#of inadequacy and worthlessness

[grilledkatniss]

(Julie’s back! it’s kinda been a minute hasn’t it?) What was the last thing you cooked? Does life need to have a purpose or can you just live, purposeless? Why is it called a building if it’s already built?

I'm sorta back as well!!! The last thing I cooked was probably either oatmeal or thAT CHARCOALED BANANA BREAD that mind you was very yummy despite its exterior's extra crunchiness.

I sometimes wish we could just exist without reason but I've come to realize you sorta have to settle on a purpose to make living sustainable? Like not even natural resources are free. What's the point of living if you just exist to need what you can't afford to even want in the first place? Exist to be a hole in someone else's pockets cause it all comes back to money you are gonna wind up owing, and the people are gonna hold that debt over your head and look down on you, even when it's not necessarily a money issue. Like acts of kindness are not random and uninterested anymore, they're currency as well. And they'd say it's reciprocity that you owe, but to put someone in your debt by doing something "nice" for them or attending to their needs when they can't manage on their own and call it a favor, even when you haven't been asked to interfere at all, is actually so manipulative and nasty.. cause then they get to assume the higher person role and get offended and call you ungrateful. So as long as you manage to make your purpose out of something profitable, or make enough profits to sustain your purpose, you just feel like a burden and like your actual purpose in life is to be in the way of the the people you feel unfit to care about, cause them caring about you ends up being a problem for them.. and can you really have a purpose in life if just being alive is a matter of daily no-profit work and trying to make yourself less of a burden to society for just existing? Doesn't surviving yourself become your purpose? Giving yourself a reason to exist and being able to see it as a work in constant progress collective project, kinda makes every effort you make and every bit of work other people put in you feel like it's all an investment for something bigger than yourself. It just makes it more bearable. Cause it turns out that just you by your lonesome self with your empty hands is not enough to justify your existence, and if you can't justify the human needs that have to be met($) in order to be alive with the reason that it is with the intent and goal of being of service to something outside of yourself, then you don't deserve it. Can you tell I've been in my head a lil about this? ANYWAY.

It's called a building because no interactive work of art is ever finished. People are living in it and wearing it off, and adding to it and fixing and renovating constantly. This is me trying to make it make sense.

You got me a bit existential there lmao. Why does something like a man-made abstract concept and more often than not completely immaterial that is money™ have to dictate people's accessibility to the option of being alive as opposed to plainly surviving their imposed existence?

Been reading too much sociology bullshit for class. Let's talk instead about puppies' ear shapes and how they flop and bounce when they walk gkbcjnfh

[that-was-anticlimactic]

one of the worst feelings ever is wanting to write but your hands hurt too much or the words just don’t want to work so you just sit there staring at a half finished doc with tears in your eyes bc you want to write and you need to write but everything is telling you that you can’t

[drivemysoul]

it just hit me all at once how fucking low my self esteem is after my last relationship

[relto]

looked through some old drawings and fell over one of my old headworlds and the ocs in it...

[godblooded]

funfact : whenever I play final fantasy viii i won’t finish the first mission until i see seifer use firecross.

[catcatb0y]

I hate being in my brain. Get me out of here.

[david-watts]

I'm just so pissed that literally everything is my fault. oh it's my fault there are boxes in the hallway despite the three times I've told them to deal with their shit. oh it's my fault there's a draught even though I've pointed out the window leaks and there's a hole in the door. which doesn't latch because the damn thing broke. everything's my fault because that's convenient! why own up to the fact you're a human when you can blame the grandkid that's closest on hand and the one from your least favourite kid. the one that you said to his face wasn't worth much because he wasn't blonde

[luna-azzurra]

List of character flaws that can be prominent in villains

Rebellion: Strong opposition to authority figures and societal norms.

Manipulativeness: Tendency to exploit others for personal gain.

Cruelty: Enjoyment or indifference to causing suffering in others.

Narcissism: Excessive self-love and lack of empathy for others.

Arrogance: Overestimation of one's own abilities and importance.

Impulsiveness: Acting without considering consequences or long-term effects.

Deceitfulness: Habitual lying and deception to achieve goals.

Entitlement: Belief that one is inherently deserving of special treatment or privileges.

Distrust: Difficulty trusting others, often stemming from past betrayals or trauma.

Insecurity: Deep-seated feelings of inadequacy or worthlessness, leading to defensive or aggressive behavior.

Jealousy: Resentment towards others' successes or possessions.

Vengefulness: Desire for revenge against perceived wrongs or slights.

Machiavellianism: Willingness to manipulate and exploit others for personal gain.

Sadism: Deriving pleasure from inflicting pain or suffering on others.

Paranoia: Irrational suspicion and distrust of others' intentions.

Egocentrism: Difficulty seeing beyond one's own perspective and needs.

Addiction: Dependency on substances or behaviors that impair judgment and control.

Rage: Explosive outbursts of anger or violence.

Perfectionism: Setting unattainably high standards for oneself and others, leading to frustration and resentment.

Hubris: Excessive pride or self-confidence, often leading to downfall.

Sociopathy: Lack of empathy or remorse for one's actions, often accompanied by manipulative behavior.

Psychopathy: Antisocial behavior, lack of empathy, and disregard for social norms and moral standards.

Obsession: Fixation on a particular person, goal, or idea to the detriment of everything else.

Fearfulness: Paralyzing fear or anxiety that drives destructive behavior.

Isolation: Withdrawal from social interactions and relationships, leading to further detachment and hostility.

Codependency: Unhealthy reliance on others for validation and self-worth, often resulting in manipulative or controlling behavior.

Nihilism: Belief in the meaninglessness of existence, leading to a disregard for moral and ethical considerations.

Megalomania: Delusions of grandeur and a desire for unlimited power and control.

Impatience: Frustration with delays or obstacles, leading to rash decisions and reckless actions.

Self-destructiveness: Subconsciously sabotaging one's own success or well-being due to deep-seated issues or trauma.

[the-cosmic-cauldron]

Pick A Pile: What’s Hiding In Your Subconscious—Are You Ready To Find Out?

Hello, today we’re deep diving into your subconscious to explore what’s lurking in those deep waters. This is a collective reading, so not everything may resonate with you, but there is truth in it. Be prepared for blunt, honest, raw, and stripping truth. If you’re not ready for that, feel free to click away from this post.

However, if you’re interested in this pick-a-pile reading and find value in the way I explain things, please check out my paid services here, where you can receive a deeper, personalized reading directly channeled from your subconscious.

I hope you have a beautiful day. Stay present, stay conscious, and stay aware.

Pile 1

For this group of people, what lies hidden in your subconscious is a deep sense of chaos and instability. No matter how great things may seem on the surface, underneath it all is utter turmoil. In the coming months, you will see this play out unless you take control of your life.

You carry deep-seated fears that you refuse to confront. These fears create confusion, leaving you paralyzed and immobile. They eat away at your courage, fueling feelings of inadequacy that linger within you. You are not warm or inviting; instead, you are distant, cold, and often withdrawn, struggling to form deep emotional connections with others. You have built a stone-cold wall around yourself—one that needs to be broken down, yet you are afraid to do so. In fact, you may feel that no one nurtures you enough or offers you the emotional reciprocity you crave, making it difficult for you to give back in return.

Your mind is constantly overwhelmed with thoughts, ideas, and emotions. At times, they consume you, creating a cloud of mental fog. You have so much to say, yet you may struggle to articulate your words with precision. You often find yourself engaging in arguments, picking fights, or instigating debates, sometimes speaking in a way that comes off as harsh or negative. While your bluntness can occasionally be appreciated, more often than not, it leaves people feeling something they weren’t ready to face.

You have ambitions and desires, but your confidence is lacking. Fear holds you back, and self-doubt lingers in the shadows of your mind. You struggle with low self-esteem, often feeling like you don’t shine or that people don’t notice you. The attention you long for seems out of reach, and at times, you feel unattractive or inadequate—whether in your physical appearance or in your pursuit of your life’s goals. You wonder if you will ever truly fulfill your dreams.

Your past is filled with pain, betrayal, and trust issues. You have been stabbed in the back, humiliated, cast aside, and made to feel like an outcast for far too long. People have done things to you that you never wanted or deserved, and yet, you are still not over it. You hold grudges, still feeling the weight of past wounds. The pain is sharp, so instead of confronting it, you bury it deeper.

Even when you crave stability, groundedness, and financial prosperity, you feel held back. Your mindset is trapped in scarcity, making you feel as though you never have enough. You may even struggle with basic self-care, wondering how you could ever have the “glow-up” you desire. At your core, you feel destabilized. There is so much work to be done.

In the next few months, I challenge you to empower yourself. Face your fears, heal your wounds, and take control of your life. If you don’t, you risk falling deeper into chaos, isolation, conflicts, betrayals, and insecurity. The choice is yours. Will you rise, or will you remain stuck in the cycle?

Pile 2

Pile 2, you have a tendency to burn yourselves out. You don’t know when to stop—or maybe you can’t stop—because deep down, you feel inadequate. You push yourself harder and harder, believing that if you just do more, you’ll finally prove your worth. But the truth is, you already feel worthless, and no amount of effort will fill that void unless you address the root of it.

You have an incredibly sharp mind, with a keen eye for logic. You cut through to the truth with ease, and people seek you out because they believe you hold knowledge they don’t. You speak clearly and articulate your thoughts well, rarely stumbling over your words. Yet, despite your intelligence, you struggle to get along with others. Collaboration is difficult for you. Compromise is even harder. You resist admitting when you’re wrong, refusing to acknowledge that other people’s ideas can be just as effective—sometimes even better���than your own.

You want to be on top, but at what cost? Do you uplift others, or do you push them down in order to stay ahead? Are you willing to let other people’s ideas wither just because you believe yours should thrive? You are undeniably skilled, but your stubbornness holds you back. You resist learning lessons the easy way, preferring to do things on your own—even when guidance is available.

And are you truly an honest person? You may articulate yourself well and possess deep knowledge, but at times, you use that knowledge manipulatively. You withhold the truth, twist facts, or make others question their own reality. You are too smart for your own good, to the point where your intelligence becomes a tool for deception. You move through life strategically, but sometimes that strategy is nothing more than manipulation—blinding others to the truth they deserve to see.

You make decisions quickly because you rely on logic. But where are your emotions? Where is your warmth? Where is your intuition? You present yourself as confident and capable, someone who can take on life at any cost. Yet, despite this persona, you still struggle. No matter how hard you try, you always seem to end up disappointed—let down by people, abandoned, or kicked to the curb.

This cycle of disappointment has pushed you into hyper-independence. You don’t want to rely on anyone. You’d rather talk to the moon than to another human being because even the slightest vulnerability feels like a risk. You fear being played, used, or betrayed. But the truth is, you are vulnerable. You are struggling.

Not only do you struggle with stability, but you also struggle with prosperity. Every time you climb toward success, it feels like the ground beneath you crumbles. You are independent, but perhaps to a fault. You lack emotional groundedness, emotional intelligence, and emotional nourishment. You work hard—very hard—because you want to build a life where you can rely only on yourself. But is your hard work balanced? Or is it leading to pure exhaustion?

When you can’t be productive, do you feel worthless? Has your worth become entirely dependent on what you do rather than who you are?

In the next few months, I challenge you to tap into your emotions. Let them guide you. Use their power to transform your life. If you continue to ignore them, you will only repeat the same cycle of burnout, isolation, and emptiness. The choice is yours. Will you finally embrace balance, or will you keep running yourself into the ground?

Pile 3

For this group of people, I feel like you struggle with clarity. Most of the time, you’re indecisive, confused, or ruminating over the past, and there’s no shift in your mind. Your thoughts are stuck in the old, and though they need to move forward, you prevent that progress because of your confusion. Maybe you don’t speak up enough, silencing yourself in moments when you need to demand clarity. You back down from confrontation instead of confronting the changes that would allow you to get what you truly want.

It seems like you deeply care about romance and love. Perhaps someone special is on your mind—someone you genuinely want to bond with. You desire harmony with this person, craving emotional connection and nourishment. You long to merge emotionally with them, to hold your cup out, and have them do the same, filling each other’s cups to create an overflow, an abundance of love between the two of you. You are seeking romance, desiring it, and you crave someone who occupies your thoughts, igniting intense passion within you.

They stir feelings inside of you that are overwhelming, making you want to step out in bold, courageous ways that you’re not used to. This person makes you want to dress up, look good, smell good, and step into a room demanding attention. They make you feel artistic, creative, and abundant in ways you’ve never experienced. This person is catalyzing a major transformation within you. Old things in your life are dying off—things that no longer serve you, people who aren’t worth your energy, and habits that no longer hold value. You’re in the process of shedding your old self, those past versions of you, to embrace a new version that is more loving, confident, and radiant in every room you enter. You are becoming the queen or king, ruling your own life and letting all the old structures crumble around you. You watch with satisfaction as the past falls away, knowing that the transformation is complete.

However, this transformation has also put you in a position where others may struggle to be around you. You’re no longer quick to give; you’re not a charity. Even if someone holds out their hand, you refuse to give, because you realize that your priority is now yourself. Serving yourself is what’s most important, and you’re tired of being responsible for people and connections that no longer serve you. You’re no longer overly responsible for others; now, you are responsible for yourself.

A lot of changes are coming into your life, and they will happen fast. It feels like everything is shifting in ways you never imagined. New cycles are entering your life, and things are blossoming in ways you never anticipated. This can feel destabilizing, because the energy is so powerful and invigorating that it’s almost too much to handle. You may feel overwhelmed, attacked by this ferocious energy, but it ignites something within you that will forever change you.

Still, you are going through a deep grieving process. The past, although it is crumbling and losing its grip on you, is something you still grapple with. You carry wounds, trauma, and pain that don’t disappear overnight. You often reflect on them, and in moments of privacy, you might shed a tear for someone you’ve lost or for a past version of yourself. Certain names, places, or memories might trigger a reaction. The sadness remains deep within you, and the pain can still feel overwhelming at times. You need time to grieve, and others must understand that this sadness still resides within you.

However, you know there is a new path ahead. Despite the trembling, the tears, and the pull of the past, you are emerging from this process as an ignited flame, ready to face the world without fear. The illusions have shattered, and you are no longer bound by the past. You’ve broken free, and now, you’re ready to tackle everything that comes your way with a newfound strength. Who dares to stand in your way?

Pile 4

For this group of people, I see that some of you are feeling aimless. You don’t have concrete goals, and you’re not writing things down or observing your environment. Maybe you’re just being spontaneous right now, or maybe you’re simply drifting without direction. There’s no clear path you’re following—you’re just holding onto what you know, which is the past. And the past is only going to repeat itself if you don’t break free from it. So, are you ready for this next cycle to repeat, or do you want to break free from it?

In your subconscious, I see a lot of disharmony. You may have a difficult relationship with your immediate or extended family, or perhaps you’re struggling within your marriage, co-parenting dynamic, or a significant relationship. There’s a lot of tension and separation. It also seems like you were promised something beautiful—maybe by your parents, family, or even your own created family. Promises of happiness, fulfillment, and good times with loved ones, but these promises were never fulfilled. You may have been lied to or misled into thinking certain things would happen, but they never did. Now, you’re facing the harsh reality that you believed in an illusion, which has been shattered by the truth. There’s not enough closeness, not enough emotional harmony, and not everyone is on the same page. You may feel responsible for this lack of harmony and distance in your life, blaming yourself because you fell for that illusion.

It also seems like you’re coming to a place where you’re refusing to settle anymore. For a while, you allowed life to just be the way it was, not taking control or empowering yourself. You were simply coasting, walking aimlessly through life, stuck in stagnation. I can see this clearly. Things haven’t been exciting for you. Life has felt dull, and you’ve been playing a passive role because you didn’t know what else to do. You may have allowed external influences—your family, friends, or relationships—to dictate your life, which left you struggling to assert your true self.

But now, you’re realizing this. You’re coming to terms with the fact that you struggle with asserting yourself. You’re realizing how often you’ve fallen for illusions. You’re understanding that the passive role you’ve played has only led you down aimless roads, leaving you without direction or the ability to live the life you truly want. It seems like you’re frustrated with your energy levels, and you’re finally coming to grips with the passivity that’s shaped your life. This role, where others and external forces decided your path, is no longer serving you.

You’re now reflecting on the opportunities you’ve missed—those moments when you could have expressed yourself, pursued your passions, and acted with confidence and courage. It’s hard for you to face these missed opportunities, especially when you see others who seized them while you were idly waiting. This has impacted your confidence, and you’re struggling to muster the courage to go after new opportunities. I can sense that your confidence has been low for a long time, and your drive toward life has been weak. For a while, you’ve been taking the easy route, doing the bare minimum just to keep your head above water, but not truly nourishing your inner power.

Your soul wants more, but you’ve been weighed down by past experiences that have convinced you that you can’t do it, and you’ve started to believe that. You may have become dependent on someone who sold you an illusion, weakening you in the process. You gave them the power to strengthen their skills, but now they’re strong, and you’re left feeling weak. You’re looking around, wondering why this happened to you and what you did to deserve it.

But I’m telling you this: your life is about to change. Don’t let the past dictate your future. Stay with me—life is about to shift dramatically in the coming months. The fire is being lit in your eyes. Your awareness is deepening every day, and you’re no longer going to remain idle. You’re stepping into your power, embracing your creativity, and undergoing profound self-growth. You will experience a major transformation in the next few months that will destabilize the core of those wounds, the illusions, and the stagnation that have held you back.

You will shed the old, overcoming the past, and emerge as an independent, strong person, living in your own power. You’ll become the creator of your life, full of creativity and seeing things from a more mature perspective. This growth will enable you to guide others toward their own fulfillment, drawing on your own experiences to understand how people get to where they are. Not only will you become a guide, but you’ll undergo a significant transformation, gaining the independence to go after what you want with clarity and decisiveness. This shift will change your life completely.

🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠🐠

[fraugwinska]

If it’s okay, can you do Alastor x Reader where Alastor catches you relapsing after a fight with him? If it’s too much, you don’t have to do it. Just wanted some comfort for what I’m going through. You’re also a very good writer! Keep up the great work! xx

Hey anon - I hope you are doing well. I couldn't let this one sit too long in my inbox... Whatever you are going through: I hope this will help you with a bit of comfort. (I do hope I didn't misinterpret your ask...) I send you the biggest hug, my dearest! <3 TW:Self Harm,Depression,Angst - Minors DNI - 1.3k words

You were doing so well. So, so well.

Arguments with Alastor occurred from time to time, but you had done so well in not letting them become full-blown fights. His rationale and your restraint had always managed to hold the worst at bay and settle any troubles with a few deep breaths, calm words and a compromise. It was something you were hugely proud of, something you had never been able to do before, and with him - you finally seemed to manage.

But now, after a tirade of harsh words, hurtful remarks and slammed doors you are alone in your room, curled up in a bed that feels much too big and streaks of cold tears on your cheeks. Immediately after you stormed out Alastor's radio tower you regretted your tone, regretted what you said, the way you got irrationally upset and how you provoked him - just to hurt him. You were unfair, cruel even, and the worst part was you didn't mean a single thing you said in the heat of the argument. Of course, Alastor said some choice words to you too, nasty things said in cold calmness, but only in reaction to your emotionally charged onslaught. And it didn't change the fact that you had done him wrong, over a fucking triviality that spun out of control.

It doesn't change the fact that the feelings and thoughts you feared slowly return, thoughts of your inadequacy, your worthlessness, your shortcomings all coming back into your head in one big punch of guilt and insecurity. Spiraling, you feel yourself getting more and more tense, like a pressure cooker without a valve, ready to burst. Your chest hurts - no, everything hurts: Your chest, your arms, your head, your heart.

You had done so well.

But you are desperate, panicked - you've pushed the one person away that was able to ground you, the only one that could make you feel safe and strong enough to withstand this urge, this need to hurt, to release. You bury your nails in your thigh, but it is far from enough. He must hate you now, and could you blame him? No, no you couldn't, and you push yourself off the bed, almost frantic.

Release, release, release - where is it? The shame you hid when you first moved into the hotel, the valve you had used so often to momentarily drain yourself from this burdening pain, the tool you had to use because you weren't reborn in hell with the fortune of sharp talons.

The loose floorboard creaks under your erratic steps. Ah. There. Hidden under your feet, untouched for so long. You start to cry again as you kneel down, lifting the panel. You feel like a failure.

Sorry, I am so sorry, your head chants as you reach for it with trembling hands, please just let it be a little less, just a tiny, little...

"Darling..."

You freeze. His voice is quiet, tune- and toneless echoing from behind you. It sends a new shiver through your tense, quivering body. Your hand hovers over the small object but you can't move it away, eyes squeezed shut in defeat. Your brain races, thinking of anything to say but coming up empty.

"My sweetling, whatever you're looking for under there...", he continues slowly, softly, each step of his dressing shoes against the parquet resounding painfully loud in your ears. You're so mortified by him catching you in the act that the tight coil in you seems ready to snap. "...will not do you any good."

He halts when when he is next to you, kneeling down. You feel his shoulder brush your back as he lays a clawed hand on yours and gently pulls it away from the hole in the floor. Your shoulders begin to shake with ragged sobs and his tender touch on your cheek prompts you to tilt your head, face hot, and to look him into his eyes that seem both understanding and sad.

"Harming yourself will only make you hate yourself more than you regrettably already do."

You try to breathe, but fail miserably, choking on the air around you. How could you justify what you were about to do, how could you hurt him again like this, with this action, with this thoughts, after everything you both have worked for? You had done so well - Why didn't you have it more under control, like you should?

"I'm sorry, A-Alastor... I'm sorry, s-so sorry, please..."

He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, steady embrace. One hand comes up, stroking your hair in tender movements, shushing you quietly as he lets you sob into his shoulder. The longer he holds you the easier it gets to draw deep breathes, until you finally manage to draw in the air that your body lacked so much. With each rise and fall of your chest, you feel a tiny bit of the panic fade, as if his soothing static draws it out in humble waves, soft and soothing around and inside you.

"I know, darling...", Alastor murmurs, kissing the top of your head and tightening his hold, "It's all long forgiven already."

A shattered sigh escapes you. How could he do all this for you? Accept you, with all the flaws and mistakes and shortcomings? How can he forgive you with such gentle ease? And still care for you, despite and including it all, why? How?

"Please don't hate me..."

He only loosens his grip when you stop trembling, carefully taking your chin between his claws, prompting you to break the chain of self-degrading thoughts and silencing the whispers in your head as he locks his eyes on yours.

"I could never, darling, even if I tried. But you need to understand: You are fighting the most vicious and cruel enemy there is, my love.", his face is void of the smirk he often wore, the one he doesn't use to tease or ridicule, or mock, it's his serious smile. The one he wears when he's about to be blunt. "Yourself."

A sudden rush of fresh tears cloud your vision. He's right, you know he is - you have always been your own worst enemy. Never giving yourself a fighting chance, the help and care you didn't feel you deserve. It felt so tiring, hopeless, in these moments where you fell victim to your weakness and turned it all onto yourself.

"I'm... so weak."

"We all have our battles. And this happens to be one you exhausted yourself to win on your own. However...", he offers you a sweet smile, taking your hand, "...it's a battle you don't have to fight alone anymore."

He takes your face into one of his large hands - the warmth of his palm is soothing against the rawed skin of your cold cheek as you instinctively lean into it, chasing the gentleness of the touch. The smile he gives you is more serious than you've ever seen before, and he lifts his other hand, waving his fingers for a split second in the corner of your eyes - the loose floorboard squeaks as it magically sets itself back into its place and seals itself with the flooring, eliminating the option of taking it off again. Alastor sighs, tilting his head to recapture your gaze.

"Whatever angry words are exchanged and however vexed we might be with each other... please, my love, let me hold you together in my arms when you threaten to fall apart like this."

How long he held you in his arms that night, settled in your bed instead of his as you usually did - you didn't know. How many soothing touches he planted on your body – you didn't count. All that mattered were the soft kisses that he pressed on your cheeks, the way he held your hand, fingers entwined with yours, and the soothing words he repeated to you, over and over like a mantra.

"You are doing well, my love."

[anhedoniawrites]

A House In Nevada

(loosely based on A House In Nebraska by Mother Cain & this TikTok)

Summary: It had been five years since that house, and yet they are still plagued by what happened and what could have been—or maybe what still is.

Masterlist!

Teenage!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Season one!Spencer Reid x Female Reader Season ten!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Angst⏳ & Fluff 💌 Ending

Word count: 11.3K

Warnings: Timejumps, Humor, Explicit Language, Sexual Content, Emotional Struggles, Mental Health, Romance, Emotional Angst, Unresolved Love, Religious Themes, Sexuality, Purity Culture, Family Struggles, Feelings of Inadequacy/Worthlessness, Tenderness/Comforting Themes, Emotional Angst, Heartbreak, Grief/Loss, Depression, Abandonment, Anger, Guilt, Regret, Trust Issues, Betrayal, Alcohol Consumption, Relationship Drama, Emotional Vulnerability, Intimacy, Happy Ending.

1997, June

 As they lay together on the worn, dirty mattress, the threadbare cloth covers barely shielding their bare skin from the biting cold, their breath escaped in faint plumes of fog. The air was still, save for the quiet aftermath of their shared intimacy, their hearts beating in rhythm as they tried to catch their breath. Spencer lay on his side, his sharp features softened in the dim light, his hazel eyes studying her with quiet reverence.

(Y/N) stared up at the crumbling ceiling, lost in a maze of thoughts that seemed to drift aimlessly between everything and nothing. Her expression was serene, though a flicker of curiosity played on her lips. Spencer could have stayed like this forever, just watching her, memorizing the contours of her face, the way her hair fanned across the mattress like a halo. He was so captivated that he didn’t realize she had turned to look at him until her voice broke the silence.

He blinked, caught off guard, and quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, my love. What did you say?”

She didn’t seem bothered, her affection for him evident in the patient smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. Her pupils, wide and dark, gazed at him with a love so deep it made his chest ache.

“I said, can you imagine if we just had sex and there are rats in here?” (Y/N) repeated, her tone light and teasing, as though the absurdity of the thought amused her.

Spencer’s brows furrowed as he processed the question, and then the familiar spark of intellectual excitement lit up his face. “Well,” he began, propping himself up slightly on one elbow, “it’s actually quite probable. A house like this—abandoned, in a state of disrepair—is the perfect habitat for rats. They’re remarkably adaptable creatures, you know. The brown rat, Rattus norvegicus, for example, is known for its ability to thrive in urban and rural environments. They’re incredible climbers and swimmers, which means even if the house is difficult to access, they—”

“Spence,” she interrupted, a soft laugh escaping as she reached up to place a finger against his lips. “I was joking. I meant it’s kind of gross, not an invitation for a lecture on rat biology.”

His mouth closed, his cheeks flushing as he realized he had once again gotten carried away. “Right. Of course. Gross. I mean, they are gross, objectively speaking, but…” His voice trailed off, and a sheepish smile broke across his face.

She chuckled, her laughter warm and affectionate, and leaned up to press a soft, lingering peck to his lips. “Never change, genius,” she whispered as she pulled back, her forehead gently resting against his.

He relaxed into her embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk still lingering on his lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Who’s occupying your mind?” Elena’s teasing voice broke through the quiet, snapping her out of her daydream. She flinched, startled, before quickly turning toward her best friend. To hide her reaction, she lifted her coffee cup to her lips, taking a long sip and deliberately avoiding Elena’s knowing gaze.

“No one,” she replied, the words tumbling out far too quickly to be convincing.

Elena raised a brow, her smile widening with that playful, smug look she always got when she was sure she had hit the nail on the head. “No, you’re definitely thinking about him again,” she said, her voice teasing but laced with an undeniable knowing.

(Y/N) felt her face scrunch involuntarily, a mix of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. Of course, Elena was right. She was always right about these things, and yet admitting it out loud still felt like an impossible task.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said defensively, gripping her coffee cup a little tighter as though the action could somehow help her hold onto control. “It’s been five years since I went to that house.”

Elena leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she absentmindedly swirled her tea. “Five years, sure. And yet you still think about him all the time,” she quipped, her smile widening. “Don’t deny it—you still love him.”

The words hit like a physical blow. Her breath hitched, and her chest tightened painfully. The truth was suffocatingly close, hanging in the air between them, but she wasn’t ready to face it—not now, not ever. She scoffed, the sound sharper than she intended, a thin layer of defensiveness slipping over the raw feeling inside her. ���That’s not true.”

Elena’s smile softened, but the certainty never left her eyes. She took another sip of her tea, shaking her head gently as if she were humoring a child who couldn’t see what was plainly obvious. “You can say whatever you want, but I know you. You’ve never stopped loving him, and you probably never will.”

She felt the weight of those words sink deep, settling in her chest like an unshakeable truth. She looked away, her gaze falling to the steam rising from her coffee cup. She could feel Elena’s eyes on her, steady and patient, waiting for some sort of admission. But she couldn’t speak. Instead, she stayed silent, and in the stillness, her silence spoke volumes.

It had been five years since she’d last been to that house—since she’d last seen him. Five years that hadn’t dulled the ache, the quiet longing that still lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She hadn’t forgotten the way things felt there—the rush of memories, the pull of a love that had once felt like home. And no matter how hard she tried to move on, something inside her still ached to return, to walk back through that broken door.

But instead, she sat there, silent, pretending to be fine.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

1999, November

Walking the familiar route to their house, the late teenage couple wandered through the trees, overgrown bushes, and the sprawling farmland. The path was a quiet escape from the world, the sounds of nature surrounding them. But today, the conversation between them felt heavier than usual, a tension in the air that neither of them could shake. They walked side by side, their pace in sync, but the weight of the moment seemed to stretch out between them.

Spencer glanced over at her, watching the delicate bounce of her necklace as she walked. The sight of it, swaying gently with each step, brought an odd sense of calm to his racing thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet but carrying a vulnerability that he rarely showed.

“Do you think your father will ever accept me?” Spencer asked, his gaze drifting away from her face as if the question itself was too much to look at directly.

She didn’t answer immediately. She kept walking, her eyes trained ahead, but her lips pressed together in a way that meant she was thinking carefully. When she did speak, her words came with an air of practiced nonchalance, the way she always deflected difficult questions.

“A man who thinks that schizophrenia is caused by worshipping the devil?” Her voice was steady, but Spencer could hear the underlying pain in it. He knew it wasn’t just a rhetorical question; it was the painful truth that shaped her relationship with her father. Her father had always been a strict believer in God, attending church without fail and pushing his beliefs onto her and her mother. But that same faith had no room for understanding Spencer’s reality, especially the fact that his mother was struggling with schizophrenia. The two worlds couldn’t have been more different, and the divide between them felt insurmountable.

She sighed, her breath visible in the cool air. “He already thinks that I’ve had sex and I’m not his perfect little girl anymore.” There was a bitter edge to her words, something Spencer had heard before. She had told him how her father believed that every time a woman had sex out of wedlock, a part of her died. A petite mort, as Spencer had corrected her when they first discussed it, a small but cruel idea that made her relationship with her father even more strained.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his heart aching at the thought of her carrying that weight. He reached out, cupping her face gently in his hands. He felt the need to erase the hurt from her eyes, even if just for a moment.

“You are perfect to me,” he said softly, his thumbs brushing over her skin. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words lingered between them, a promise that, despite everything they couldn’t control, Spencer would always see her as she truly was. Perfect, flaws and all. The weight of the world lightened, just a little, as they stood there in the quiet of the countryside.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

“Spencer?” The soft, familiar voice of Diana, Spencer’s mother, broke through the haze of his thoughts. He had been sitting in the small, sterile room of the psychiatric ward where his mother stayed, his gaze fixed on the window, watching the cold, winter air swirl outside. The holiday decorations in the ward were bright and festive, but the cheerfulness did little to ease the weight pressing down on his chest. He had come to visit her during Christmas break, as he always did, returning to his hometown to spend time with her. But today, something felt off—distant, even though he was right there in the room with her.

“You’ve been looking out that window for the past ten minutes,” Diana’s voice came again, gentle yet full of concern. Spencer blinked, momentarily disoriented, before he turned his attention back to her. Her eyes were filled with the kind of tenderness that only a mother could offer, the kind that always made him feel safe, even in the most uncertain of times. Snapping back to reality, Spencer tried to brush it off, offering a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m alright, Mom,” he said, his voice steady, though it carried the faintest trace of exhaustion. He didn’t want to worry her, didn’t want to add to the weight of her already constant concerns about him. She carried enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the cracks in him, to see how tired he truly was.

But Diana didn’t miss the subtle tension in his posture or the way his eyes seemed distant, as if the weight of the world was pressing against him. She had always known when something was off, even if Spencer tried to hide it. She had raised him, after all—her perceptiveness was something that had been honed over years of navigating her own struggles.

“You are my perfect boy, Spencer,” Diana said softly, her voice laced with warmth and unwavering love. Her eyes locked onto his with a quiet intensity, as if she was trying to press the weight of her words into his heart. “Always remember that. No matter what happens, no matter what you’re feeling, you are my perfect boy.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the kind of truth only a mother could give. Spencer’s throat tightened, a lump forming as the rush of emotions he had been suppressing all day threatened to surface. His mother, despite everything she had been through, still saw him as perfect. It was a reminder, both comforting and painful, of the love that anchored him even when he didn’t feel worthy of it.

Spencer nodded slowly, his chest tight, and for a moment, he let himself believe it—let himself feel the warmth of his mother’s love, allowing it to wash over him. Even if he couldn’t always see the good in himself, she did. And for that moment, that was enough. 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

2000, December

“Spence?” (Y/N)’s voice echoed through the broken-down house, the sound bouncing off the peeling walls and creaking floorboards. The house, if it could even still be called that, had seen better days long before they had claimed it as their own. The paths leading to it were worn bare, the grass never daring to grow back after countless trips in and out. It was theirs in a way no one else could understand—crumbling, imperfect, but filled with memories that made it feel like home.

The familiar groan of the warped front door announced her arrival, but there was no response. Her heart gave a strange, uneasy flutter as she stepped inside and climbed the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath her weight. Reaching the second floor, she paused in the doorway of their bedroom. The dirty mattress lay on the floor as always, the cotton sheets doing little to mask the years of wear and stains.

But what caught her eye was the letter sitting atop it, her name scrawled in Spencer’s familiar handwriting. The sight sent a chill through her chest.

Lowering herself onto the mattress, she reached for the letter, her fingers trembling as she unfolded it. As her eyes scanned the words, a heaviness settled over her, the room suddenly feeling colder and emptier. It was Spencer’s words, and she already knew this letter would change everything.

My dear (Y/N),

This is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write, and I’m not sure where to begin. You’ve been my everything, (Y/N). My light when the world felt dark, my calm in the storm. Loving you has been the most incredible, life-altering experience I could ever hope for. Being with you has taught me things I never thought I’d learn—about trust, about vulnerability, about love. Not the kind of love that comes and goes, but the kind that stays, the kind that roots itself so deeply that no force on earth could ever truly uproot it.

You’ve always had this way of making me feel seen, of looking past all the things I try to hide, and loving me anyway. You made me feel like I could be more than I ever thought possible, just by being at my side. Your laugh—God, your laugh. I’ll never forget it. It’s the kind of sound that could soften the edges of the hardest day, the kind of thing that made me believe there was still good in the world, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

I want you to know something: you are unforgettable. You are the type of person who leaves a mark on everyone you meet, but the mark you’ve left on me feels permanent like it’s carved into my very being. You’ve taught me how to be brave, how to let myself feel things I was always too scared to feel. And I’ll never stop being grateful for that.

I don’t know if you’ll ever truly understand how deeply you’ve been loved. But I hope you feel it when you think of me. And I hope one day, you’ll forgive me for not being the person you needed me to be.

You are, and always will be, the greatest love of my life.

Forever yours, Spencer

(Y/N) broke the moment her eyes reached the end of the letter. The words blurred together as tears spilled down her cheeks, soaking the paper in her trembling hands. She cried as she read it, cried harder as the weight of its meaning sank in, cried until her chest ached and her breaths came in ragged gasps. The silence in the house, once a comforting backdrop to their life together, now felt suffocating, pressing in on her like a cruel reminder of what she had lost.

Sliding off the mattress, she curled into herself, clutching the letter as if holding it tightly could somehow bring him back. Her sobs echoed through the empty house, filling the space he had left behind. The walls, which had once witnessed laughter and whispered dreams, now bore witness to her heartbreak, to the shattering of everything they had built together.

Hours passed, but the ache only grew. She lay on the filthy mattress that had been their refuge, their sanctuary, but it felt hollow now, nothing more than a pile of fabric and springs in a house that wasn’t home anymore. Spencer had promised he’d never leave, and that promise had been her lifeline. But now he was gone, and with him, he had taken the pieces of her heart that she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back.

And that was what broke her.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2005

(Y/N) wandered aimlessly, her feet carrying her without thought or direction. The wind whispered through the trees, the sky above painted in soft hues of twilight. It wasn’t until she stopped, standing in the middle of a dirt road, that she realized where her walk had led her. Her heart sank as she recognized the familiar broken house in the distance, its silhouette stark against the fading light.

The house stood there, just as it had five years ago—weathered, battered, yet defiant. She stared at it, the memories flooding back uninvited. That house wasn’t just wood and nails; it was a monument to everything she’d shared, everything she’d lost. She didn’t even realize she had started walking toward it until her hand brushed against the old wooden fence.

“Hey, Bertha,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she tapped the doorway lightly. It was a habit Spencer had started, a silly gesture he’d done every time they came here, like greeting an old friend. Now it felt like a ghost of the life they once had, a bittersweet echo that made her chest tighten. The front door hung open, as if inviting her in, but the thought of stepping inside made her stomach churn.

Meanwhile, across the abandoned cornfields, Spencer approached the house he had avoided for years. The sight of it sent a pang of guilt through him. “Bertha,” he murmured softly, the name falling from his lips like an old prayer. “You look the same as always.” The wind rustled the cornstalks around him, but all he could hear was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He had spent so long convincing himself not to come back, and yet here he was, drawn to the house like it was calling him. Each step felt heavier than the last as he crossed the field, memories of laughter and love resurfacing with every inch closer.

Inside the house, (Y/N) wandered the familiar halls, running her fingers along the walls that once echoed with their shared whispers. Everything felt smaller now, the weight of time and grief pressing down on her. She paused by the window, looking out toward the fields, when movement caught her eye.

Her heart froze. Someone was walking toward the house.

She blinked, thinking her mind was playing tricks, but the figure grew clearer with every step. Her breath caught when she realized who it was. Spencer.

Anger flared in her chest, hot and overwhelming, overtaking the shock and sadness that had lingered for years. Without thinking, she stormed down the stairs, to the back door, the closest exit to the cornfields, her steps quick and purposeful. The broken screen door slammed behind her as she crossed the yard, her eyes locked on the man who had haunted her dreams and her nightmares for so long.

Spencer stopped in his tracks as the figure approached him, the fiery determination in her stride unmistakable. His chest tightened as he recognized her, her beauty still undeniable even as anger radiated from her like a storm.

“You’re not allowed here,” (Y/N) said, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and pain. Her lips quivered, betraying the tears she was fighting to hold back. “You made that decision when you left me.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his breath hitching as he took her in. She was more beautiful than he remembered, though time had etched a hardness into her expression he hadn’t seen before. “(Y/N)...” he breathed, his voice soft, full of longing.

Seeing her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once. He had thought about this moment a thousand times, but none of his imagined scenarios had prepared him for the reality of standing before her again.

“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know I have no right to be here.” He took a tentative step closer, his eyes searching hers for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything—but all he found was the raw wound he’d left behind.

(Y/N) shook her head, tears finally spilling over. “You don’t get to just show up here, Spencer. You don’t get to walk back into my life like nothing happened. You left. You left without a word, without an explanation, and you took everything with you.” Her voice cracked, the weight of five years’ worth of pain spilling out all at once.

“I know,” Spencer said again, his own voice breaking. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, but he knew he had forfeited that right. “I know I hurt you. I know I can’t fix this. But I—I had to see you. I had to come back.”

“Why?” she demanded, her voice sharp and desperate. “Why now? After all this time, why would you come back here, to our place, knowing what you did to me?”

Spencer looked down, his hands trembling at his sides. “Because this is the only place that ever felt like home,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “Because you’re the only person who ever felt like home. And I’m sorry—God, I’m so sorry for what I did to you. But I had to see you, even if it’s the last time.”

(Y/N) turned away, her shoulders shaking as she tried to compose herself. The words she had dreamed of hearing, the apology she had desperately wanted, had finally come. But the wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep.

“Spencer,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t know if I can forgive you.”

The silence between them stretched, heavy with unspoken words and shattered dreams. And yet, for a moment, they simply stood there, two broken souls in the shadow of the house that had once held all their love.

Spencer couldn’t help himself—his gaze was caught in a rhythm he couldn’t break, oscillating between the cross resting against her chest and her eyes. Her eyes, which held a depth of emotion he wasn’t sure he deserved to witness. The silence stretched between them, heavy yet familiar, like the comforting hum of a favorite song long since forgotten but never truly lost. It was a silence they had shared countless times before, but now it carried the weight of all that had been left unsaid.

She noticed, of course. She always noticed him. With a quiet sigh, she reached up and gently fiddled with the cross around her neck, a small, almost imperceptible movement that spoke volumes. The motion seemed to ground her, steadying her breath, easing her tumultuous emotions just enough to let the words come.

“He’s dead,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper but cutting through the silence like a sharp blade. “He passed two years ago.”

Spencer didn’t need her to say more. He knew who she meant. Of course, he did. Her father had been an unyielding presence in her life, a looming figure who had defined so much of who she was and who she fought to be. The news hit him like a sudden wind, unexpected and jarring, even after all this time.

He took a hesitant step forward, closing some of the distance between them, the broken-down fence still standing as a barrier between them. His eyes softened, filling with a sadness that wasn’t just for her loss but for all the ways he hadn’t been there to share the weight of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, before finally speaking.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity and regret.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Spencer wished he could say more, could offer something that might ease the ache he knew had settled in her heart long ago. But what could he say? I should have been here? I shouldn’t have left? I should have stayed to hold you through it all? None of it felt like enough, not now, not after all this time.

Her hand stilled on the cross, her fingers curling around it protectively, almost instinctively. She nodded once, acknowledging his apology, but the pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t enough. It never could be.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Hello, Diana,” (Y/N) greeted softly, stepping into the familiar, quiet room with a gentle smile. It was a ritual now, one that had been born out of a promise made long ago—a promise to Spencer during their teenage years, back when the world felt a little smaller and their love a little bigger. He had confided in (Y/N) about his fears, his guilt over leaving his mother alone, trapped in her own thoughts and memories. It was a promise (Y/N) never wavered from, even after everything had fallen apart between them.

Diana looked up from the worn pages of her diary, her face brightening with a smile that could only be described as maternal warmth. “Oh, my gorgeous,” she said, her voice full of affection. “Don’t you look lovely?”

“Thank you, Diana,” (Y/N) replied, her smile widening but tinged with a subtle sadness she couldn’t quite shake. Sitting down beside her, she glanced at the familiar handwriting scrawled across Diana’s open journal. The pang of guilt hit her like it always did—memories of Spencer, of the house, of the way she’d left things with him, still fresh in her mind despite the passage of time. She tucked those thoughts away for now, focusing instead on the woman in front of her. “How are you today?”

“Oh, I’m alright,” Diana said, her tone light, though her pen never stopped moving across the page. “Spencer is back in town.”

The words were delivered so casually, almost offhandedly, but they landed like a thunderclap in (Y/N)’s chest. Her breath hitched, and she froze mid-movement, her fingers curling tighter around the strap of her bag. Spencer. Back in town. The name alone was enough to set her world spinning, the memories rushing in before she had a chance to stop them. The broken-down house. The letter. His face when they had confronted each other just days ago.

“Oh?” she managed to say, keeping her voice as even as possible.

Diana looked up at her then, her expression soft and content, as if Spencer’s presence in town was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes, my boy’s home again. He always comes to see me when he can. Such a thoughtful son.”

“Of course,” (Y/N) murmured, her throat tightening as she forced a smile. She glanced at Diana’s diary again, the pages filled with fragments of a life she had once been so deeply entwined with. A life that now felt impossibly far away.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Your mother already has a visitor,” the nurse informed Spencer gently as he approached the front desk, her voice soft and professional. Spencer paused, surprised. It was rare for anyone to visit his mother; she wasn’t close to many people, and Spencer himself was usually the only one who came regularly.

“That’s not possible,” Spencer replied quietly, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t trying to challenge the nurse—more so, he was questioning himself. Who could it be?

The nurse glanced at her chart, her tone still sweet as she clarified. “A (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

Spencer’s breath caught, his body stiffening as the name hit him like a wave crashing over jagged rocks. Her. Memories of (Y/N) surged to the forefront of his mind: the house, the letter, the confrontation just the day before. Even after all these years, the mere mention of her name haunted him.

Seeing his reaction, the nurse hesitated before offering, “If it’s an issue, we can revoke her visitor privileges—”

“No,” Spencer interrupted, his voice soft but resolute. “You don’t have to do that.” The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble for (Y/N). But curiosity gnawed at him, refusing to let go. “How long has she been visiting my mother?” He already suspected the answer, but he needed to hear it.

The nurse rechecked her records, her answer landing with a weight that Spencer wasn’t entirely ready to bear. “Five years.”

“Five years,” Spencer echoed under his breath, the words heavy with guilt. She’s been visiting her for five years while I—

He cut off the thought, straightening slightly. “Can you take me to her?” he asked, his voice quieter now. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go—perhaps to see (Y/N) with his mother, to understand the depth of her loyalty. He didn’t intend to interfere, but the pull was undeniable.

The nurse led him down the familiar hallway to Diana’s room. From the doorframe, Spencer stopped, lingering awkwardly in the shadows. He stood there, his tall frame hunched slightly as he leaned against the threshold, watching.

Inside, (Y/N) sat beside Diana, their hand resting gently on hers as they spoke with warmth and care. Spencer could hear her voice, tender and soothing, as she asked Diana about her day, her writing, her dreams. It was the kind of care Spencer had promised himself he’d always provide—but (Y/N) had been the one to keep that promise, even when he hadn’t.

The sight made his chest tighten painfully. He watched her, her dedication shining brightly, as he stood rooted in place, grappling with the bittersweet reality before him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I didn’t think you’d still visit her,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying the weight of years unspoken as he saw (Y/N) leaving the psych ward. She had been engrossed in her thoughts, her keys jangling in her hand, when his words stopped her in her tracks.

“Unlike some people, I keep my promises,” she shot back, her tone sharper than she intended. Bitterness bubbled up from the place in her heart he had broken all those years ago. But underneath it, there was something else—something softer, yearning. She didn’t want to keep fighting, didn’t want to keep holding this grudge. What she really wanted was to fall into his arms and let his familiar scent wash over her, to be enveloped in the safety they once knew. Instead, she turned and began walking toward her car, forcing her feet to keep moving.

Spencer hesitated but followed, his steps careful, his presence lingering just close enough to be felt. “(Y/N)…” he said, her name falling from his lips like a plea. Hearing him say it again felt like a punch to the gut and a balm all at once—a bittersweet reminder of the life they had shared.

She froze for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, her voice trembling slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me why you left, Spence? Why didn’t you tell me yourself? If anything, I would’ve understood.” She turned to face him, the hurt she had carried for years spilling into her words. Her eyes, usually so bright, were now heavy with questions she had been waiting far too long to ask.

Spencer’s face fell, guilt settling in his features like a storm cloud. “I was young and dumb,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought… I thought that leaving you a letter would hurt less than having to look you in the eye and tell you I was leaving.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing down at the ground. “But I see now that it was cowardly. That it was wrong.”

“Spence…” (Y/N) said, her breath hitching as tears threatened to fall. She looked at him for a moment, the ache in her chest threatening to pull her apart, before shaking her head softly. “For someone with an IQ of 187, that was the dumbest decision of your life.”

She turned and began packing the trunk of her car, her hands busy to distract from the storm of emotions threatening to consume her. Spencer watched her, his heart pounding in his chest, wishing he could undo all the pain he had caused. All he wanted was to reach out, to hold her, to make things right—but he knew that forgiveness was not his to take. Not yet.

(Y/N) slammed the trunk shut with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the stillness of the lot. Spencer flinched at the noise, his heart sinking further into his chest. He hated the space between them, the invisible wall that felt insurmountable despite the years they had shared.

“Is there even a point to this conversation?” (Y/N) said, her voice cracking slightly despite her best effort to keep steady. She turned to face him, crossing her arms as if it could shield her from the vulnerability she felt under his gaze. “I mean, what’s the point, Spencer? You left. You decided I didn’t deserve the truth, and now you’re here like nothing happened.”

Spencer took a step closer, careful not to overstep the boundaries they had silently drawn. “It’s not like that,” he said earnestly, his voice shaking. “I—I don’t expect you to forgive me. I just…” He paused, running a hand through his hair as he searched for the words. “I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. For everything.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh, brushing a tear away angrily before it could streak down her cheek. “Sorry doesn’t fix anything, Spencer. Sorry doesn’t erase the fact that you left me with nothing but a letter, no answers, and no closure. Sorry doesn’t take away the years I spent wondering what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Spencer interrupted, his voice stronger now. He stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. “It wasn’t you. It was me. I left because I was scared, because I didn’t think I could be enough for you. You deserved someone better, someone who wouldn’t bring all their baggage into your life.”

(Y/N) shook her head, disbelief mingling with heartbreak in her expression. “You didn’t get to make that decision for me, Spencer. I loved you. I still—” She stopped herself, the words catching in her throat. Taking a step back, she turned away from him, staring at the car as if it could offer an escape from the storm of emotions.

Spencer hesitated, unsure if he should press further or give her the space she needed. “Do you really think I don’t know how badly I messed up?” he asked softly. “Every day, I regret leaving. Every single day, I think about you—about us—and wonder if I made the biggest mistake of my life. Seeing you here… it only confirms what I’ve always known: I’ll never stop loving you.”

(Y/N) turned away from Spencer, her chest tightening as she fought back tears. She couldn’t let him see the vulnerability in her eyes, not yet. Hugging herself, she took a shaky breath before speaking.

“Spencer,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need time. Time to process this. Time to figure out if I can trust you again.”

Spencer nodded, his hands clenched at his sides. “I understand,” he said softly. “Take all the time you need.”

(Y/N) glanced at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his briefly. “You hurt me. You left without telling me why, and now you’re saying the things I’ve wanted to hear for years. But I don’t know if I can believe them.”

“I’ll wait,” Spencer promised, his voice steady despite the crack in his heart. “As long as it takes.”

(Y/N) nodded, turning toward her car. Spencer stayed rooted in place, watching as she walked away, each step making his chest ache. All he could do now was hope she’d find a way back to him.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Elane didn’t even bother to knock before stepping into (Y/N)’s home, her face a mix of disbelief and urgency. “You went back to that house?” she asked, her voice laced with incredulity. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the texts (Y/N) had sent—Spencer was back, and apparently, he wanted to make things right after everything he had done.

(Y/N) sat on the edge of her couch, her elbows resting on her knees as she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know what to do, Elane,” she mumbled, her voice muffled and tinged with exhaustion.

Elane crossed her arms, her expression softening as she studied her best friend. She could see the storm of emotions brewing in (Y/N)’s chest—the confusion, the longing, the anger, and the vulnerability that came with someone reopening a wound that had never fully healed.

“You obviously have to take him back,” Elane said simply, as though the answer was glaringly obvious.

(Y/N)’s head shot up, her eyes wide with shock. “Take him back? Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Elane replied, unflinching. She knew exactly what (Y/N) was thinking. She had been there when Spencer left, when (Y/N) had crumbled under the weight of his absence. Elane had seen her at her worst—crying herself to sleep, replaying every moment of their relationship, searching for reasons in the silence he’d left behind. “Listen, Vi, I know how much he hurt you. Believe me, I know. I was the one holding you together when he walked away. But I also know that I haven’t seen you truly happy in a long time. As much as you hate to admit it, he makes you the happiest.”

(Y/N) clenched her jaw, her gaze dropping to the floor as she twisted her fingers in her lap. She hated how right Elane was. She hated how the mere mention of Spencer’s name stirred something in her chest that felt dangerously close to hope. Rising from the couch, she turned away, heading toward her wine cabinet. “I need a drink,” she muttered, reaching for a bottle of red wine.

Elane chuckled as she watched (Y/N) fumble with the cork. “Typical,” she teased, sinking into the couch. “Wine fixes everything, huh?”

(Y/N) flashed her a sarcastic smile as the cork finally popped free. “It certainly doesn’t hurt.” She poured them each a glass, handing one to Elane before sitting back down.

Hours later, the room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. The wine bottle sat empty on the coffee table, and the two women were slumped against the cushions, giggling uncontrollably.

“Okay, okay, but seriously,” Elane said, clutching her stomach as tears of laughter welled in her eyes. “I genuinely thought you only kissed him that night. And then you casually drop the bombshell that you went to that creepy abandoned house everyone thought was haunted to—” She broke off, unable to finish the sentence through her laughter.

“To have sex,” (Y/N) finished for her, rolling her eyes but grinning despite herself. She brought her glass to her lips, shaking her head at the memory. “What can I say? I was bold.”

“Bold? That’s putting it lightly!” Elane snorted. “You were reckless! But, honestly, I have to give you credit. That’s some next-level teenage rebellion.”

(Y/N) shrugged, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, I wasn’t the only one with game, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Vi, I know. You had all the game. I mean, haunted house hookups? That’s iconic.”

The two dissolved into another fit of laughter, their voices echoing through the quiet of the late-night hour. For a moment, the weight of Spencer and all the complicated emotions he carried with him was forgotten. It was just two best friends, a bottle of wine, and a shared history of mistakes, triumphs, and the kind of memories that made life feel a little lighter.

“But seriously, Vi—what are you so scared of?” Elane’s voice softened this time, the playful edge gone. She leaned forward, her glass cradled between her hands, and looked at her best friend with genuine concern. “You know I’ve got you, no matter what. Just talk to me.”

(Y/N) stared at the deep red swirl of wine in her glass, hesitating. Her fingers traced the rim as though the motion might distract her from the emotions bubbling to the surface. Finally, she sighed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared he’ll leave me again.” She swallowed hard, as if forcing the words out made them easier to bear. “I don’t think I could survive that pain a second time.”

Elane’s chest tightened at the vulnerability in (Y/N)’s tone. She shifted closer, placing her wineglass on the table so she could focus fully on her friend. “Vi,” she said gently, waiting until (Y/N) looked up at her. “Trust me, Spencer could live a hundred lifetimes and still never forgive himself for what he put you through.”

(Y/N)’s lips parted, but no words came. Elane pressed on, her voice steady yet full of warmth. “He’s not just some guy, okay? You landed the one man on this planet who is actually in touch with his emotions. He’s not just sorry—he’s hurting, Vi. Probably just as much as you were when he left. Maybe even more, because he’s carrying the guilt of knowing he caused it.”

(Y/N) blinked back tears, the weight of Elane’s words sinking in. Deep down, she knew Elane was right. Spencer wasn’t like other people. He felt everything so deeply—he always had. That was part of what drew her to him in the first place. And part of what made losing him so unbearable.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, her voice tinged with cautious hope.

Elane smiled, her signature confidence shining through as she reached out and placed a comforting hand over (Y/N)’s. “Of course I’m right. I’m always right.” Her tone was light, but her touch was steady, grounding. “Look, I can’t promise it’ll be easy, or that he won’t screw up again. But I know you, Vi. I’ve watched you fall apart and build yourself back up. And if anyone’s worth taking a chance on, it’s Spencer.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, her chest tightening with a mix of fear and possibility. She glanced at Elane’s hand covering hers and felt a flicker of reassurance. The knot of doubt inside her didn’t unravel completely, but it loosened just enough to let a sliver of hope shine through.

“Thanks, Elane,” she whispered, giving her friend a small, grateful smile.

“Always, babe,” Elane said, squeezing her hand. “Now, finish your wine. You’re not getting out of a second glass just because I got all deep and emotional.”

(Y/N) laughed, the sound light and cathartic. For the first time that night, she felt like maybe—just maybe—things might turn out okay.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been days—agonizing, sleepless days—of overthinking her decision without Elane’s steady presence to nudge her forward. Now, standing in front of Spencer’s childhood home, where he always stayed during his work holidays, (Y/N)’s mind was still at war with itself. Every instinct screamed for her to turn around and leave, to abandon the idea entirely. Her knuckles hovered near the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to knock. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat a reminder of how terrified she was.

Before she could gather the courage, the door creaked open, and there he was. Spencer stood in the doorway, looking like he was on his way out—keys in one hand, wallet in the other, his worn satchel slung over his shoulder. The sight of him made her breath hitch. He hadn’t changed much, but there was a softness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Oh… Viv,” he said, his voice gentle, as though her name was a fragile thing he was afraid to break. The sound of him calling her by that nickname—Viv—hit her like a freight train. He hadn’t called her that since before their relationship fell apart, before those nights spent sneaking off to the old house together, before everything unraveled.

Her lips parted, but no sound came. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how just standing here in front of him could undo all the walls she’d built. Spencer’s brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.

“No, not at all,” she lied, her voice shaky but determined to sound convincing. She toyed with the small cross necklace around her neck, her thumb rubbing against it in a nervous rhythm she couldn’t stop. But Spencer saw right through her; he always could. His gaze lingered on the anxious movement of her fingers, and she could see the understanding in his eyes.

(Y/N) wanted nothing more than to run. To turn and walk away, pretend this moment hadn’t happened, and let the fear swallow her whole. But her legs refused to move, leaving her frozen in place, rooted by a strange mixture of longing and dread.

“Here, come in,” he said softly, stepping back and holding the door open wider, an unspoken invitation. The warmth of his voice almost coaxed her forward, but her eyes darted to the keys and wallet in his hands, to the satchel on his shoulder. He’d been heading out, clearly on his way somewhere. She couldn’t impose—not like this.

“No, it’s alright,” she replied quickly, shaking her head. Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost apologetic. “You’re busy. I’ll… I’ll come back another time.” She began to turn away, retreating down the driveway toward the comfort of her own childhood home. But before she could take another step, Spencer’s voice stopped her.

“I’m never busy enough for you,” he said, his tone so earnest it nearly broke her.

She paused, turning back to him. His lips curved into a small, reassuring smile, his eyes searching hers with a patience that felt as familiar as it was disarming. The door was still open, a silent testament to his willingness to let her in, no matter how unexpected her arrival.

(Y/N)’s gaze flickered between his face and the hallway behind him, the path that led to the familiar comfort of his home—a space that once felt as much hers as his. Her feet felt heavy, as though crossing that threshold would mean crossing into a territory she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.

Spencer waited, unmoving, giving her the space to decide but never pulling back his invitation. There was no rush, no pressure—just the soft warmth of his gaze, steady and unyielding.

After what felt like an eternity, (Y/N) took a tentative step forward, her fingers still trembling as they brushed against the doorframe. She didn’t trust herself to speak, didn’t trust her voice not to crack under the weight of her emotions. But Spencer’s smile grew just a fraction, as if he understood the monumental effort that single step took.

And with that, she crossed the threshold, her heart pounding in her chest, a thousand fears and hopes colliding all at once. Spencer gently closed the door behind her, the quiet click reverberating through the stillness of the house.

They stood in the living room of Spencer’s house, the air heavy with the silence that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. The quiet felt like an old song—one they hadn’t heard in years, but somehow, the melody still lingered in the spaces between them, a bittersweet reminder of everything they once were. It hung there, unresolved, yet full of everything they hadn’t been able to say.

(Y/N) fidgeted with her necklace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the chain, a habit she had when she was nervous. Spencer noticed the small gesture—how it had always been her way of grounding herself when she didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak, to say something, but he couldn’t find the words. He just watched her, waiting, as she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I came because I wanted to talk,” (Y/N) said, her voice soft, almost fragile as it broke the silence between them. There was an earnestness in her tone, a vulnerability Spencer wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

Spencer stayed silent, his heart racing, his mind spinning. He wanted to reach out, to say something, but the words were trapped in his chest. He watched her carefully, his eyes tracing the contours of her face, every inch of her looking both familiar and foreign to him now.

(Y/N)’s gaze lifted to meet his, her eyes searching his face with an intensity that made his chest tighten. “I think I want to try again,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of the words could shatter something between them if she spoke too loudly. “Try us again.”

Her words lingered in the air, fragile and hopeful, yet underscored with a quiet fear. Spencer’s throat went dry, and though he longed to say something, anything, he didn’t interrupt. He let her continue, silently urging her to say what she needed to say.

“But I need you to know,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion, “that things won’t be the same as they used to be.” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment, as if the reality of what she was saying weighed too heavily on her. “We’re not the same people we were, Spencer. I’m not the same.”

The confession hung in the air, raw and exposed, but Spencer didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. Instead, his gaze softened, and something in him—something buried deep within—finally broke free.

“I understand, Viv,” he said, his voice low, steady, but filled with emotion. His heart pounded in his chest as his hand slowly reached up, trembling ever so slightly as he cupped her face in his palm. His touch was tentative, as if afraid of breaking the fragile moment between them, but she leaned into it instinctively, her eyes fluttering shut as the warmth of his hand soothed her.

(Y/N)’s hand moved to his wrist, her fingers gently wrapping around it, grounding both of them in that quiet space. She held on, as if she was afraid to let go, afraid of what might slip through her fingers if she did. Her eyes met his again, desperation and hope mingling in the depths of her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet filled with an aching plea. She nodded softly, as if surrendering to the vulnerability, to the possibility of what could come next.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and without thinking, he leaned in, his hand still cupping her face, and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was slow, hesitant at first, as though both of them were testing the waters, unsure of how much they could risk. But then, as their lips met fully, the hesitation melted away, and something deeper, more desperate, surged between them—a longing for something they couldn’t quite name but both knew they needed. It was a kiss that spoke of loss, of hope, and of the delicate threads that still connected them, despite everything that had passed.

In that moment, the world outside of the living room seemed to disappear. It was just the two of them, lost in the kiss, in the emotion that wrapped around them both, binding them in a way words never could.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2008

Three years had passed since that life-changing kiss, and somehow, their love had only deepened and matured, evolving far beyond the fleeting, sweet highs of their high school days. Spencer couldn’t help but marvel at how their connection had grown into something profound, a bond forged by time, trials, and an unwavering devotion to one another.

As the late afternoon sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of soft orange and pink, Spencer guided (Y/N) carefully along the overgrown trail leading to the abandoned house they had stumbled upon eight years ago. Back then, it had been their secret haven—a sanctuary where young love blossomed and the weight of the world couldn’t touch them. Now, it was about to hold an even more cherished memory.

(Y/N) clutched Spencer's arm, her steps tentative as she let him lead her while the blindfold obscured her vision. Her excitement was palpable, the corners of her mouth curving into a radiant smile despite her slight protests.

“Spence?” she asked, her voice bubbling with curiosity. “Where are we going? You’re being so mysterious.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Patience, Gorgeous. No peeking, I mean it,” he teased, his tone playful but gentle.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic sigh, trying—and failing—to suppress her grin. “Fine. But you know I hate surprises.”

“And yet you’ll love this one,” he replied with quiet confidence, his free hand sliding to the small of her back to guide her over a patch of uneven ground. Finally, they arrived at the perfect spot, the very place they had once etched their initials into the weathered wood of the porch railing.

Spencer positioned her carefully, his heart pounding in anticipation. He couldn’t believe the moment had finally come. As he stepped back, his knees met the soft, wild grass, and he knelt, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The weight of the ring inside seemed to carry every unspoken promise he’d ever made to her, every dream they’d shared. Attached to the box by a slim, delicate chain was a small keychain, and hanging from it was an old-fashioned key, one that glinted faintly in the golden light.

He adjusted the blindfold slightly to ensure it stayed secure before speaking, his voice tender.

“Okay,” he whispered, his tone brimming with emotion. “You can take it off now.”

(Y/N)’s fingers moved to the blindfold, her motions careful, as if savoring the suspense. When she finally pulled the fabric away, her hazel eyes met the sight before her. The familiar, broken-down house loomed behind Spencer, but it was framed by the ethereal glow of the setting sun. And there he was, kneeling on one knee, his kind brown eyes gazing up at her with a mixture of love, hope, and nerves.

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The velvet box in his hand creaked open, revealing the delicate, sparkling ring nestled inside. Her gaze shifted to the key dangling from the attached chain, realization dawning.

“(Y/N),” Spencer began, his voice steady yet filled with raw emotion. “From the moment we met, you’ve been my everything—my anchor, my inspiration, my best friend. I can’t imagine a future without you in it. This house holds so many beautiful memories of us, and now it’s ours. I want to build even more memories here—with you, as my wife. Will you marry me?”

Tears brimmed in (Y/N)’s eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees in front of him, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Yes,” she breathed, her voice trembling with joy. “Yes, a million times yes!”

Spencer laughed softly, relief and happiness flooding him as he slipped the ring onto her finger, the perfect fit. Then he unhooked the keychain from the box and pressed it gently into her hand.

“It’s the key to the house,” he said, his voice filled with quiet excitement. “It’s ours now.”

(Y/N) stared at it, overwhelmed by the gesture, and then at the house behind him. “It’s ours finally,” she whispered, her voice breaking. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

1998, September

As they lay together on the worn, makeshift mattress, the faint glow of moonlight streamed through the broken windows, casting a silvery hue over the room. (Y/N) shifted closer, her head resting against Spencer’s chest, her fingers lazily tracing the seams of his shirt. The world outside faded into the background, leaving only the quiet hum of their breathing and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear.

“But in all seriousness,” (Y/N) began softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper, “what would you name your daughter?”

Spencer stilled for a moment, caught off guard by the question. Then a soft, thoughtful smile tugged at his lips as he absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. “Harper,” he answered, his voice gentle. “After Nelle Harper Lee, the author of To Kill a Mockingbird.”

(Y/N) tilted her head up slightly, her hazel eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Harper,” she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue like a melody. “That’s... really beautiful. Strong, but sweet. Like it’s meant to belong to someone with a kind heart.”

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ve always admired the way the book captures innocence and courage. It feels... timeless. And if we ever had a daughter, I’d want her to have a name that means something.”

(Y/N) smiled, her gaze lingering on him for a moment longer before resting her head back on his chest. “You’re always so thoughtful,” she murmured. “It’s one of the things I love most about you.”

Spencer flushed faintly at her words, a shy grin breaking through. “What about you?” he asked, eager to shift the focus. “What names have you been thinking of?”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, biting her lip as a soft blush dusted her cheeks. “Magdeline,” she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s classic, but it feels... special. Kind of elegant.”

Spencer’s smile grew wider as he turned to look at her, his brown eyes warm and full of affection. “Magdeline,” he repeated, as if savoring the sound. “It’s stunning. It sounds like a name for someone destined to do something extraordinary.”

(Y/N) let out a soft laugh, her cheeks burning as she hid her face against his chest. “You always know how to make everything sound perfect.”

He laughed too, the sound vibrating against her. “It’s not hard when you’re the one I’m talking to,” he teased gently, his fingers brushing against her cheek, coaxing her to look at him.

Her heart fluttered, and for a moment, they were caught in each other’s gaze, the air between them charged with unspoken words. Slowly, Spencer leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss that was as sweet and hesitant as their first.

When they pulled away, (Y/N) rested her forehead against his, her cheeks still flushed. “Maybe we’re thinking a bit too far ahead,” she whispered, a soft giggle escaping her lips.

“Maybe,” Spencer admitted, his voice laced with quiet amusement. “But it’s nice to think about, isn’t it? Imagining a little Harper or Magdeline running around, smarter than the both of us combined.”

(Y/N) grinned, her fingers lacing with his as she nodded. “Yeah,” she said, her voice filled with a warmth only he could bring out. “It’s really nice.”

And in that moment, amidst the broken-down walls and the chaos of their teenage lives, the future felt less like an abstract dream and more like a tangible promise—a love story that was only just beginning.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

2015

The house stood in front of them, a testament to the years of work they had poured into it. Once broken down, abandoned, and forgotten, the structure now stood proudly as a symbol of all they had built together. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow on the new windows, freshly painted walls, and repaired roof. It wasn’t perfect yet—not by a long shot—but it was theirs. And it felt like home.

(Y/N) wiped a hand across her forehead, the sweat of hard work glistening on her brow. Her overalls were covered in streaks of paint, and her sneakers, which had once been white, were now stained with dust and dirt. The room she stood in—the living room—had come a long way since they first stepped foot in this place. The broken windows had been replaced, and the cracked floorboards had been carefully sanded down, then repainted. The mismatched furniture they had collected from thrift stores and flea markets now made the room feel cozy, lived-in. It wasn’t fancy, but it was perfect.

(Y/N) turned to look at Spencer, her gaze softening as she watched him carefully adjusting the placement of a new windowsill. The warmth of the afternoon sun caught in his hair, casting a golden glow over his features. His face was covered in a light dusting of sawdust, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes that always held that mixture of curiosity and affection—shone brighter than any material thing could. The man she had fallen in love with all those years ago was standing right in front of her, and she couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. Together, they had done all of this. They had created something beautiful out of what was once broken.

“Think we’re finally done with this room?” Spencer’s voice broke through his wife’s thoughts, his usual playfulness coloring the question.

(Y/N) smiled, crossing the room toward him. “Almost,” she replied, wiping her hands on the faded towel that hung from her belt loop. “We still need to finish the kitchen, and don’t even get me started on the backyard.” She shook her head, laughing softly.

Spencer grinned, wiping his hands on his jeans. “We’ve got time,” he said, his voice warm with satisfaction. “I’m just happy we’re finally here. I’ve never felt more... at home, you know?”

(Y/N)’s smile deepened, her heart fluttering at the simplicity of his words. This was more than just a house—it was their life, their future. They had rebuilt this place together,wooden panel by panel, just like they had rebuilt their relationship over the years.

“You’re right,” she murmured. “It feels right. It’s like it was meant to be ours.”

Spencer met her halfway across the room, his arms slipping around her waist. He kissed the top of her head, his voice a quiet murmur in the calm of the room. “I think we did a good job.”

(Y/N) nestled into her husband’s chest, allowing herself to just be for a moment. They’d worked so hard to get here, and sometimes it still felt surreal. There were days when they’d wanted to give up, to walk away from the stress, the setbacks, the exhaustion. But now, looking around at the space they had turned into their own, (Y/N) couldn’t help but think that the struggle had been worth it.

Just then, the sound of tiny footsteps echoed in the hallway. The unmistakable sound of their daughter’s voice reached them before she appeared in the doorway.

“Mama! Dada!” Magdeline’s voice, high and full of excitement, made (Y/N)’s heart swell.

Spencer’s face immediately lit up with a smile as he looked toward the door. “Hey, kiddo,” he called out, his arms opening wide in invitation. “What’s up?”

Magdeline came bounding into the room, her chubby little legs carrying her with more energy than one would think possible for a three-year-old. She had her mother’s curls and her father’s eyes, and at that moment, she was wearing an adorable apron—too big for her tiny frame—that (Y/N) had gotten her for Christmas. Her hands, however, were covered in chocolate.

“I made cookies!” Magdeline said, a proud grin on her face as she held her hands up, showing them off as if they were some sort of treasure.

(Y/N) burst into laughter, her heart melting at the sight of her daughter. “Oh, did you now?” she asked, standing up from Spencer’s embrace and crossing over to her. “Where are they?”

Magdeline pointed excitedly toward the kitchen, her grin never fading. “Over there!”

Spencer scooped her up into his arms, kissing her cheek. “Well, you know what they say—cookie bakers are the best workers,” he teased, his voice light and affectionate.

(Y/N) laughed, her eyes sparkling with affection as she walked into the kitchen, Spencer and Magdeline trailing behind her. The kitchen had come together in the last few weeks, with new cabinets, countertops, and even a small breakfast nook where they could sit and eat together. It wasn’t large, but it had everything they needed.

Magdeline led them to the counter, where a plate of homemade cookies sat. The cookies were a little lopsided and covered in an uneven amount of frosting, but they were beautiful in their imperfection.

“These are amazing, sweetie,” (Y/N) said, her voice full of pride as she took a bite of one. The chocolate was rich and sweet, just the way they both liked it.

“Thank you, Mama!” Magdeline said brightly, her hands flapping excitedly as she bounced on Spencer’s hip. “Dada, have one too!”

Spencer gave her an exaggerated look of mock horror, making her giggle. “Are you sure they’re not going to make me turn into a cookie?” he asked, pretending to hesitate before taking a bite.

Magdeline’s giggle filled the room, and for a moment, the three of them were caught in that perfect bubble of happiness—the kind that only comes from simple, quiet moments.

After they had finished the cookies, the three of them worked together on the house, as they had done every weekend for the last year. Spencer worked on the trim in the living room while (Y/N) painted the kitchen cabinets. Magdeline, always wanting to help, had her own “tools”—small plastic hammers and paintbrushes that she used with exaggerated care.

It was far from glamorous. The work was tiring, the room often too hot or too cold, and there were still so many things to finish. Yet every time they stepped back to admire their progress, it felt like the house was slowly becoming something that could hold them all—their love, their future, and the memories they would create.

Spencer set down the last of the trim and came to join (Y/N) in the kitchen. He put his arm around her as they looked at their progress.

“I think we’re almost there,” he said softly, kissing her temple.

(Y/N) smiled, leaning into him. “Yeah, almost. But it’ll be worth it.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It already is. Look at us. We’ve built something beautiful. And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

(Y/N) turned to face him, her eyes soft. “And I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They stood there for a moment, holding each other, watching as the light outside began to fade and the first stars appeared in the sky. The house was theirs. They had transformed it from the broken, abandoned shell it had once been into a place that was full of life.

“Do you ever think about how far we’ve come?” (Y/N) asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Spencer smiled. “All the time.”

“I’m glad we’re doing this together,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “This house... this life... it’s everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Spencer kissed her gently, his lips lingering as he held her close. “It’s everything I’ve ever wanted too.”

Just then, Magdeline came running into the room, her little feet slapping against the floor as she grinned widely. “Look, Mama, Dada! I finished!”

(Y/N) laughed and turned to Spencer. “She’s our little renovator.”

Spencer grinned. “She’s already better than we are at this.”

(Y/N)’s heart swelled with pride as she scooped her daughter into her arms, kissing her cheek. “I think she might just be the best of all of us.”

As they stood there in the warmth of their kitchen, their little family together, it was clear that this house had become something more than just a structure. It was a testament to their love, their resilience, and the future they were building together.

Magdeline Lee (Y/L/N)-Reid, with her infectious laugh and her boundless energy, was a living symbol of everything they had fought for. She was the light that filled the rooms, the hope that had carried them through all the hard days, and now, she was growing up in a home filled with love—a home that was their very own.

And as they turned out the lights for the night, ready to rest before the work began again in the morning, they knew that this house was just the beginning. There was so much more ahead of them. And they would face it all together.

After all, they had built it from the ground up.

And it was perfect.

Thank you for reading! Please like & reblog if you enjoyed! Masterlist!

Taglist! @topgunslut @donttrustlove @kakamixoxo

[sarawritestories]

Come Here, Sweetheart

Cassian X Fem Reader

CASSIAN WEEK DAY 7

Summary: You are suffering from burn out and having a meltdown. The General of the Night Court's Armies ensures you give him your best smile.

Content Warning: Feelings of burnout and worthlessness, anxiety and mental health decline as a whole. Exhaustion tears and Cassian being one hell of a mail. Not proofread.

@cassianappreciationweek

Dividers by @tsunami-of-tears

A/N I am so heartbroken that I couldn't bring much to Cassian week but I've been in a slump and a lot is happening in my life (Good things but stressful) but I wanted to provide something.

ACOTAR MASTERLIST

You rubbed furiously at your chest. That familiar feeling that you were once able to tuck deep in the confines of your mind had reached a boiling point. The tightness in your chest constricted your ability to breathe properly. You barely made it to your bedroom when you collapsed to your knees.

The pressure of getting words on the page were becoming too much, Nesta's badgering of getting the next installment of your novel along with the constant fan mail asking for updates on the release made the feelings of inadequacy fester into a monster you couldn't ignore and definitely couldn't slay on your own.

You felt like you were failing your readers, though every time you sat with a blank page and fresh ink the words refused to come. As though they were mocking you as if to say you didn't deserve the success you had received.

Your mate who normally quieted the evil voices that would seep into your mind had been called away on a mission and so the cruel worlds morphed from a small dark spot into your mind into maelstrom of feelings worthlessness and as though you should give up your dreams all together.

Wrapped so deep in your thoughts, you barely registered the warmth of your tears running down your cheeks or the door of the bathroom opening revealing Cassian emerging. His gaze caught your crumpled form and he tried tugging on the bond only to find you had blocked him out.

Cassian in nothing but his sleep pants, his hair damp from bathing, and his wings tucked in tightly approached you. "Sweetheart," He whispered as he lowered to his knees giving you the distance to gauge the situation but close enough that his fingertips grazed the top of your hands that held your skirts in a vice grip.

You were a captive to your mind, the overwhelming anxiety gripping onto you tightly you couldn't even reach out to your mate. The words swirling trying to ingrain their lies.

You are not worthy.

You are pathetic.

You are talentless.

Give Up.

Cassian didn't need the bond to see what was occurring that the brilliant mind he adored so much was rendering you into a state of darkness. "Come Here, Sweetheart." Before you were able to register what was happening you were in his arms, the scent of Sandalwood and the lingering leather eased your breathing slightly.

He placed you on your feet and began to undress you. It was when he had you bare did he speak, "Shower, or bed?" His voice held no judgement only love and tenderness for you. Cassian's hands stroked your arms and the action alone caused the darkness to recede in your mind and you were able to come to the present.

"Bed." you whispered, voice dry from the crying.

Cassian kissed your shoulder, "Of course." He held out his hand and your favorite silk night dress appeared thanks to the House of Wind. "Arms up, My Love." You did as he asked and he got you dressed for bed. The cool material lowering the temperature of your overheated skin. Cassian gripped your head, "Come on, let's get you to bed."

You simply nodded your head as your mate led you to your side of the bed. Making sure as you began to get comfortable in bed that he was still touching you. He knew you needed his touch more than anything right now and went as far as crawling across you to his side of the bed to not break the contact. Once he adjusted his wings into a comfortable position he pulled you close to his chest. Your head pressed against his chest the steady beat of his heart, like a beacon of light blasted the dark thoughts and your breathing became easier as the voices quieted.

"We don't have to talk about it tonight." He whispered, his lips pressing against his forehead. "We will be talking about this in the morning along with planning a holiday away for a while."

Your lip trembled as he stroked your face with his thumb., "I love you. Thank you." Your eyes met his warm hazel ones, and you gave him a smile.

He returned your smile, "There's my girl." He placed his lips to yours pulling away lazily. "I love you, Sweetheart. Let's get some rest."

In a matter of seconds your eyes had fluttered shut and lulled by the heartbeat of your mate.

Cassian: General of the Night Court's Armies, The Lord of Bloodshed, but for you? He was your Knight in Shining Armor.

Always there to make sure the darkness never consumes you.

Your Hero.

General Tag: @milswrites @lady-of-tearshed @tsunami-of-tears @readychilledwine @ceoofyearning

@velariscalling @daycourtofficial @prythianpages @writingcroissant @itsswritten

@illyrianbitch @acotarxreader @pit-and-the-pen @nocasdatsgay @labyrinth-of-stories-and-stars

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@marvelbros-oneshots

[egurt]

Overblot Idia x reader where reader acts like the little imps from herecules (i think thwir names were panic and fear) and was a childhood friend of idia. I think angst will best suit it or i dont really know

Also could i be called 💧anon if you would allow that

overblot!Idia × GN!reader, who like Pain and Panic* from Hercules.

summary: what if.

‼️ English isn't my first language! (⁠*⁠﹏⁠*⁠;⁠) gn reader,because dear 💧anon didn't specify. angst!! sorry,comrade, this work turned out to be very short because it turns out it is very difficult for me to write about Idia. I'm sorry if this bad,I panicked (⁠・⁠–⁠・⁠;⁠)⁠ゞ + not proofread

and for some reason I also really got hooked on the fact that these imps love the word "if" when they try to justify themselves. like: "what if something bad happened" "texactly, if. but that didn't happen,right??."

tw(?): reader feels useless.

Oh.

If only everything had stayed the same. Just the three of you, living a happy childhood, with full confidence that nothing would separate you. Maybe if you had been there that night with Idia and Orto, you would have been able to fix something. Maybe if not for the circumstances, everything would have been better than it is now.

Although where did you get that from? You were never particularly smart, you were the one who always looked at Idia with sparkling admiration in your eyes, while he was shining in all his genius. You are still too cowardly to do anything that could really help, so you always silently stood next to Idia, fulfilling his every request, hoping that it would help, hoping that you were useful.

But if you were really useful, then you would not now feel this hellishly icy tile under your bloody knees. If you were truly useful, you could have helped even earlier, without waiting for Idia to reach the boiling point. Yes, you couldn’t save Ortho, but maybe if you were a little braver and smarter, you could have said something, done something, shielded Idia from this huge downward spiral of his grief.

It’s not your fault, no matter how much you believe it, it’s not your fault that Idia didn’t resist the stain, it’s not your fault that he’s just a human. Every human has a limit. - Ortho, both real and not, would reassure you if he saw your pathetic expression now, distorted in fear and pain.

“I’ll fix it! I’ll fix it and make it better-” - you swear to Idia, in a desperate attempt to reach his consciousness.

For the first time in your life, you didn't like the word "if", because before it meant that nothing bad would happen, but now you thought only about how much better everything could have been if you…Oh, how you despised that word now. It used to be your shield, your flimsy excuse for inaction.

"Idia…!" - Your voice fades into a treacherous whisper, trembling. - "I swear, I'll try to do something if you ask me-" - You unexpectedly for yourself switch to shouting. A child's reflex is to believe that if you shout louder, it will help.

"If you could, you would have done it a long time ago." -The words hung in the air, heavier than the oppressive heat radiating from Idia. You scrambled backwards, away from the encroaching darkness that seemed to emanate from him, each movement a pathetic scrabble against the slick tile.

And he was right, you are not him to try to use your brain, you are not his brother to light up his life with just one smile.

You are just a stupid little imp, incapable of anything except blindly doing what you are asked to do and you can't even do that well.

The air thickened with despair, the crushing weight of your own inadequacy pressing down on you. You were useless. Always clinging to the edges,a comforting presence but never a solution. The years of adoration, the silent promises to always be there, were worthless now, reduced to ashes by the raging inferno of his Overblot.

You can't hold back the tears that have been building up in your eyes since the beginning, and you don't know if they're from panic, or regret, or both. Your hands are shaking, your tail is curled up, pressing against your back, trying to look smaller. Memories flashed in your head: the first meeting, the first timid smiles, the ideas he enthusiastically shared, dreams of the future, where the three of you would create something beautiful together. All of this was now crossed out with an ink blot, distorted, desecrated.

But then you remembered a different "if." What if you didn't try? What if you let him slip away completely? That "if" was far more terrifying than any of the others. You closed your eyes, took a shaky breath, and reached out.

what if all is not lost yet?

and yes i know that in the movie the imps are not loyal to Hades.

[doberbutts]

I can't understand the idea that someone outside of an oppressed group cannot be victims of violence towards that oppressed group. That anon you deleted, the one who got mad and went "so cis people can experience transphobia!?!" Have you not read the news lately? What? What is happening to Imane Khalif right now? When you are past some arbitrary "acceptable range" of looks, behavior, etc., you become a target. As a cis woman who grew up in a conservative area, having "boyish interests" was enough for me to be subject to slurs and abuse. And it stuck around past that, because I have a small chest and broad shoulders, a long face. Whatever. Systems of oppression effect everyone under them because they all rely on "passing". You are required to reach a bar and to look and perform in certain ways and that bar is ever changing.

Well, that's why when someone was in my replies being upset that I asked how Khelif could be considered TME when transmisogyny was actively happening to her, one of the things I responded to said person was:

I don't understand how discussion the widespread effect of a systemic form of oppression and how it affects other things or is used as a weapon in other things, at all damages or erases the conversation that said systemic form of oppression is a problem. If anything, it's spreading further awareness.

I understand if the concern is that not enough people are caring about the trans women to whom transmisogyny happens on a regular basis, and are instead only ever caring about non trans fems and their relationship with being on the receiving end of transmisogyny. That is a problem, and it's one that does need to be talked about more often.

However I don't think any other form of oppression is specifically locked to only the people who identify as that oppressed demographic. Men experience misogyny. White people experience racism. Abled people experience ableism. "You throw like a girl" "you're not my daughter if you marry that black man" "what are you, deaf?" these are all things that are experienced by the "wrong" demographic, because in truth? The demographic doesn't matter.

These are systems we're talking about- the system of misogyny is what leads boys who fail to be masculine enough to be compared to girls as a way to state they are inferior, because the point is that with the system of misogyny, girls are inherently inferior to boys. Therefore, calling a boy a girl is calling him weaker, lesser, and not good enough.

The system of racism is what leads white parents to disown their children if their children date outside of their race. The point is that under the system of racism, interracial dating is seen as an aberration, and these racist parents then reject their own children for daring to love someone who is not white.

The system of ableism is what leads people to make comparisons to disability when bringing up someone's shortcomings. Disabled people are largely seen as failures in abled society, so by pointing to disability whenever faced with what is perceived as inadequacy, the system of ableism operates to continue to associate being disabled with worthlessness, and being abled with having worth.

Hell, it was not that long ago that "gay" and "retarded" were used as synonyms for "bad" and "stupid". Some people still use these words that way. It was a fucking Rick and Morty joke a few years ago, this isn't ancient history.

So when I'm told that I don't experience a system of oppression based solely on my labeled demographic and not on my actual lived experience, my immediate first thought is "that's not how systems of oppression work, literally everyone experiences these things in different ways, because that's what is meant when we call something systemic, it means the entire fucking system is built around this as a crux of logic"

Which is very weird to me then when someone tells me that by saying Khelif is/was experiencing transmisogyny, I'm erasing trans women. How? I genuinely don't understand how that's possible when I'm saying that the explicit hatred and fear of the trans woman boogeyman is what led us here in the first place. I am saying "this comes directly from people pushing transmisogynistic rulings for years and was always going to be the end result when they finally excluded all the actual trans women". I'm saying "it was bad logic when applied to trans women and it's bad logic even now, being applied to a [self-identified] perisex cisgender 'biological' woman and we should have put our foot down about it years ago when trans women and intersex women were actually competing".

Transmisogyny is a system of oppression. The system is functioning normally even when it fires at targets it's "not supposed to". That's what happens under systemic oppression. That's a feature, not a bug.

[hawkinsmafia]

𝔼𝕕𝕕𝕚𝕖 𝕄𝕦𝕟𝕤𝕠𝕟: 𝔽𝕝𝕦𝕗𝕗 𝔸𝕝𝕡𝕙𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕥

day 04 : Eddie

featuring Eddie Munson x reader (no assumed gender)

rating: general

cw: two minor, non-graphic mentions of sex; one brief mention of recreational marijuana use

wc: 1.6k

an: this is my first time doing one of these, and I was reminded of filling out those massively long surveys your friends would all email around in the 90s. I miss those. this was written for @corrodedcoffinfest!

𝔸𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕧𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕤 :: How does Eddie spend free time with his partner?

⟢ Eddie is the king of parallel play. Just being in the same room is enough to please him, even if you’re both absorbed in different activities. You’re lounging on the couch with a book while Eddie is noodling around with his guitar, or he’s at the table working on his campaign notes while you’re writing up a grocery list.

𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕦𝕥𝕪 :: What does Eddie admire about his partner?

⟢ I won’t lie, one of his criteria in a partner is how well you fit into his rockstar aesthetic. If you look like you’re ready to pose beside him on the cover of Rolling Stone, that’s a huge boon.

ℂ𝕠𝕞𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥 :: How does Eddie help his partner when they’re struggling?

⟢ Eddie’s love language is acts of service, so when you’re having a rough time, he’s insisting you take the night off and let him make dinner—and it’s probably just boxed macaroni and cheese and maybe a can of green beans if he thinks about it, but he makes it with so much love. Then afterward, if you’re amenable, he’d break out his private stash and pack a bowl for you.

𝔻𝕒𝕥𝕖 :: What is Eddie’s first date with his partner like?

⟢ A disaster. He had big ideas of impressing you, but it was one of those nights where nothing went as he planned. He wanted to take you to an open mic night and wow you with his musical prowess, but the performance list was already full when you arrived. At a loss for a last-minute substitution, you wound up going to the Hawkins High carnival, where he was harassed by the popular crowd, he couldn’t manage to win a single game to get you a prize, and he nearly choked to death on his corn dog (then coughed so hard he almost puked). To top it all off, he was pulled over by a cop while driving you home, and the familiarity the cop had with Eddie clearly announced that he had regular run-ins with them. And to this day, Eddie has absolutely no idea why you invited him inside when he finally got you home, or asked to see him again tomorrow for a do-over.

𝔼𝕢𝕦𝕒𝕝 :: Is Eddie more dominant or submissive in his relationship?

⟢ Eddie is a very easy switch. He can and will take either role depending on his mood and yours, and can switch from one to the other with a moment’s notice.

𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 :: What is it like when Eddie and his partner argue?

⟢ Honestly, Eddie doesn’t argue with you very often. He struggles with feelings of inadequacy and fears the day you’ll wake up and realize he’s a worthless, white trash loser, and he’s afraid of driving you to that realization early. Much more common between you are the more playful, low stakes disagreements, like which dresser drawer to put socks and underwear in (the top one, obviously) or whether peanut butter belongs in the fridge or not (no). These ‘arguments’ are usually settled with a dice roll.

𝔾𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕥𝕦𝕕𝕖 :: Does Eddie acknowledge how much his partner does for him?

⟢ Oh god, yes. See above for those feelings of inadequacy, he is grateful as hell that you gave a freak a chance and somehow found him worthwhile, at least for now.

ℍ𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕪 :: Does Eddie keep secrets from his partner or does he share everything?

⟢ Eddie couldn’t keep anything from you to save his life. He tells you everything, and everyone knows that if they tell Eddie something, they’re really telling the both of you because he’ll tell you immediately.

𝕀𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 :: Has Eddie’s partner inspired him to grow or change in any way?

⟢ Your presence in his life has made him more focused and given him more drive. His rockstar dreams were just a farfetched fantasy that he toyed with before, daydreams of a better life, but now with you in the picture, he craves that success to be more than make-believe.

𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕪 :: How does Eddie handle jealousy in his relationship?

⟢ Eddie doesn’t fall victim to jealousy all that often. Those occasions when he does feel it flare up, though, it’s because he saw someone else flirting with you, and his response is to go over there and slip an arm around you, maybe give you a slightly-too-deep kiss, and remind the other person that you’re already spoken for.

𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤 :: Is Eddie a good kisser?

⟢ He’s not too bad! He doesn’t have a whole lot of experience when you first get together—there haven’t been many people in Hawkins willing to take a chance on a Munson—but he does have some natural talent, and he’s a quick learner with practice.

𝕃𝕠𝕧𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕗𝕖𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕠𝕟 :: How does Eddie confess his love to his partner?

⟢ In song. He stresses out for a while over how to get to the next level with you, and he finally decides that since music is his forte, he’ll write you a song and perform it for you.

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕚𝕒𝕘𝕖 :: Would Eddie want to marry his partner?

⟢ Eddie would be one of those guys who proposes to his partner and then stalls in the engaged phase for years, putting off the actual marriage. It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry you (he does!), but he’s worried (perhaps subconsciously) about tying himself to you and becoming a weight that holds you back, ruining your life by making you a Munson.

ℕ𝕚𝕔𝕜𝕟𝕒𝕞𝕖𝕤 :: What does Eddie call his partner?

⟢ Princess, sweetheart, baby, babe. If he’s in a goofy mood, he’ll call you ‘my liege’ (often with a deep bow and a thick accent).

𝕆𝕟 ℂ𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕕 ℕ𝕚𝕟𝕖 :: What is Eddie like when he’s in love?

⟢ Oh god, I hate to say this, but I think he’s that guy who kind of slowly starts drifting away from his friends in favor of spending time with his partner instead, at least for a while, and it causes tension between you and them. When he starts cancelling Hellfire at the last minute and not showing up to band rehearsal, the others start getting angry with him.

ℙ𝔻𝔸 :: Does Eddie openly share affection with his partner, or is he more private?

⟢ This man would fuck you in the hallway at school if you asked him to. Once you’ve made it clear that you aren’t afraid of everyone knowing you’re with him, he can be downright obnoxious with his affection. You’re the couple making out in the hall during class change, causing a traffic jam. You’re the couple who gets caught in closets and bathrooms at every party. More than once, Wayne has had to clear his throat rather loudly to remind Eddie that he’s still in the room.

ℚ𝕦𝕚𝕣𝕜 :: What’s a random action Eddie performs for his partner?

⟢ He learns your routine and makes a point to ask if you want a ride to work today before you even say anything, or he’s already waiting for you outside your classes so he can walk with you to your next one.

ℝ𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 :: How romantic is Eddie?

⟢ Very romantic. He’s making you new mix tapes weekly. Whenever he stops for gas, he always comes back to the van with your favorite snack without being asked. (He may have taken the five-finger discount, but it’s the thought that counts!) He holds doors open for you with a sweeping bow. He makes a big production of giving you a pin off his battle vest or one of his rings.

𝕊𝕦𝕡𝕡𝕠𝕣𝕥 :: How does Eddie help his partner achieve their goals?

⟢ You have never heard a pep talk until Eddie gives you one. He is a stalwart and unwavering pillar of support, and no one believes in you as much as Eddie believes in you.

𝕋𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕝𝕝 :: Does Eddie like to experiment and try new things, or does he prefer familiarity?

⟢ Eddie is always down to try something new, especially if it’s something you’re interested in. Whether it’s a new movie in a genre he doesn’t gravitate toward, or heading into the city to try a new restaurant cuisine that’s caught your attention, or a new bedroom activity, Eddie’s down for it.

𝕌𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: How well does Eddie know his partner?

⟢ Pretty damn well. Sometimes you might think he’s not listening while you’re talking, but even when he looks distracted, he never misses a word. He knows your favorite color, the foods you hate, your class or work schedule, the kind of future you daydream about. If you have a menstrual cycle, he doesn’t have it memorized but he can always tell immediately when your uterus is making problems.

𝕍𝕒𝕝𝕦𝕖 :: How important is Eddie’s relationship to him?

⟢ It’s literally the single most important thing in Eddie’s life. It’s the greatest thing he’s ever had, and he knows he doesn’t deserve anything this good. He loves you more than his guitar, which speaks volumes on its own.

𝕎𝕚𝕝𝕕 ℂ𝕒𝕣𝕕 :: A random fluffy headcanon.

⟢ The first year you were together, Eddie very nearly forgot your birthday. It wasn’t until a quarter to midnight that he remembered, and he tore out of the trailer like a man on fire to get over to your place before midnight, nothing but apologies and affection and promises to make it up to you this weekend. Since then, he goes out of his way to make a big deal of your birthday every year.

𝕏𝕆𝕏𝕆 :: Does Eddie like to be affectionate with his partner?

⟢ Oh yes. Given a choice, Eddie would be attached to your hip 24/7. He loves to hold your hand, put an arm around you, give you little kisses, cuddle up to you. If acts of service is his primary love language, physical touch is a close second.

𝕐𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 :: How does Eddie cope when he’s missing his partner?

⟢ If at all possible, the quickest cure is to just go see you. Eddie’s liable to show up at your place at any hour of the day or night, looking a little lost and forlorn, just wanting to see you. If you’re unreachable like that, oh, how this boy pines for you. He’s a mopey, moody, melancholy mess. Wayne has to tell him to go outside and get some sunlight before he makes the mold in the trailer flourish with that storm cloud over his head.

ℤ𝕖𝕒𝕝 :: To what lengths would Eddie go for his relationship?

⟢ Eddie would brave the Upside Down alone to preserve your relationship. He would bitch and moan the entire way, but he would do it if it meant keeping you.

[nerdy-nook]

Favorite nuerodivergant headcannons for Voltron LD?

Ooo I like this one! I’m going to do neurodivergent headcanons as well as mental health headcanons because I don’t think all of the characters are neurodivergent. Ok let’s start!

Voltron Paladins:

Shiro: He canonically has PTSD, although the show stopped focusing on it after season 2. So I’m going to keep that. He definitely has panic attacks (as we have seen) but has a good control on his triggers. He has to, to keep himself and his team safe in battle.

Keith: BPD and autism you cannot change my mind. You can’t tell me that after all the shit that poor kid went through in his childhood that he doesn’t have BPD (Borderline Personality Disorder). He checks a lot off the boxes. The sudden mood changes, aggression, abandonment issues, and feelings of worthlessness or inadequacy. As for the autism he mainly experiences sensory issues surrounding sounds and touch. We all know about his social skills. He also has insomnia.

Hunk: I think Hunk has GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). He’s had it since he was in elementary school. It mainly consists of catastrophizing and physical symptoms. His heart races, and he sweats a lot.

Lance: He has combined ADHD. A classic case as a kid: SUPER hyperactive, couldn’t sit still, and couldn’t focus. His processing speed is a lot slower making it harder for him to learn in an average school environment. This made him self conscious growing up, thinking he was stupid. It’s something he still struggles with.

Pidge: Best girl disease! Jk. She has ADHD, autism, and is also a fellow insomniac. This girl will hyperfixate and work herself for hours. The team comes to do routine checks on her when she’s researching to make sure she rests. She isn’t really hyperactive but does have a hard time staying still. Catch her rotating clockwise as she types away on her laptop.

MFE Pilots (this is self indulgent):

James: With his strong sense of justice I can see him having a little bit of the ‘tism. I used to headcanon him as having BPD as well but now I’m more leaning towards Bipolar II. This goes a long with some other headcanons I have for him, I’ll make a hc sheet for him soon.

Ina: She has autism. She was diagnosed at 3 years old. Her parents were tipped off by the fact that she was selectively mute when she was younger.

Nadia: Also has ADHD She mainly struggles with her impulsivity issues. She has a really hardy time keeping organized. Did someone say organized chaos? Her rooms always a little bit of a mess but she knows where everything is. Once she sets something down she can never find it.

Ryan: I literally can’t think of anything for him, he’s just a neurotypical guy. Nothing wrong with that.

Thanks for the ask BTW!!