juvenile-offenders-and-victims-(criminal-justice

hey when you feel awful about how you reacted to abuse and you think you must be weak and pathetic and blame yourself for not being stronger and more stable and unaffected by abuse, you know, it’s not just you, everyone would react the same way you did. Humans weren’t made to go thru trauma and pain without support and comfort, and stay unaffected, especially as children, all of us get hit by trauma and get paralyzed and broken by it, there is no human on this planet who would be able to go thru what you did and not feel the consequences. I know a lot of people play strong or act like nothing affects them, but it’s an act, they can get traumatized and abused just like everyone else. Some even go as far as to imply that only reason you were traumatized was because you were so weak and so sensitive, well that is bullshit and believe me they don’t know what they’re talking about, if they were subjected to the same trauma and abuse, with as little support and validation you had, they would be exactly where you are right now. Everyone would be exactly where you are right now. You haven’t reacted wrong or dealt with it wrong or taken damage from “nothing”, nobody can know how hard it was for you and how much you struggled except for you. Nobody else has the right to speak about it or tell you shit about how you should be reacting and how much it should be affecting you. They wouldn’t have taken it any better than you did. You did the best it was humanely possible.

You’re Kidding // Spencer Reid x Reader

Request Prompt:  Where the reader is pregnant with Reid’s baby but she doesn’t know how to tell him and then she accidentally lets it slip and it’s magical 😊

Requested by: Anonymous


You paced back and forth that morning, your bare feet finding comfort in the soft carpet underneath your toes. You kept looking at it, staring at it. It was there. It wasn’t going away. And neither were the previous other two that looked exactly like the one in your hand.

“You’re kidding, right?” you asked to no one in particular. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t even think, much less fully process what was happening at the moment.

“Holy fuck,” you finally breathed out as you stared at the pink plus sign. “This is happening.”

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Listen Up

You are under NO OBLIGATION to make excuses for your abuser

No matter what is going on in their personal life, they have NO RIGHT to use you as an outlet, emotionally, physically, psychologically, or sexually

No matter what they may have done for you in the past, YOU OWE THEM NOTHING now

YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FORGIVE; YOU DO NOT HAVE TO FORGET

YOUR ONLY OBLIGATION IS TO YOURSELF

To your recovery

To saying to yourself every day, over and over until you believe it

That you did not deserve what they did to you

That you are valid

That you are allowed to feel this way

That you do not have to get better overnight

That you are perfect and deserve to take your time to believe in yourself again

That you will get better

That you will get stronger

Until one day you can look them in the eye and tell them that

YOU DESERVE BETTER

AND THAT YOU ARE BETTER THAN THEY CAN EVER HOPE TO BE

Three Words, Six Letters

Author’s Note: Reid x Reader. When the Reader says “I love you” Reid struggles to return the sentiment. But there’s more than one way to say it. You just have to listen.


He can translate five languages with ease and can read 20,000 words per minute. He can recite Shakespeare and poetry and memorize entire film scripts without batting an eye. And yet, there are three words he just can’t manage to string together.

She thinks it’s a mental block, that something in his mind just won’t let it happen. Or perhaps it’s something in his heart. Something scarred, and something scared. They’d been together for six months before she found the courage to say it to him. They’d been sitting together on a park bench, watching the world go by. He draped an arm over her shoulder, and she’d nestled close to his chest, sighing. It was the most natural thing in the world, to be by his side.

“Spencer?” she’d said, glancing up at him.

“Mm?”

“I, um… I love you.” She had pulled back a bit, gauging his reaction. His eyes widened and red crept into his cheeks as he sat there stammering, looking wholly shell-shocked. “It’s okay,” she added, “You don’t have to say it back! I just thought you should know.”

Spencer had looked down, pulling at his knuckles. “It-it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that… I can’t. I’ve tried to tell you so many times, but the words, they won’t come out.” He was quiet for a few moments, before saying, “I think it’s because of Maeve.” His late girlfriend. He had told her their story a few months into their relationship, the night they unearthed the demons of their past together. “She said it to me, but I never had the chance to tell her that, and ever since then I just… I can’t do it. I’m sorry. Because I do… I really do, I just…”

His voice jumped higher and his eyes began to water. Sensing his distress she’d leaned in and silenced him with a kiss. “Shh. I know. It’s okay. You don’t have to say it. I just wanted you to know.” There’s no need to rush it. When he’s ready, he’ll say it.

Months pass, and he still cannot manage it. She’s gotten rather fond of telling him despite the sentiment not being returned. Those words seem to come so easily to her, as though trying to make up for his silence. She can’t stop telling him how much she loves him. When he shows up to her apartment with her favorite takeout food, when they’re the only two sitting in the library, between ragged breaths after he’s kissed her so deeply the world melts away.

He never says it back. And yet, he says it all the time. She just has to listen.

“I love you,” she laughs, as he finishes telling her a funny story on their walk back from dinner. He’s accompanying her back to her apartment, and the air is rapidly cooling off. She shivers, wearing only a dress and light jacket. When the sun went down, the mild fall temperatures went with it. Spencer stops and pulls off his coat, laying it across her shoulders.

“Darling, you don’t have to-”

“Don’t worry. I’m not really cold at all,” he assures her, removing his scarf as well. With care he wraps it in circles around her neck, smiling at her. Instantly the cold in her bones is replaced by warmth, and she buries her nose into the fabric of the scarf. It smells like ivory soap, coffee, and autumn. Just like him.

“Thanks.”

Spencer takes her hand once more, and they start off down the street. “Of course. I don’t want you to get sick. You need it more than I do.” He takes his coat back when they reach her building, but he conveniently forgets about the scarf, a fact which she’s all too happy about to believe it was an accident.

She hears it then.

She hearts it when he comes back after a long case, she throws her arms around him. “God I’ve missed you,” she says. “I love you so much.”

He kisses her forehead, and when he pulls away she notices the bag in his hand. “”I brought you something.”

“Why?” she asks. “It’s not my birthday or anything.”

“Open it,” is all he says. She peers inside, and withdraws a book. Staring at the cover, her mouth falls open.

Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse. An old, worn copy. She opens the front cover and stares at the first page. It can’t be. “But this is… this is a first edition! Spencer, it must’ve cost a fortune!”

He shakes his head. “You’ve always told me it’s your favorite book, and that you’d do anything to get a first edition copy. Well, on the case I helped save the life of a rare bookstore owner, who insisted on giving me a book as a gift. When I saw this one, I knew I had to get it.”

“Why?” she repeats. In her arms she clutches the book tight, not sure whether she wants to hug it or him more.

“Just because,” he says. “I wanted to see your smile when you opened it.” The book is temporarily forgotten on the armchair as she loses herself in kissing him.

She knows it the day he comes over to find her curled up on the couch, crying. It’s been a difficult week and her best friend, Isa, has been in a terrible accident. Things are up in the air. Isa is in the hospital. Spencer doesn’t ask any questions, he simply walks over and sits down beside her. She continues to sob as he pulls her onto his lap and wraps up her in an embrace. His heart beats through his shirt, and he runs his hands up and down her back in slow patterns, whispering gentle reassurances in that low voice he typically reserves for victims and grieving families. In his arms, she is safe. Warm and protected. No matter what the world throws at her, she knows he will be there to lift her up and keep her steady.

The very presence of him soothes her. He wipes her tears with the sleeves of his shirt and pushes her hair back from her face. They sit there in silence, her head on his chest, his fingers tracing circles on her skin until her breathing returns to normal. No words are needed at all. He knows her, knows what she needs. And she knows in her heart exactly how he feels.

She is certain of it when they’re at an event for her job, and one of her colleagues starts ranting about how medication is useless for mental illness. Robert goes on and on, saying that all people need to do is think positively and do things like yoga. Everyone is overdiagnosed, overmedicated, and overly sensitive.

Spencer feigns a sudden interest in the view from the window in the hallway as an excuse to escape the conversation. He glances down at her, quickly looking her over. “Are you okay?” he asks.

She bites her lip and inhales slowly. Anxiety has been a struggle for most of her life, and it was only with therapy and medication that she started to heal. Since college, things have been much better, but she still remembers the darker days, when she wasn’t sure how to keep going. To hear people say such ignorant things about mental health still stings.

“I’m alright,” she says. “I’ve heard worse things. But thank you for getting me out of there. I love you.”

Spencer interlaces his fingers with her own and they stare out at the city together. “I’d do anything for you. And I don’t want anyone to hurt you. What you feel is valid, and nobody should tell you otherwise.” He’s always doing that with her. Her protector, her knight in a vest and cardigan. There is no doubt in her mind that when he says anything he means anything.

They are sitting in his living room and they’ve both had a stressful day at work, and he’s making herbal tea in the kitchen. “I love you,” she says, grinning, when he sets the mug down before her. Spencer frowns and shifts uneasily in the armchair he’s in.

“Doesn’t it bother you, Y/N?” he asks.

“Doesn’t what bother me?”

“The fact that I still haven’t said it.” Oh. That. “We’ve been dating for over a year, and I still can’t manage to do something so simple. I know it must be frustrating, and I don’t want you to think I’m not as committed to you or to our relationship. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I don’t want to lose you. But I can’t say it yet.”

“Spencer,” she says softly, resting a hand on his forearm. The fabric of his sweater is soft between her fingers. “I know it. I know how you feel about me. You don’t have to say anything before you’re ready to. There’s more than one way to say I love you, you know. You tell me all the time. Not in those words, but I get the message.”

He seems unconvinced. “How?”

“You ask me to text you to make sure I get home safely. You call me almost every night when you’re away on a case just because you say you want to hear my voice. You hold me when I’m scared. You take me out to get Thai food even though you’d rather have Indian. You memorized every song in Les Mis because you knew it was my favorite musical. In all those gestures, I can hear it. And I can hear it when you make time for me no matter how busy you are. Sometimes you say it without saying anything at all.”

She leans closer to kiss him, softly at first, then deeper, deeper. In equal fervor he responds, and though the syllables do not fall from his tongue, his lips are perfectly capable of making the message clear. Every part of her tells her it’s true, that he loves her he loves her he loves her. No flower petal plucking needed to divine it.

One day, she’s walking across the sidewalk to hand him a cup of coffee. They’re going to walk to the Smithsonian, but it’s still early and they need caffeine before they’re ready to go anywhere. He holds the paper cup close to his face, breathes in the scent of a warm mocha.

“Ah. What would I do without you?” he says, flashing her a smile. She laughs, a grin that stretches across her whole face, and the morning sunlight hits her eyes just right at that very moment, and she just looks so adorable. Something in him lifts. “I love you.”

The smile falters, and the latte she’s holding tumbles from her hands, contents spilling on the sidewalk. She blinks. “What did you say?”

Bewildered, she stares up at him, and his heart swells. “I love you,” he repeats. He can’t explain why now or how, but the words have finally come and he can’t stop them. Months of sentiments fall from his mouth. “I love every part of you. I love the way your eyes light up when you’re excited and I love the way you laugh and I love how open your heart is. I love your patience and your hair and the way you kiss me when there’s no one else around. I love all of you. I love you. I am in love with you. I’ve never loved anyone this much. I love you, Y/N.”

It feels so good to say it.

It feels so good to hear it. Water springs to her eyes before she can stop the tears. Stepping over the puddle of coffee, she cups his face in her hands. “I know you do,” she murmurs. “You didn’t have to say it. But I’m glad you did. And I love you, too.”

In the middle of the sidewalk, he pulls her closer, pressing his lips to hers. They’re both laughing and crying and something in them has changed. She doesn’t care that people pass by, giving them odd looks as they stand there kissing. Whatever locked doors existed in his heart have finally been opened. He’s healing. He’s ready.

For him, she would wait a thousand years. No demands, no ultimatums. She has heard the sentiment before, listening carefully to his actions and reading between the lines.

But oh, how good it feels to finally hear those words out loud. And oh, how she loves him.

Why do I dislike Tales of Zestiria the X?

Recently I’ve been asked one question numerous times: “Why do you think the anime is shit? You only hate it because it doesn’t focus on SorMik, right?”

Now guys, I think it’s vital for me to answer this. Because let’s face it, we will never see face to face if we don’t discuss the matter. And look, here I am, typing this out because I feel this is important. So if you’re curious and want to understand why a lot of us dislike the anime then please bear with me because this will be long (6 pages in Word, 6!)

To make this a little bit easier for me, I’ll assume that you haven’t played the game or watched its walkthrough yet and that you like the anime. But of course if you did either of them it’s good, bc at least you’ll know what I am talking about.

And so, I shall do a character analysis in this post, comparing the game and anime selves to each other while I name some other issues as well. I won’t list all the inconsistency and plot holes the anime has for I’d be here even after my death.

I’m going to try to make you guys understand that while the SorMik fandom is not happy, there are more pressing issues with the anime than that.

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Imagine that Jungkook is a serial killer that was caught and thrown in prison. While he is there he get a fan letters and stuff but he only gets one visitor. That visitor is Jimin who is actually the type that Jungkook went for to strangle and gut. Jimin confesses his love every time he sees Jungkook and Jungkook kicks his lips as he eyes Jimin.

“I would love to touch you Angel.” Jungkook says and Jimin smiles.

“I wish you could touch me.”