED: the last person whose judgements should ever be uncritically accepted about anything, ever.

It's notable, however, that his dissatisfaction with Han Solo as a father doesn't appear to be based on anything Han Solo DID, but tather what Han Solo WAS. Note that he has no bad words for his mother, the princess and senator? Note that he reveres his Grandfather, the mighty Lord, almost to the point of worship?

He's obsessed by the idea of heritage and lineage, "You come from nothing, you're nothing", and Han Solo doesn't live up to that standard. Han Solo is a lowborn Corellian who grew up in a slum, and whose name was a fabrication. Oh, the name of Skywalker, the name of Organa, Kylo Ren has no shame for these, but he flinches every time Snoke refers to him as "Solo".

Nothing Han could have done would overcome that, until his son was willing to reconsider his outlook.

Han and Leia loved their son, and by all accounts did their best to raise him well. Yes, in their grief over his betrayal, they drifted apart, but that makes them human, not bad parents.

As for sending him to train with Luke, there's no evidence this was against his will, and if "having your kid with special talents go to a special boarding school that teaches him how to use those talents" makes you a bad parent, I guess Bill and Molly Weasly are bad parents, too?

PICTURED: Fred and George being very disappointed with you after what you implicitly daid about their mum and dad.

As for Luke... yes, he absolutely would consider killing Kylo. He damn near took Vader's head off! He's always been one to leap before looking, and sometimes he ends up regretting that.

Also... Kylo Ren did, in fact, go on to commit massacres, become a dictator, murder Luke's best friend. Luke knew he would do these things. Woukd it be morwl to kill him in advance? Arguably not. Is it something to dismiss out of hand? No, not unless you're an absolute pacifist, which Luke isn't.

AVATAR:

Something I think it's important to note about Aang and Katara is that neither of them (especially Aang) have a good model for what parenting looks like.

Aang was raised by a whole community, in a monastary, amongst other Airbenders. He has no experience of what it's like to be raised by someone with a skill that they can't pass on to you. He also had duties and obligations besides being a father. He did need to make sure that tgere was at least one Airbender in the world, to teach the NEXT avatar.

Also, let's consider Bumi's own inclinations and desires. He's a career military officer, something that presumably interested him from a young age. Is it any wonder that his father, the ardently pacifist monk, had teouble relating to him? Even with the best of intentions, they were two very different people, with two very different outlooks.

Katara, too, was separated from her parents quite young. She learned a great deal of self-reliance, arguably more than a person of her age should have. Do I think that she intentionally hurt her kids? No. Do I think it's believable that Bumi may have grown up without feeling very close to his parents. Yes.

Being a good person, even being a kind and empathetic person, doesn't preclude the possibility that we'll upset those close to us.

Finally, Toph.

Yes, Toph is a bad parent.

If you think she wouldn't be, you've been frankly blinded by favouritism. She's impatient, irritable, stubborn, and extremely opposed to authority figures, not least of those being her own parents!

The idea that she'd overcorrect to her parent's protectiveness by becoming too lenient? That feels very plausible and in-character.

Good people won't automatically become good parents. Parenting is a skill, and it's a hard one to master if you never had a good relationship with your own parents.

Generational spin-off media is like “okay, what would be the most in-character way for the previous show’s protagonist to comprehensively fail as a parent?”

[genderqueerdykes]

holy shit wait…your 32???

I…im gonna cry

I didn’t know we can live this long…

not just trans mass but…

alterhuman…and plurals..and…

I can’t…

so happy

gonna cry……..

yes i am! i was born in 1992 :)

that's exactly why i have my age in my bio- i've wanted to show people that you don't "outgrow" fundamental parts of your identity. it's natural to adopt and shed identities as we age, but i've been out as genderqueer since 19! nothing has changed, i'm still the same genderqueer person i was all those years ago!

and if anything- life has gotten better in my 30s. as a word of advice to most people out there: your teen years and your twenties FUCKING SUCK!!!!!!!! they tell you those are the "best years of your life" but they're NOT- you're growing into a world that is terrifying and doesn't understand you. you're scared. your brain and body are still developing and you're constantly facing new challenges. those are honestly i think the HARDEST years of your life, hands down

when i was a teenager, i would think to myself "phht there's literally no way i'm making it past 25 lmao" and figure that life ends after 25. well, that day came where i turned 25... and nothing changed.

and then i turned 30. still, nothing changed

now i'm 32 and... nothing has changed. maturation happens with age, yes, but it doesn't mean that you're suddenly a completely different person. people have such a shitty view on 30 year olds, like it's somehow "embarrassing" to be above the age of 25 years old. people in their 30s are constantly picked on, we're constantly told to "act our age" when... we are. i'm happier than ever realizing that I made it to my 30s, still trans, still nonhuman, still plural

i've been in treatment for DID since 2017, and while i've healed a lot, i have not integrated with my alters, and i never will. i don't want to. this is how my brain functions. the dissociation can be a nightmare for me, but my brain needs different people inside of it in order to be able to function properly. we tried to force ourselves to live as a singlet for 3 years and what ended up happening was that host at that time cracked from being under the constant pressure and still has never returned. the amount of stress it placed on us to try to live as a singlet was not worth it. at all

there hasn't been a singular moment in my adult life where i stopped being nonhuman, either. that was something that i never even tried to force myself out of. i never viewed it as weird or something that i should "outgrow"- i told my own mother that i did not identify as human as a child and that never left me. even now, i still wear dog collars, ears, tails, and take nature walks and do things to make myself feel more like my nonhuman selves. i'm still a furry, too!

i might not be a queer "elder" yet, but i'm happy as can be to be able to be an older queer person who can use their experience to help younger folks. thanks for sending this message! trust me, there really is a life after your 20s. your teens and 20s suck massively. but after i passed 30 i became more down to earth about my age. it's not a bad thing to live past 20- in fact, it's a badge of honor. i made it. i'm still breathing, i'm still here, still queer, despite all attempts to prevent me from still being here.

i'm going to continue be here for a long, long time, and you can be here with me, too.

take care of yourself! thanks for stopping by!

[angevinyaoiz]

Was compelled by these tags but I wanted to put my personal analysis here! Trying to keep it strictly based on the events of the movie and not on pure speculation or external historical stuff, bc I think they do a LOT of interesting things in this short scene and what it implies about the Richard and Philip and Henry (and Louis) relationship dynamics.

I think because this happened right after his back and forth with Henry where Philip felt like he was getting somewhere until Henry did his whole smug ass "Haha I win I squeezed all the information out of you ;D goodnight!" It made him jump out of his more calculated "facts and logic" mode and into a more deeper sense of his burning resentment and inferiority complex, hence the whole "you made my father nothing...and then you made him love you for it" speech. Love is kind of established as a sign of weakness and submission, even if in this case it's not in a romantic context. Louis is a "loving man" who (in the world of TLIW) gets taken advantage of by Pushy men like Henry and Philip is frustrated with that weakness. And so when Henry smugly reveals he was just probing Philip for info, Philip feels like he is "losing" and being demeaned again and so decides to pull out his secret weapon.....His Super Special Scandalous Information jfjdif to throw more fuel on the fire.

Course the main thing is Henry isn't even that scandalized like you said ("Richard finds his way into so many legends, let's hear yours" and in the play after the telling he's just like "I've heard better" lmfao...3 out of 5 stars. Also let's not forget he's also a boydiddler too from his speech to Alais in the opening scene. The royal corkscrew is NOT easily shocked!!). Philip is playing an interesting paradox where he's basically framing Richard as the Older Predatory type taking advantage of him, but also Richard is simultaneously Pathetic and weak at the same time for caring so much about not just sex presumably but wanting to be loved and desired. Philip also casts himself as the Victim in this scenario, as the younger, innocent and un-desiring party, but also positions himself as being the strong-willed clear-headed one where it's like "yes I succumbed ...but NOT because I was too Weak to Resist or out of Fear but because it was my Genius Long Game Plan All Along."

Why does he do this??? I would say like earlier, it was kind of his last card to play in their battle of wills, and allowed him to feel like he had a one-up on Henry after Henry had been smugly putting him down the whole day. I feel the purpose of this is similar to Eleanor's outburst about fucking Henry's father later in the film. Where it really doesn't do anything helpful for her, since he just leaves to do his thing. but in the moment is an emotional weapon that she knows will hurt him. Also there's something fun and cathartic about both Philip and Eleanor's outbursts where after a long day of conniving they really relish in talking about Being Bad in a more straightforward way. For Philip it does end up being helpful in that it sets the ball rolling to reveal all the sonbetrayals in the room and gets the feelings all heightened and sows distrust amongst the family.

Also, to get a bit more speculative, but still basing strictly off what is in the earlier scenes: in the end we don't know the truth of what happened between him and Richard in the forest during the event that he recounted, or what his true feelings are. I personally feel what is implied from his earlier interactions with Richard is that there was a sincere emotional connection, and that they did both miss each other during their time apart. There's implied also a little frustration on Philip's part over Richard not keeping contact and maintaining their friendship after the marriage. But also I sort of interpret it as he wanted to reframe the story in his mind as well, maybe to himself, in a way where he comes out of it feeling like he had control over the situation, especially if their encounters were really as dubiously consensual as he implies it as being. If he did love Richard at some point, that would mean he was the one being "weak" like his father, and so to be strong and be a man and respected ruler ("No man's boy" as he keeps Insisting Very Hard in public the whole movie), he can't afford to indulge in affection the same way. The sexual element just adds another layer that, viewing both from the medieval and 1960s homophobia POV, is already assumed to be deviant and something to distance one's self from. If having the affair with Richard was only A Genius Plan to Sabotage Henry all along, with only Disgust and No Real Feelings of Affection Ever, then he can manage to wiggle out of being implicated or having any responsibility for Sodomybehaviors while pinning all the shame onto Richard (and by extension, Henry.)

So the motivation I can see as being a mix of being mad at the history of Henry overpowering his father and belittling him, being conflicted with Richard for either 1) taking advantage of him back then or 2) having had maybe for real a pleasant affair but getting ghosted 3) most likely a mix of the two. Whatever the case, his main goal was to destabilize Henry and it fit into that goal, so he just poured some extra oil on the fire I guess XD

*in some ways, it's a very 60s homophobia more than a medieval kind, since I feel in early and medieval era there's nothing that would feel off about intense emotional, borderline romantic love between men if expressed in specific socially approved venues. but in modern times even emotional affection is an expression of weakness and timidity, or if a sign of a separate lesser identity being revealed, as how it is portrayed in this movie. The sexual element as deviant is important to the luridity but the part Philip emphasizes as particularly shameful is the vulnerability of asking for love from a man and wanting it returned.

a king like you has policy prepared on everything. well, what’s the official line on sodomy? how stands the crown on boys who do with boys?

THE LION IN WINTER 1968 | dir. anthony harvey

[gh0stsp1d3r]

Just anything with Jack Hughes but like make it a happy ending 🫶🏻

Ice skating

A/n: I can do that! it’s the time of the holidays… so I decided to make it something related to that (:

Warnings: none, all fluffy (: you fall on the ice once but

Finally, it had been his three day holiday break. It was Christmas, and it was the perfect time for a much needed date.

When you left the house, despite having a jacket, long warm leggings, hat and gloves, you were freezing. Jack noticed this, and wrapped his arms around you, warmth radiating off his body.

He had both of your skates in his free hand, both of you walking up to an open lake next to the house.

“And you made sure it was safe?” You asked Jack, him nodding.

“Checked twice just for you.” He began stepping into his skates, before grabbing yours and helping you tie yours up. You both stood up now, you leaning over to kiss him as a thank you.

He got into the ice first, holding his hand out for you to grab. You smiled at him, lacing your hand in his, stepping onto the ice next to him.

You wobble slightly as you do so, losing your balance for a moment before Jack pulls you back up with a laugh.

“You okay?” He asked you with raised eyebrows.

“Perfectly fine,” you replied with a breath.

The both of you began skating on the ice together, hand in hand over the frozen lake.

It was the perfect moment, and although a free date, it was the best you could have asked for.

“I think that we should get a dog.”

“A dog?” You giggled, “what kind?”

“Like a german shepherd or something.”

“I already got one of those. He’s right next to me.”

He raised his eyebrows, you smiling at him.

“Nah, I think I’m more like a… Jack Russell terrier.”

“Really?” You asked him, quirking an eyebrow at him, him shrugging, both of you making a turn on the ice. “Now that I think about it, you’re like a golden retriever.”

“I’m not a golden retriever. I’m more like a…” He trailed off, and while he was doing so, he ended up subconsciously moving his legs faster, something he tended to do while he skated, and practically dragging you from a snails pace to a faster one, causing you to trip over your own feet with a yelp, grabbing onto his body and pulling him down with you.

He fell on top of you, you letting out a groan and attempting to shove him off.

“Shit, sorry, honey.” He told you, quickly standing up and holding his hand out for you to grab onto so you could stand. You grabbed his hand, standing up and wiping the remnants of the ice off of your body. “You okay?”

You nodded, “I blame you for that.” You told him while he was helping you to wipe off the rest of the ice from your clothes.

“I take responsibility for that one.” He sighed, and when he turned around, you bent over, grabbing a handful of snow from the side. You curled it into a ball, smiling as you threw it at his back.

His eyes widened, slowly turning around to see you with a smirk on your face.

“Payback.”

“Oh you little-“ he started, before bending over and grabbing a snowball of his own, both of you entering a snowball fight like two children would.

He never would have thought he would have something as perfect as the life he did- but here it was, right next to him, holding his hand.

also I’m sorry this is so bad but I haven’t written in a hot minute, I’m in a funk rn and this nhl player writing is new to me!

[tiktaalic]

pa said the well's run dry he said the bank came out yesterday and said we're gonna have to sell the blog and get work in the city like the rest of folks less we can come up with something real quick. he was all ready to sign the papers today but i begged him to wait to give me time to find something anything and he sighed and said he could give me a week and not a minute more. and i nodded and i cried because he was right when he said there was next to nothing i could do and even if i did find a miracle. all our neighbors shuffled off weeks months years ago because the posts dried up and the bank came knocking. i break open my piggy bank hoping there's enough drafts in there to tide us over. i sit there. and i have to decide if it's worth spending everything i have just to buy us an extra day. and i know this extra day will consist of walking around mute and shellshocked. and i decide. it's worth it. i give pa all my drafts and he looks at me and shakes his head and his voice cracks when he says i better keep hold of those for getting settled in the city. i could fight him. i don't. i leave all my drafts on the table and storm out the back door. there must be something. they must have just missed it. pa says he knows this blog better than anyone. but i grew up here, same as him. and as much as he loves it, i love it more. when i was seven years old he tore the place apart looking for me after i wandered off. but i wasn't lost. i'd found a tag to play in, happy as could be. he never found me, or the tag, i just wandered back out when i got hungry. it's pa's blog, but it's my home. i know where the creeks and streams and ponds are. i know if i look hard enough, i can find a new posting well.

day one, i strike out. i wake up before dawn. i come in after dusk with no posts to show for it. pa's boxing up our plates when i walk in. he doesn't say anything. i don't either.

day two, i wander a further. yesterday, i was following a map with areas of interest marked in order of likelihood of success. today, i pick a direction and walk. i have more to show for it, if only barely. i get home with one bucket of posts. pa tells me i should keep them.

day three i wake up because pa's dragging furniture into the yard for a yard sale. when i ask him what he's doing he says he'd rather be paid flop drafts by our neighbors than flop drafts by the bank. i walk back inside. get my map. i get home after midnight with empty hands.

day four. when i wasn't looking, the cold single minded determination turned into fear. i'm realizing i'm running out of time. i'm realizing the reason pa didn't put up a fight is because he knew there was nothing out here. i could kill him. what kind of farmer depends on one well? my heart isn't in it today. i head out after noon. i'm back before dusk. there's been a stack of empty boxes sitting outside my room since pa told me the news. i haven't touched them. tonight, i take one and put away some of my things.

day five. there's more ground to cover. it's more out of a sense of completion than anything. so that when we're in the city, i can say, i did everything i could. i looked everywhere. this was the only option. i stop midday for a rest. the ground i put my palms on is curiously softer than the rest. i dig. it comes away easily. it turns into mud. heart thudding in my ears, i keep digging. the mud gives way to a trickle of posts. ears roaring. i keep digging. hands covered in mud. the trickle turns into a stream. i start yelling for pa. i'm too far from the house for him to hear me, but i'm not thinking about that right now. i'm thinking about the posts in front of me, clear and fresh. text posts. gifs. amvs. there's enough to live another twenty years on this blog. i splash my face. i laugh. i fill my bucket. i'll have to bring more. we'll have to get the pump set up. because there are enough new supernatural posts here for me and my children to build a life.

[canihaveacalmtime]

"Here's your hot cocoa, have a good evening!"

You receive your drink as you bow, thanking the employee and go outside to find a seat. As you sat next to a decorated christmas tree, you look in front of you and see a giant build board printed a familiar face on it.

Should you be proud to know that your memory is very good because you could recognize your highschool bully?

Probably not, haha...

You take a sip of your cocoa, thinking about what had happened in the past between the two of you.

--------------------------

It's like any other highschool bully story that everyone always read, during your first year, you were picked on by the richest and the most handsome guy in school and he forced you to do his homework everyday for 2 years. Tormenting you in the halls, drag you out whenever his mood isn't it, making you a laughing stock for the whole school.

But why only 2 years? Because everything went upside down for him when the last year started.

His parents had enough of him and brutally cut off his bank account, told him that either he learn how to work hard or he'd never get his hands on his father company. When he thought that his long time friends would still be there to support him through this, they quickly turn their backs on him upon knowing that he has no use left to them.

During the time he was at his worst, you stepped in and offer him a helping hand, telling him that you will help him with everything for this last year and in return, he must comply with your one request and can not decline.

He was wary at first when you suddenly did that but he had no other choices as there was no one else except you that would help him anyways.

And he was not disappointed for trusting you, you supported him through every single thing, improved his grades making him in the top 50 of the school, engaged him in participating in that model contest and also fulfil the role of being a friend that he can rely on.

When the school year end came, it was also time he hear your request. You couldn't remember much about anything other than what you said, you can't remember how the scenery looked like, what the principal was saying on stage, even the look on his face because after you said it, you left immediately.

"Let's never cross paths ever again in this life, that is my request."

--------------------------

You realized that your cup is now empty just like how the streets are also beginning to be, so you throw the cup into the trash can and walk home.

You wonder back to the times when you were teaching him the subjects, you would sometime catch him staring in an obsessive way at you but you didn't really care back then because your hatred for him was too much but now that you moved on, you wonder why he was staring at you like that.

"He also said something after I left that day but I couldn't hear what it was.." You mumble as you step out of the elevator to your apartment only to be greeted with a door that is not locked at all.

Your movements were hesitant, slowly, you open the door with cautious as you also carefully step inside your home. Right after you had closed the front door, a sudden sting on your neck send you off balance, fall into someone's arms and fainted immediately.

"Come get me at the apartment now." The tall figure said through a bluetooth headphone device on his ears.

Your bully smile down at you with a creepy smile, inhaling your familiar scent as he hug you close and tightly around his arms.

"You can tell me to do anything, give you anything, to die even. Anything but letting you leave."

--------------------------

After they said those words, my world seemed like crashing down on me in seconds.

I guess I have no other choice but to fulfil a different request from them in the future then.

"I shall have you in my arms when we meet again, love."

--------------------------

(ayy pov change :D)

[compostboy]

This isn't directed at OP, I just think it has to be said

You can also be the fascist shoehorning people into dehumanizing categories, I think we need to remind ourselves of that

I'm not going to talk about pedophilia being used as a weapon for queerphobia, people have done that better than me and will continue to do that.

What I want to bring up is the "zios" part here when... Historically that is exactly what has been used to persecute Jewish people, in Russia, Europe, America, West Asia, North Africa, leftist political circles? Like the logic absolutely did go "zionists should be murdered and tortured->jews and jewish expression are zionist->jews in general should be murdered and tortured" not an exaggeration, that ALREADY HAPPENED do you know how many died, fled, were prohibited from fleeing, went missing?

Wikipedia page for the fabricated "The Protocols of the Elder's of Zion"

Wikipedia for the Limerick Pogrom

Kyiv Pogrom

Shiraz Pogrom

1917 Jaffa Deportation

Pogroms during Russian civil war

More Kyiv Pogroms

Pinsk Massacre

Massena Blood Libel

Thrace Pogroms

Constantine Riots

Gabès Riots

Iași Pogroms

Tripolitania Riots

Egyptian Riot

Kielce Pogrom

Aleppo Riots

Oujda & Jerada Riots

Night of the Murdered Poets

Doctor's Plot & Anti-Zionism as antisemitism

Soviet Anti-Zionism(/Zionology)

Soviet Jewish History

Anti-Zionist Committee of the Soviet Public

Here are some of the things happening in the 1900's

you can find a timeline over 20th century antisemitism here

Here is a timeline of antisemitism throughout history

As you can see if you read through all of these events, antisemitism takes many shapes, and often the perpetrators will say "of course I'm not attacking Jews, I am attacking ___ (and willing to kill Jews if they are ___ which I assume they are without real evidence)"

The ___ can be anything

Child killer is a very common ___. Who wouldn't hate someone who killed a child? A poor innocent child, of a majority religion nontheless? If they kill children, surely then we can harass, assault, pillage, lynch and kill dozens or hundreds or thousands of them without trial?

That may seem like a sudden big leap in logic to many people but it keeps happening over and over and over and over again. Throughout history. It still does.

If you want your anti-zionism to NOT be antisemitic, you have to actually do the work and learn about all different kinds of antisemitism, Jewish history, and learn from Jewish people how to be an ally. And I'm not perfect! But I'm speaking out right now because I believe it's better to do something good imperfectly than to do nothing and stay silent

Very concerning to see that kind of talk.

You are not supporting the freedom of the Palestinian people by saying that kind of thing.

Focus on making sure people have food and aid and pressure your government to oppose the Israeli occupation and settlements. Build community without borders. Uphold international law and human rights. Criticize and protest against governments.

Do not start any kind of "jew hunt" or incentivize or participate in pogroms

Do not speak about political enemies as someone to sniff out, round up, and exterminate, no matter how vile you think their actions have been or values are

There is no upside to that kind of talk or action

Do something good by donating to Palestinian Children's Relief Fund instead

me in real life: torture and murder are horrible and you shouldn't do them.

me in fiction: torture and murder are literally the two sexiest and most fun things you could possibly do and you should do them all the time.

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[chocoqtelle]

inner child pac reading

🦀 pile one,,

I know we're used to being super helpful, but it's good to help yourself too. you should always make sure you're okay first. It's important for us to be okay, even if other people don't think so. we should think so. things are gonna be okay for us. they always are. I want to do the things we like. I don't understand why you care about what people think now. I think we should try doing what we like more, even if it's embarrassing. it doesn't have to take a lot of time. it's just good to have fun sometimes. maybe you can get back into some of our old interests if you want?

it seems like this pile had to mature quickly and was overly generous in childhood. this likely led to some people pleaser habits. when the world said "be nice" and "care about others" you took it to heart, but it felt like you were the only one who did. you felt like you had to be the adult in your childhood and care for other people around you. for some of you, you may have had to care for a parental/older familiar figure or your siblings. you're used to changing your words and your personality to be more digestible and gentle because this strong fear of conflict. you were scared of people being mean to you, so you avoided making anyone mad. it was like you were always tiptoeing over eggshells. now, you don't have to, so there's no point in worrying about people who don't worry about you. you'd be doing yourself and your inner child a favor by doing what you want. it might feel wrong to be yourself, but at least try. I won't delve too much into this part, but I believe some people in this pile also dealt with being oversexualized or being hyper sexual at a young age. I think it's important to know you're more than what you can give others for this pile. please also take a break for the love of god.

🐸 pile two,,

It's hard to feel loved if nobody shows you. at the same time, i don't think I'd want to be loved. it seems weird and uncomfortable. I'm not used to it so it's scary. I still wish that someone would care at least. it feels like nobody else cares. I'm really tired of things being silent and boring all the time. I want to do something fun. I want friends but I want to be by myself. people think I'm weird, but I think they're the weird ones. they can avoid me but I wouldn't wanna be friends with them anyway. it doesn't matter if it's lonely, I don't feel less lonely around people anyway. some people think I'm mean. I don't think I'm mean. i heard I look mean or I act mean sometimes, but what if that's just who I am? I don't try to be mean to people. I just don't want people to hurt me.

holy neglect trauma... there's a lot to unpack here 😓 first off, I hope you're alright. it seems like this pile never really learned how to interact with people and is probably still a bit of a people hater. this pile has had to keep strong boundaries and walls on to protect themselves from unfamiliar experiences (being spoken to positively.) if you've never experienced something, it can be scary but you have to stop thinking every little thing is gonna go wrong in your life. it's fine. separate note but I think someone's ancestors are very present here, might want to connect with them if you don't already. you can try to shut down the feelings of loneliness and pretend connection won't help but it does. you're probably not connected with your inner child or you're ashamed of yourself for some reason. trying to be cold won't undo anything or save you from the feelings you're hiding. you'll have to acknowledge them at some point. escapism and forcing ignorance wont help forever. hopefully it'll be sooner than later, but that's your choice. it's okay to be soft, btw.

🐕 pile three,,

I know what I'm talking about. I'm serious. I wish people would take me more seriously. i get good grades, I study hard, I always prove how smart I am. for some reason, people still act like I'm too young and stupid to have opinions or that what I say is just silly, especially with emotions. they act like having emotions makes you a less rational person. some people look down on me for who I am, too. it's not something I can change. whether it's gender, age, or whatever, people always want an excuse to ignore how I feel or what I have to say. I know I'm right though. I don't want us to stop expressing ourselves. I wanna share how I feel to the world.

this pile is extremely opinionated and knows how to share their emotions. this pile is for the "bossy" kids who "should have been lawyers" or "a CEO" according to every adult around them. you were emotional as a child and it was always ignored or joked off as if your feelings were invalid. this pile is definitely natural-born leaders so if you aren't/never have been aspiration-driven or "extra" this pile probably isn't yours. the most healing thing you can do for yourself at this point is speak up. continue to speak about everything. share your opinion more, it's safe now and people will actually take you seriously. be emotional, be too much, be annoying, be talkative, be over-opinionated, be everything you feel like being and don't let anyone talk you out of it. lead your life how you want to. call everything out, even if it means being weird. I definitely feel like some people in this pile had the gifted kid experience or liked to read a lot when they were younger. there's also some unresolved anger that might need to be taken care of. I think speaking up more instead of bottling feelings up will definitely help that, though. you're not stupid or weak for being emotional. just be yourself unapologetically and that's the best thing you can do for your younger self.

[pandorascripts]

Familiar By Thy Side pt 2

super excited to share part two with all of you!! sorry it’s been a bit since I updated, my school clubs are starting up and I’ve been figuring out all my stuff as I go.

relationships: (drumroll) Agathario/Reader!

lots of yall said it should be agathario/reader, so I’m delivering! thank you for all the feedback :)

warnings: uhhh, I don’t think there’s any, but who knows.

The next time you’re able to remember current events, you’re laid down on a dock, in nothing but your wet undergarments. With a loud gasp, you shoot up, chest rapidly rising and falling. Everything is overwhelming, the noise of the lake, the splashing and laughter, the bristle of trees’ leaves, the creaking of the dock — it’s too much, everything is too much. You can’t recognize anything, your whereabouts completely unknown as the cold sinks into your achy bones and shaky fingers. 

Finally, you see someone just barely familiar. Nicholas, laughing and splashing his Mother just twenty feet off to your side in the shallow waters. With a hard breath, you look around and try to focus on regaining your senses. Previously dirty skin is shining clean again, your hands brushing over it in confusion. Agatha had bathed you? The thought of being unconscious and vulnerable makes your spine shiver, gaze hardening at Agatha. The moment you fully look at her, really recognize her, you have such a hard time hating her. The smile plastered on her raw face, laughter so hard she’s forced to wheeze and turn her back from her boy, she looks human to you for the first time in, well, however long you’ve been with them. 

Nicky is the first to notice you, his smile still wide as he waves to you. Agatha snaps her head to your direction, icy blue eyes running along your posture for a good read. There’s a subconscious relent in Agatha when she realizes how scared you are right now. There’s so much familiarity in that showcase of fear for her, that she’s slightly taken aback by the memories of nights when she was younger and afraid. A low growl dies down into a clearing of her throat, Agatha turning away. 

“Nicholas, you’ll get frozen if we’re here any longer,” she states, but Nicky knows it’s a demand. 

He pouts but doesn’t argue with his mom, waddling out of the water that Agatha easily cruises through. Her outfit matches yours — nothing but undergarments, and it’s clear that they had been playing in the water for quite some time. A weird thought festers in your mind, happy that despite being apathetic to everything, Agatha knows that her son is but a boy and deserves to have fun. 

By the time Agatha and Nicholas are fully dressed in their slightly damp clothes — ones you haven’t seen before, so you realize they must’ve been stolen during your lights-out phase — the embarrassment settles in. You feel even more vulnerable now, the only one absolutely indecent enough for viewing. Agatha lets Nicholas head back to their makeshift camp just some odd feet out, her journey steering to open a medium-sized leather pouch, and take out some clothes. Silently, Agatha walks down the doc to toss them in your lap. 

“What did you do to me?” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, more so questioning how she managed to subdue you so easily. 

“Bathed you. Nothing more nothing less.” 

The sharpness of her tone makes you realize she believes you to be questioning something else, a small flinch on your face. 

“Not that, that I understand well. The time I was awake, we were fighting, and then…” 

“Then I came to the smart conclusion you were too shambled to make such a journey and made it so you did not kill Nicky, nor I,” she answers, still on the defensive. 

You don’t argue back with her. Neither do you even try to dry off with anything, immediately trying to put on your clothes. 

“Wait.”

You stop at her words, convinced it was her magick rather than your obedience. “What?” 

Agatha walks off the dock, leaving you confused on whether or not you should continue. She turns her back to you again a couple seconds later, heading down the platform before tossing you a damp rag. 

“To dry. These clothes will be yours next few days, nothing wet against your skin will be comfortable enough for our journey. We leave tonight again.” 

You wet your lips, holding the rag before looking up at Agatha. Seeing her this close, it’s no wonder she was able to lure in many with a beguiling feeling of comfort. Agatha is motherly in many of her actions, even when she’s killing witches, surprisingly enough. Motherly or not completely monstrously, you’re not sure. 

“Thank you, Agatha,” you say softly, her name foreign on your tongue. 

“Make haste, the sun will set in a few hours time.” 

A simple nod from you has Agatha walking over to her son, your hands working to dry off your body with the rag. It’s slightly rugged, a little ripped and the edges are frayed. Although, you can’t be too picky, you suppose. Agatha almost gave you nothing. You’re not sure why she didn’t, why she let you dry off. It truly wouldn’t have been that uncomfortable for you, walking all that distance would’ve heated your body up and in turn the clothes would’ve probably helped cool you down. You turn around on the dock to run the rag over your chest, Agatha’s mean eyes running along your back. 

In her own mind, Agatha is beating herself up over giving you that rag. Why did she care if you were comfortable? If anything, Agatha only wants you to be uncomfortable around her, to be scared around her. It’s much easier that way, for you to be terrorized into obedience. She’s not sure, but maybe after being in your mind during the week in Salem she saw one too many correlations between you and Her. Agatha clenches her jaw, refusing to believe that after six years clean she’s genuinely letting herself feel the things she long ago buried about Rio. The name sends shivers down her spine, eyes running to find her boy. He’s nestled against a tree, fixing his hair into a braid. The facial expression she finds on him is way too similar to Rio’s mouth open in concentration, nose tilted up. Agatha comes to the realization that she can never get away from the sound of the woman that loves her, and it haunts her. Rio’s voice in the mornings, her small touch throughout the day, the sweet laugh she let out at Agatha’s off-colored jokes, everything that was and is Rio stays within Agatha. Her eyes fall down to her hands, balling them up tightly before she lets go of them with a sigh. 

You walk down the dock, fully dressed and mainly dry. Wet against your neck is your hair, but you simply scrunch it up and keep it behind your shoulders. Agatha is moving Nicky up, sitting behind him as she starts softly speaking to him and doing his hair for him. The braid wasn’t the best, so Agatha simply undoes it and starts over. He doesn’t seme to mind, lost in the conversation as he drags a stick through the dirt to spell out his name. The scene is a little too vulnerable and familial for you to want to engage in, even if you’re more calm than when you first woke. There’s some slight gratitude you feel for Agatha, considering that she didn’t completely undress you when bathing you. Despite the slight awkward dampness of the materials against your skin, it’s something to be thankful for. 

You’re too caught up in trying to figure out everything that happened — stubbornly refusing to ask Agatha — that you don’t notice her sit next to you. Of course, there’s still a couple feet of distance from the two of you, but you’re unsure why she wouldn’t sit by Nicholas. Until you realize he’s not here. 

“Where is the boy?” you ask, your body more unsettled without him. This makes no sense, and you know it, but you swear Agatha is almost human around him. Despite that she’s killed in front of the boy, openly explained that she kills witches to him, and still speaks down to you around him, it just feels safer when he’s around. 

“Off to harvest some berries past that brush,” she replies, and you’re almost surprised she actually does. 

You just stay quiet, a slight nod of your head as your eyes lock on the fire. 

“Salem was just fine, in case you were wondering,” mumbles Agatha, sniffling after as if to cover up everything she just said. 

“Have they still been killling witches?” 

There’s a small laugh from Agatha, her head shaking slightly. “Oh, please, we were much too clever to be killed during then. Those women were married to the worst of the worst, and killed simply so their husband could marry younger or justify his continuous infidelity.” 

“We?” you ask, head turning to stare at Agatha. You weren’t aware that she was living in Salem during those times, but then again, you’re not sure how old Agatha actually is. “Yes, we. Womanhood came to me after spending my youth in that town. I left soon after.” Agatha’s tone at the end, her licking her lips and turning her head too, tells you that there’s something there — a story, no doubt, but you don’t question. 

“Must have been quite fearful, I’d imagine.” 

“They couldn’t catch us, dear, only a few were ever caught.” 

The fire is crackling, your hands reaching out to warm up over the flames. Agatha watches, the way your hair falls off your shoulder and over, her eyes running along your clothes. You’re maybe in your early twenties, or older - it’s hard to tell with witches. Her body is way to relaxed with you so near, but she doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because she’s sure you’re magic isn’t as strong or because she’s sure you’re not skilled at all. Either way, Agatha doesn’t like it. 

You don’t react to the word “dear” slipping from her mouth, certain its’ just another way to degrade you and poke fun. It doesn’t bother you. You don’t let it. 

“Man has never been smart, have they?’ you chuckle out, flashing her a small smile. 

Agatha responds with a shake of her head, pursing her lips. “Not much, no.” 

Silence absorbs the both of you for a couple minutes, up until Nicholas stumbles through the brush. He’s brushing off some burs with a distasteful look. 

“They’re so sharp,” he mumbles, very displeased with his clothes being covered in spikey balls. There’s a small smile from you, your hand lifting up to drop down. Just as the action is completed, all the burs fall from his clothes, his head snapping up to look at his mother. 

“Thank you, mama.” “Don’t look at me, boy, that had nothing to do with me,” she chuckles slightly. “Would’ve been quite entertaining watching you flounder about a bit longer.” 

Nicholas laughs slightly at his mom’s teasing, his eyes turning to you. “You then? Thank you.” 

Turning back to the fire, you remain quiet as Agatha and her son converse together, the sun starting to fall. You still aren’t clear how long had passed since you last remember anything, but you’re too nervous to talk. Wringing out your hands, glaring at the fire only to occasionally look at the duo before you, you can’t find a good enough time to interject. 

There’s a small huff from Agatha, her annoyed look turning to face you. “You’re loud.” 

“Excuse me?” you ask out, a little bewildered at her statement.

“Your mind that is, you’re insufferable. What is it you need?”

Closing your gaping mouth, you blink a bunch before relenting. “How long was I — how long did you have control over me?” 

Agatha wets her lips, turning back to the fire. “Maybe around eight days, including a portion of today.” 

Eight days. It had been eight whole days. You swallow thickly, looking down to stare at the dirt below. She had been in your mind, controlling you, full access to everything for eight whole days. You feel perturbed at this information, wetting your lips down as you struggle to come to terms with that. What had she done in there? What had she seen? What had she messed up? What had she learned? It feels like a violation to you, your head turned away from her. 

Apathetic to your discomfort, Agatha goes back to talking with Nicky about his day and what he found in the forest. 

The next few days are spent silently for you, simply walking alongside Agatha. You wish you could’ve been behind her, away from her, but she insisted you go next to her to negate any chance of betrayal from you. Far too tired to argue and far too worried she’d overwhelm your mind again, you just gave in. During this journey, you didn’t car to ask her where you all were going, you just walked. And walked. And walked. 

The group of you walked for days until reaching a newly-named settlement called Philadelphia, which had started booming since being labeled. Weirdly enough, Agatha was able to swindle an older man into letting the three of you crash, despite having no way of paying him back and being covered in grime. You watched the way she did it, hand on his bicep, straightening out his lapels, and showering him with praise. Alongside sickening you, you were intrigued. Agatha was a sight to behold, you were well aware of her beauty, but you and Nicholas being included on the deal? He was but a boy, and you weren’t ever the most attractive in your eyes, so how is it that he let all of you stay? 

Being rushed into his home by Agatha’s hand on your back made you forget your questions, slugging into the room he offered and laying down on a couch in the corner. There were two beds, one for Nicholas and one for Agatha, so you assumed you’d be cramped up here for however long the stay lasted. 

You were partially right. Agatha dumped her small amount of belongings onto the second bed, sorted them out into things that needed washing and things that were clean, doing the same with her sons too. Nicky sat on the first bed, shoes neatly tucked below as he took off his coat and fixed the collar of his shirt. 

Agatha grouped up all of the clothes, put them into a bag, and handed Nicky two coins and the pouch. “Round down to the market, Nicky. Find a woman willing to launder our clothes and pay her well for her troubles.” 

He gave his mom a look, a little shocked he was allowed to go out on his own, but he nodded his head and listened. Just as he slid off the bed, Agatha held his shoulder and leaned down to kiss his forehead. “Be quick, be kind, and use any extra to get yourself something you like.” 

Nicholas smiled widely at his mom, nodding his head before sprinting out when he was dismissed. Agatha started to fold the cleaner clothes, nestling them in the dresser nicely. 

“How did you manage to convince that man?” you ask softly, sitting up on the couch. 

Agatha turns her head to look at you, fixing her hair by tucking it just under her ear. “I’m persuasive.” 

“There was more than that, d’you’re magick permit you to do so?” 

Her lips are pursed as you push further, a small sneer on her face. “It is nothing of your concern, be grateful you’ve a placed to rest that isn’t dirt, girl.” 

Agatha is cruel in her words, so you settle for questioning when she’s in a much better mood. Your questions are only making her feel more at odds with herself, hating the way those powers only work on men. After all, Agatha would much rather have her succubus powers sway women, at least there could be something more she could get out of it. Now she’s to deal with this man trying to hit on her, much more disturbing when she’s with her young boy, but Agatha won’t risk disturbing her magick at work. The last thing she needs is this man kicking them out, or far worse, claiming witch because he was rejected by her. 

Nicky comes back twenty minutes later, hands full with two trinkets, and a wide grin. His eyes are sparkling as he runs up to Agatha. 

“Mama, this nice lady just minutes out from here gave me these — free of charge, she said!” he laughs out, setting them on the bed which previously held clothes.

“Nicky, get them off the bed. Lord knows where they’ve been.” Agatha directs the boy with her hands, moving him out of the way as she does it herself. Whilst holding the items, her face pales and she glares. “Who gave you these, boy?” 

“A woman, Mama, a kind lady.” 

“A kind lady she is not, not if she tried her hardest. Nicky, you stay inside, no matter what.” 

You watch Agatha, seeing her truly unsettled for the first time. The items as you look at them, are slightly odd, but nothing to signify anything perilous. One is a small painting of a flower, some sort of dipladenia if you can remember correctly. The other is a small, festive skull, something from the Spaniards’ holiday Día de los Difuntos, you reckon. There’s no reason Agatha should be this uptight over a simple gift from a townswoman. 

Still, you keep quiet as you fon’t want to upset her any more. Nicholas is slightly distraught, watching his mother behave like this. She looks over at you. 

“Watch the boy and stay here.” 

With that, Agatha turns on her heel, coat lagging behind in her twirl, and slams the bedroom door behind herself. Nicky sits on the bed, his hands playing with the sheets as looks at the items Agatha threw down. The painting of the flower is in his hands, fingertips running over the medium used. There’s a hint of pity you feel for the boy, a small forwn on her your face as you move to sit next to him. The bed creaks. 

“D’you know what flower that is?” you quietly query. He shakes his head. “It’s a diplandenia. A Rio Diplandenia. They take almost no care from others and thrive, very low maintenance from it’s maintainers. Beautiful, no?” 

Nicky nods his head, looking up at you. His eyes are a little glossy. “A Rio?” 

“Yes, boy, a Rio.” 

For some reason, that brings a smile to his face. You’re not sure why, but you just smile back and watch him, your hand moving some of his hair behind his ear. “Whatever reason your mother has for acting like this, I’m sure it will be alright in the end. No need to fret over her antics.” 

Nicky nods his head. “I’m not worried, I know what’s to come.” “Oh, do you now? Forgive me for not taking you as divination warlock,” you laugh slightly, bumping his shoulder. 

Nicholas shakes his head, rolling his eyes at you. “No, no, not like that. I’ve just — I’ve got an ease within me. I know I’m okay, that I will be. I just worry for Mama.” 

“Your mother is quite the strong witch, boy, she will be fine as well as you will.” 

Nicholas looks like he’s on the brink of saying something, but his mother comes through the door, two bags full of what you assume are stolen travel items. 

“Nicholas, these bags, now.” 

Nikcy runs over to his mom, grabbing them and checking their fastenings. You kick his shoes out from under the bed, sliding them over to him. With your back turned to the group, you grab the painting of the flower and slip it under your clothes with the intent to give it to Nicky later. 

In just ten minutes you’re out the door, your eyes just barely catching sight of a gray hand behind a corner wall. You swallow loudly, but remain vocally silent. 

You’re not sure how many days pass when you’re thinking clearly again, too caught up in wondering why Agatha was so uptight to even care. The knowledge that Agatha has full access to your thoughts doesn’t hit you until after all your hard thinking. Agatha hasn’t said anything about it, so you assumed she either blocked you out or was too focused on moving to care. 

[buddhistmusings]

I'll just address you directly here - because I think maybe you think you are doing the right thing. Let's talk about what you've said and why it isn't very productive, reflects bias, and promotes the continuation of conflict.

First, you have reified the character of certain nations. This is really a dangerous thing to do - in no small part because it is foundational to ideologies which are hyper nationalist, and because it assigns qualities to something which fundamentally cannot possess qualities, because nations don't exist as actual things in the world. You say people should hate (interesting word choice here) on Israel - but what even is Israel conceptually? It's irrational to hate in general, but especially irrational to hate a nation. What we can, and should oppose, is certain kinds of actions taken by governments and their leaders. Governments can change, actions can change, your opposition to these things is far more meaningful than your opposition to a nation itself.

Second, you have applied an inconsistent standard about whether or not your disdain for these nations, based on traits you have assigned them in your reification process, can be applied to people in that nation. You acknowledge that Israelis are not Israel itself (which you already said you hate). Later, in your response to this person, you bring up his nationality against him. Using somebody's nationality in this way is prejudiced, and promotes the kind of thinking that furthers violence - even if you yourself did not say anything violent.

Third, you are basing your opposition to Israel itself on the idea that has broken international law. I agree - there have been violations of international law in this conflict, but part of what makes conflicts like these so disgusting is that these violations happen pretty uniformly among participants. I don't think that you would say that violations committed by Palestinian actors contribute to the character of Palestine. Why, then, do you suggest Netanyahu's actions, as well as wider aspects of the Israeli government, contribute to the character of Israel as a nation?

Fourth, this kind of rhetoric does not solve the problem, it makes it worse. If you are speaking from a place of hatred, you cannot achieve peace. Peace through violence, in word or deed, is not a real or acceptable form of peace.

You and I probably agree on a lot - the point of this post though is the danger of alienating Israeli people from the peace process. This alienation deepens the conflict and it's harms, so it's important that we at least try to use rhetoric that does not do this.

One difficult thing about having conversations with the Hamas stans is that they work so hard to actively alienate, denigrate, and demean Israeli people (through their antisemitism), who are in the position to most meaningfully impact the situation. Like... the peace activism done by unapologetically pro-Jewish activists in Israel, who want the release of hostages, and a ceasefire, is genuinely inspiring.

This is the demographic who may be most capable of changing the situation for the better. We want peace, we need it. They want it too.

Picking sides, cheering on your team, isn't how we get it.

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Spooky Call.

Spencer Reid x Hotchner!reader

Summary: When your boyfriend gets a call from you, the last thing he expects to hear is that you're being held at a police station for decorating your house.

Words: 2,2k.

TW: fem!reader. mention of haley's death, jack, crime, murder, blood (fake). implication that the reader is wearing jeans and a t-shirt (not very descriptive). reader is hotch's sister. established relationship. spencer being the standard. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This was the last fic of my october special, but I had problems and never posted it, so I had to change the plot a bit and here it is.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

You’ve always hated asking for help. It wasn’t just a matter of pride—it was the belief that you could, and should, handle everything yourself. Life, however, had a cruel way of reminding you that it didn’t always work like that. Everyone needs help sometimes. At least, that’s what people—well-meaning friends, family, even your boyfriend—kept telling you. We live in a society; there are people who love you; they’d want to help, they’d say. Blah, blah, blah. The sentiment was kind, sure, but it never stuck with you. Not really.

Today, though, maybe you should’ve listened.

All you wanted was to throw your nephew a belated Halloween party. It wasn’t like you were planning anything crazy. Just a few decorations, some music, and a bit of creativity—how hard could it be? Nothing about it seemed complicated or dangerous, not at first. You’d seen your brother overwhelmed trying to keep things normal for Jack, and you figured this was something you could handle on your own. Something small but meaningful.

Somehow, things got out of your control, and now you were sitting in your boyfriend's car in the police station parking lot trying to organize your thoughts to explain to him how you had ended up arrested in the first place.

“This has a perfectly reasonable and not at all criminal explanation. I swear.” You began to speak as you noticed by the watch on his wrist that three minutes of complete silence had already passed.

It had only been a year since you started dating officially, and there were still some things you were afraid Spencer would see, especially the things that got you in trouble for doing stupid things. You'd liked him for a long time, even before he realized you could be more than just his friend and his boss's sister. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin everything and make him run away in terror, even though that didn't sound very much like him or his values.

“This better be a good explanation,” Reid finally said, his voice calm but tinged with confusion. He placed the car keys down in the cupholder and turned to look at you fully. “Because right now, I’m struggling to understand how decorating your house could get you arrested.”

You squirmed in your seat, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter. “It’s…complicated,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. That was the only thing that kept repeating in your mind.

“I’m sure it is,” he finally said, his tone dry but still patient, his gaze never wavering.

You exhaled sharply, dragging your hands down your face. “Okay. So, I started with simple decorations—some cobwebs, pumpkins, and all the usual stuff. But it just…it wasn’t enough. I wanted to do something big. Something really cool.”

He raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

“So, I got this idea,” you said, hesitating. You could already feel the heat rising in your face. “I took a garbage bag, stuffed it with paper to make it look like a body, and then—” You paused, your voice dropping slightly. “Then I added some fake blood. A lot of fake blood.”

His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” you admitted, wincing. “But it looked amazing! For like…five minutes.” You gestured vaguely toward the dashboard, trying to find the words to defend yourself. “I might have spilled some of the fake blood on the lawn. And…it might’ve looked a little too real.”

Too real, extra real.

“A little?” Spencer asked, incredulous. “You mean realistic enough to make the neighbors call the cops?”

You winced, expecting him to think you were ridiculous—or worse, stupid. But then, to your surprise, his lips quirked into a soft laugh.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest when you saw the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah, maybe you didn't want him to think you were weird, but you didn't like being laughed at either.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though the hint of amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“You are absolutely laughing,” you huffed, your pout deepening. “It’s not funny, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath, finally managing to suppress his laughter—mostly. His hand reached out to tilt your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The warmth in his hazel eyes softened the sting of your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, though his lips still twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I really am, angel. But you have to admit, you went a little overboard with the ‘terrifying’ concept.”

And there it was, the kind of sweetness that had made you fall for him so hard. The kind you'd expect to receive without question after spending at least half an hour locked in a filthy cell.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Okay, maybe. But in my head, it wasn’t that bad,” you said weakly. “It just…went a little wrong.”

“A little?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising again. “You got arrested. You scared half the neighborhood into thinking they’d stumbled onto a crime scene.”

“At least it wasn’t illegal!” You shot back, crossing your arms defensively. “I didn’t actually hurt anyone. I just made a mess. With fake blood.”

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your hands, where smears of red clung stubbornly to your skin. His eyes flicked to your clothes—your jeans, your shirt, both stained with dried streaks of crimson. A slow grin spread across his face.

“It wasn’t illegal, but now you look like you walked off the set of a slasher movie,” he said, his voice filled with teasing affection. “Here—and here.” He gestured to a streak of red on your shoulder, then another on your cheek.

You were about to protest when he suddenly leaned in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin. Before you could say another word, his lips brushed softly against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that caught you off guard. You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Then, as if it had all been a slow, perfect dance, you melted into him. His lips were warm and tender, the kiss slow and sweet, like a quiet promise that everything, even in the chaos of your night, was going to be okay.

When he pulled back, your breath caught, your chest fluttering in that way only he could make you feel. His grin was wide, playful, but there was something else in his eyes—a depth, a tenderness that made your heart thud. You blinked up at him, still dazed from the warmth of his kiss.

“For the record,” he murmured, his voice soft, his lips still dangerously close to yours, “I never thought you were a criminal. Just a little…overly enthusiastic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, warm sound bubbling out of you. “Overly enthusiastic,” you echoed, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And messy,” he added, his eyes twinkling as they lingered on the fake blood smeared across your face.

“Don’t push your luck, Dr. Reid,” you warned, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound melting into the quiet of the car. He leaned in then, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise—quiet, tender, and full of unspoken reassurance. The warmth of his touch seeped into you, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the comfort of his presence.

As he pulled back, he studied you with that signature look—the one that always made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. His brow furrowed slightly, and you recognized that expression well: the one he wore when he was about to ask something important, when he wanted to understand you better. It was a look that never failed to make your heart flutter, even if it made you feel vulnerable.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his tone gentler now. “I get wanting to make the decorations amazing, but why was it so important? Why go all out to the point of, well…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his lips twitching again. “Fake crime scene levels of effort?”

You hesitated, his question hitting you like a wave. You knew the answer, but speaking it aloud felt heavier than you had anticipated. It was as though the words themselves had a weight you hadn’t been prepared to carry. You lowered your gaze, absently picking at the hem of your shirt as you fought to find the right words, your mind tangled in emotions that were hard to articulate.

Reid didn’t push, though. His silence was patient, waiting for you to open up at your own pace. It was one of the things you adored about him—the way he didn’t rush, didn’t demand. He just let you be, trusting you would share when you were ready.

Finally, you exhaled a shaky breath and met his eyes, the vulnerability in your voice clear as you spoke. “It’s not just about the decorations,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about Jack.”

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes softening with understanding but remaining focused as you continued.

“I just…” You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I want to be the perfect aunt for him, you know? Someone who makes things better, even if just for a little while. He’s been through so much—losing Hayley, seeing my brother juggle everything just to make sure Jack’s okay…” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your hands to steady yourself. “He’s only a kid. He deserves to feel happy and safe and…loved.”

Maybe that last word was too personal, and maybe your boyfriend noticed.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent offer of comfort. You took his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you enough to keep going.

“I know I can’t replace his mom, and I’d never try to,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought maybe, just maybe, if I did this party right—if I made it something really special—it could be a distraction. Something fun. Something he could look back on and smile about instead of just…” You trailed off, biting your lip as the words lodged in your throat.

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Instead of just remembering what he’s lost,” he finished for you, his voice soft and understanding.

You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah.”

The car was quiet for a moment, the weight of your confession settling between you. Then Spencer shifted closer, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray tear from your cheek. The tenderness in his touch made your chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said gently, his voice steady and sure. “You’re already doing more for him than you realize. Just by being there, by loving him the way you do…that’s what matters. Not decorations or parties or anything else.”

His words hit you squarely in the heart, and you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t want to mess it up and end up in a cell.”

Reid smiled softly, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw as he held your gaze. “You didn’t mess it up,” he said firmly. “Okay, maybe the decorations were a little unconventional,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “But your heart was in the right place. And Jack knows that. He loves you and thinks you’re wonderful, just like I do.”

You felt your breath catch at his words, the warmth in his eyes making your cheeks flush despite everything. “You’ve really become good at this, you know,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The whole comforting and making me blushing thing.”

He let out a soft chuckle, giving your cheek a gentle tap with his thumb before pulling back slightly. “I might have read eleven books to brush up on a few things and be better,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive.

You chuckled, the sound lifting the tension that had been pulling at your chest. “Eleven books? You really went all in on this, huh?”

His arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing you closer, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you grounding and reassuring. “When it’s you,” he said softly, “I’d go even further than that.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. A quiet thought lingered in your mind, one you hadn’t been able to put into words until now. “But…sometimes, don’t you think I’m weird?” you asked, the vulnerability creeping in despite yourself.

Please say no.

“Weird? No,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I think you’re perfect.” He paused for a moment, then added with a soft laugh, “And every day, I’m grateful you don’t think I’m weird either.”

You smiled, the knot in your chest loosening, the weight of uncertainty fading as his words settled in. “Guess we both can be a little weird then,” you said, the truth of it comforting you more than you expected.

He chuckled, the sound easy and light, as he pulled you a little closer, holding you in a way that spoke of quiet promises. “It’s perfect for me.”

[nhlclover]

AFTERGLOW RYAN LEONARD

pairing: fem!reader x ryan leonard

summary: a misunderstanding drives you to a island of isolation, making you question yours and ryan's relationship.

warnings: mentions of cheating/unfaithfulness, self-isolation, crying

wc: 2.34k

notes: based on 'afterglow' by taylor swift. i love me some angst with a happy ending😋

You hadn’t meant to see it. That’s what you told yourself over and over again. It wasn’t snooping. 

His phone had lit up beside you on the couch while Ryan was in the kitchen getting drinks. It was instinct, really — just a glance at the sudden brightness in your peripheral vision. But your eyes betrayed you, catching enough of the notification to make your chest tighten.

Brooke Last night was fun! Let’s do it again soon :)

The name hung in your mind, unfamiliar and somehow venomous. Brooke. Not a classmate he’d mentioned, not one of the guys’s girlfriends. You tried to shake it off, reminding yourself that Ryan was the most solid, trustworthy man you’d ever known, but curiosity — or was it paranoia? — itched beneath your skin.

You quickly stood, frantically gathering your belongings and shoving them into your bag. You called out to Ryan, telling him you weren’t feeling well and you were going to head back to your dorm. He’d rushed out of the kitchen, catching you just as you were shoving your feet in your boots. 

“A-are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine, just need some rest,” you reassured him, hoping he’d buy your flimsy excuse. The door was open and shut, with you on the other side before Ryan could ask another question. 

The spiral began as soon as you left his apartment. Every glance at your phone felt like a reminder of what you hadn’t asked, hadn’t confronted. You replayed every moment of your relationship in your mind, searching for signs you might have missed. Had he seemed distant? Had he started texting more? Was he pulling away from you?

It wasn’t deliberate at first — not entirely. You told yourself you just needed time to think, to calm down, to process. But each day stretched into the next, the unanswered texts piling up. Hey, is something wrong? turned into Did I do something? and finally Can we please talk? Your heart broke a little more with every message you ignored.

You stopped going to his games, too — a first since you’d started dating. You simply couldn’t bear the thought of sitting in the stands, watching him skate across the ice, wondering if Brooke was sitting somewhere else in the crowd. The thought of it all felt insurmountable. So you stayed home, your own guilt a quiet, gnawing threat.

Ryan’s friends noticed. Of course they did. You’d all become close since you and Ryan started dating, and the change in your behaviours and your absence from games was glaring. Practices were off — Ryan was missing passes, his shots lacked precision, and his usual easy laughter in the locker room was conspicuously absent.

Gabe had always been the observant one, the kind of guy who noticed when something was off long before anyone else caught on. So it didn’t surprise you when he showed up at the library one afternoon, a concerned look etched into his usually easygoing face.

He slid into the seat across from you, ignoring the pile of books and papers scattered in front of you. You tried to put on a smile, but it felt weak, forced.

“How’s it going?” he asked, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m fine,” you replied, the words coming out automatically. You were fine. You just needed to figure things out, that’s all. You forced yourself to focus on the open textbook in front of you, but Gabe wasn’t buying it.

Gabe leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “I know that’s not true,” he said bluntly. “And before you say anything, I’m not here to grill you or get in the middle of anything. But Ryan’s a mess.”

That got your attention. You looked up, heart thudding uncomfortably in your chest. “What do you mean?”

“He’s barely talking to anyone. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. And on the ice?” Gabe shook his head. “He’s not Ryan. He’s off—like, really off. It’s like his head’s not in the game at all.”

Guilt twisted in your stomach, sharp and unrelenting. “I didn’t mean for—” You stopped yourself, biting your lip. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Gabe said. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two. And it’s none of my business. But I do know Ryan’s not the kind of guy who lets just anything mess him up like this. He cares about you. A lot.”

You finally let out a shaky breath, trying to steady your emotions. “I found a message on his phone. From someone named Brooke.”

Gabe’s expression morphed into confusion. “Brooke?” he repeated, frowning. “Who the hell is that?”

You shook your head, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard him mention her. And the message... it felt... off. Like something was going on that I didn’t know about.”

Gabe’s brow furrowed as he processed your words. “But Ryan? I can’t see him doing that to you. He’s... he’s not like that. Trust me.”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” you whispered, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “I can’t just ignore it, Gabe.”

Gabe sat back, tapping his fingers on the table as he thought. “Look, I don’t have all the answers, but you need to talk to him. Maybe there’s a reason for all this. Maybe there’s something you don’t know. But shutting him out isn’t going to help either of you.”

You felt torn. You wanted to believe Gabe, to believe in Ryan and the love you shared. But part of you was terrified of confronting him, of facing the possibility that your fears were real.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Gabe studied you for a long moment before leaning forward again, his voice steady but insistent. “You can. You’re stronger than you think, and this — whatever it is — it’s eating both of you alive. Friendsgiving is at my place, Wednesday night. Ryan’s going to be there, and so are you. No excuses.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Gabe raised a hand to stop you. “I’m serious. You don’t even have to talk to him there if you’re not ready. But seeing each other in person? That’s the first step. Take it.”

The next evening, you found yourself hesitating on the porch of Gabe’s house, the soft hum of laughter and conversation drifting out through the windows. Your stomach churned with nerves as you clutched the bottles of wine you brought, the glass cool and grounding against your fingers. You hadn’t seen Ryan in weeks. You didn’t even know how to begin to bridge the chasm that had grown between you.

Before you could turn and flee, Gabe opened the door, grinning like he’d been waiting for you. “There she is! Get in here, we’re just getting started.”

The warmth of the house wrapped around you as you stepped inside, your heart pounding. The inside was warm and chaotic in the way only Friendsgiving could be — mismatched chairs pulled around a too-small table, dishes precariously balanced in a potluck array, laughter and voices overlapping in the candlelight.

You caught sight of Ryan the moment you stepped through the door, standing near the kitchen with a beer in hand. His eyes met yours briefly, widening in surprise. He looked tired — pale, shadows under his eyes, and his usual easy confidence replaced by something far more hesitant. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Jacob intercepted him, clapping a hand on his shoulder and pulling him into a conversation.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself hyper-aware of Ryan’s presence at the opposite end of the table. Occasionally, your eyes would meet, but neither of you spoke. He seemed quieter than usual, laughing at jokes that didn’t quite reach his eyes and pushing food around his plate more than eating it.

After dinner, you ushered everyone into the living room, volunteering to handle the dishes. Your offer was driven partly by a desire to help and partly by a need for a quiet moment to collect your thoughts. A few protested, but you insisted, retreating to the kitchen before anyone could argue further. The rhythmic sound of running water and clinking plates was soothing, a brief respite from the tension.

You didn’t hear Ryan approach at first. It wasn’t until his voice, quiet and hesitant, broke the silence that you turned.

“Need a hand?” Ryan’s voice was quiet, almost tentative.

You glanced over your shoulder. He was standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking at you like he was afraid you might tell him to leave. After a beat, you nodded. “Sure.”

Ryan stepped closer, rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt and taking his place beside you at the sink. For a while, neither of you spoke, the clink of dishes and the rush of water filling the silence. You stole glances at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the faint shadows under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed weighed down.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “I don’t know what I did, but… whatever it is, I’m sorry.” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “And I know I should know what I did wrong, but I’ve wracked my brain and I just don’t know what I did. But please tell me… let me fix whatever I did.”

You gripped the dishcloth tightly, the weight of his words sinking deep into your chest. Ryan had always been the kind of person to face things head-on, but hearing the crack in his voice—seeing the way his shoulders slumped like he’d been carrying the world—broke something inside you.

“It’s not your fault,” you said, your voice trembling. “I—God, I’ve been such a mess, Ryan. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I did was push you away.”

Ryan paused, setting the plate he was drying onto the counter. His eyes searched your face, a mix of confusion and hurt. “Protecting yourself from what?”

You swallowed hard, knowing there was no turning back now. “I saw a message. On your phone. From someone named Brooke. It said, ‘Last night was fun. Let’s do it again soon.’ And I — I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know who she was or what it meant, and instead of asking you, I let it get to me.”

Confusion flickered across his face, then realization. “Brooke?” he repeated. “That’s — God, that’s nothing. She’s my mom’s friend’s daughter. She just started at Boston College, and my mom asked me to show her around. That’s all it was, I swear.”

His words came out in a rush, like he needed you to understand, like he needed to erase every doubt that had built up in your mind. “We grabbed coffee, and I showed her some places on campus. That’s it. I didn’t think it was a big deal, so I didn’t mention it. I never meant for it to come across as something… more.”

Your throat tightened as his explanation sank in. “So… you’re not—”

“No,” Ryan said firmly, stepping closer. “I’m not cheating on you. I would never, ever do that to you.”

The weight you’d been carrying for weeks suddenly felt unbearable, tears springing to your eyes before you could stop them. “Ryan, I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I should’ve come to you. I should’ve trusted you. God, I’m so fucking stupid. I got inside my own head and I-I hurt you.”

“Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer. His hands found yours, damp from the soapy water. “You didn’t ruin anything. Yeah, it hurt, but I get it. I just wish you’d come to me instead of dealing with it on your own.”

“I was scared,” you admitted, tears spilling over. “Scared of losing you, scared of finding out I wasn’t enough.”

Ryan’s grip on your hands tightened, his thumbs brushing gently over your knuckles. His voice was steady, but there was an unmistakable softness in it, a warmth that wrapped around your heart. “You are enough,” he said firmly. “You’ve always been enough. You’re all I want. Nothing — no one — could ever change that.”

Tears streamed freely down your face now, but Ryan didn’t seem to care. He released one of your hands and reached up to gently wipe the tears away with his thumb. “I was so stupid,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I should have trusted you. I should have talked to you instead of running away.”

Ryan shook his head, a small, sad smile on his lips. “Hey, we all mess up. Relationships aren’t perfect. But we don’t have to let this break us. We’re going to be okay. I promise.”

You looked up at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your chest ache. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I know us,” he said simply. “I know what we have. And I know we can get through this, as long as we’re honest with each other. No more shutting each other out. Deal?”

You nodded, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Deal.”

Ryan let out a soft sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. “You scared me,” he admitted quietly. “When you pulled away like that, I thought… I thought I was losing you. And that terrified me.”

The idea that you’d made him feel even a fraction of the fear and doubt you’d been drowning in made your heartache. “You’ll never lose me,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears. “Not if I can help it. I’m sorry for putting you through this, for doubting you when you’ve never given me a reason to.”

Ryan smiled softly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “We’re okay,” he murmured against your skin. “We’ll be okay.”

For the first time in weeks, the tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by the comforting warmth of Ryan’s presence.