#as long as that's what the narrative presents to us as reality

[fairyroses]

"The Lex Luthor Ship of Theseus Problem" ohhh you're definitely not alone or crazy for thinking about this lol. Literally, here's a random snippet of writing that I threw in my notes app a year ago when I first found out about the SV finale:

😅 (I haven't publicly posted anything I've written in years, so pls don't judge me for this lol)

my hot take about the series finale of smallville, a decade too late, is that the character we are presented at the end of the show isn’t lex. and i don’t mean this in some tinhat conspiracy theory way or in a “the show writers ruined his characterization” way—i mean literally, on the page, the person we are presented with at the end of the show is a completely different person than the one who died.

like. lex died. the real lex dies. we know this is an objective fact within the smallville universe. after michael rosenbaum left the show, lex was killed off. the show runners could have chosen to leave him alive off-screen, but they did not. he died.

then the show decided to bring him back from the dead via cloning. except… that’s not how cloning works. they did not bring back the original lex luthor. they created a new person, via cloning, who had the same DNA as lex.

now briar, you may say, he has lex’s memories and personality! so doesn’t that mean he is lex? and i think that question is philosophically complicated, but if you look at it from a purely scientific point of view… no. the original lex is still dead. this new person may have all lex’s memories, and he may even believe he is lex, but critically—the original lex is still dead.

but even if you argue that having lex’s memories is enough—that even if the original lex is still dead, this still has all of his memories and personality (arguably), so even if he is not the original, he is still lex from a character perspective—he doesn’t even have that at the end of the show! they give him amnesia! he has no memories!

think of it this way (and i am showing my age with this metaphor, but bear with me): you buy a CD. then the CD gets lost, or stolen, or broken. you then burn a copy of that CD. it is not the original, but it still has all of the same songs on it. the sound quality is a little off, and you don’t have the case for it, but it’s still mostly the same. but then the CD gets corrupted somehow, and now none of the songs will play. do you still own that CD? i would say, definitively, no.

which means that at the end of the show, what we are left with is not the original lex returned from the grave. he isn’t even a copy of the original lex who is indistinguishable from the original. he may look like lex, he may sound like lex, he may even act a little like lex, but functionally? the character we are presented with is little more than a stranger with lex’s face.

[headspace-hotel]

its possible to grow in your knowledge in a way that is very destructive to what you thought you knew as a writer.

plant blindness is very useful for writers because it allows them to give their settings placelessness. write stories that "could be set anywhere." I used to imagine placeless places. post-apocalyptic wastelands without trees, towns amidst long roads and cornfields.

Now I know that along the paths or in the cracks in the concrete, the weeds are growing. And a weed is an ecosystem, and an ecosystem is a Somewhere, a network of tethers to a land that is rooted in deep time. Plants are a clarification of where and when we are, and what happened, and what people did to the land, and how long ago that was, and whether they are still doing it. Everywhere is land, everywhere has ecology and geology. The omission of the plants in any setting feels like intrusive clouds of amnesia or jarring black bars censoring part of the reality.

I am conscious of the presence of land in my stories. I am conscious that the land is the ultimate progenitor of the characters, plot, and setting. I am aware that there are plants, which make the setting into a Place with a history and ongoing present.

the way I used to write is irretrievable. places are not just scenery, they are narratives of history, destruction, renewal, energy flow and cultural values. The plants are a driving force with their own agency. I can't not write about the plants!

[kityana]

there's an interesting moment in "sinsmas" that i think far too many people misunderstood.

it's this one.

Stolas is a sucker for romantic fantasies.

we know this from pretty early on. he referred to blitzo in fantastic romantic terms like "my knight in shining armor".

he crossed blitzo's boundaries again and again because he thought their relationship was more intimate than it actually was, and he was sure blitzo was on the same page.

and he's constantly shown consuming romantic media- romance novels, telenovelas and rom-coms.

and honestly? i was constantly surprised by how much the narrative didn't punish him for it. not to say he didn't experience heartbreak. not to say some illusions weren't shattered. but at no point was the narrative ever saying stolas was wrong for having those dreams.

no, not even in sinsmas. because you know what happens five minutes after stolas gets angry at himself for doing it all for a fantasy?

this.

blitzo, slaying a literal dragon with a literal sword to save stolas. it's a scene straight out of a fairytale. and just because subtlety is for losers they even call it out.

the narrative literally tells stolas, your fantasies weren't foolish. you were right to believe in them. they came true.

it's a reoccurring theme in a lot of hellaverse characters. because you know who else is a dreamer hanging on to impossibly grand fantasies?

this guy.

sure, they aren't romantic fantasies, but blitzo's business aspirations are not all that different in the level of grandness or delusion. the theme of blitzo aggrandizing himself as a boss and the success of his business have been present since the pilot. they've been hammered home several times, with him, much like stolas, steadfastly ignoring any bit of reality that doesn't settle with his fantasy.

will blitzo ever get to be the big boss of a circus business with clowns and horses? probably not. does blitzo make plenty of mistakes about the way he runs his business? of course, so many. does he have ridiculous notions about what being a boss means that he needs to unlearn? yes, definitely!

but despite everything, he pushes through. and slowly but surely, his business becomes more successful as time goes on.

charlie from "hazbin hotel" is actually another good example of that. she also has a ridiculous dream that no one believes in. she also has ridiculous notions inspired by that dream. and the narrative also rewards her for hanging on to it when no one else would believe in it but her.

the point that seems to repeat in those stories is that those fantasies are important. that the act of believing in them is important. it can inspire you. it can help you push through when the odds are stacked against you. it can provide you with the drive you need to achieve your goals.

if stolas hadn't clung on to his ridiculous romantic fantasies, he wouldn't have believed in what he and blitzo could (and did) eventually become. he wouldn't have persistently tried to reach blitzo for as long as he did, even after he realized blitzo views their relationship so differently from him. he wouldn't have jumped so readily at the chance of what they could be, and found the courage to break free from his miserable, abusive marriage. he wouldn't have let blitzo become his light, and he wouldn't have become blitzo's heart in turn.

and it's not that stolas' is completely blind to reality. he doesn't literally wants to live in a rom-com. it's actually spelled out for us in "apology tour".

stolas doesn't want to actually be chased in the rain every day, he just wants someone to show this level of care toward him, because no one ever has.

and he finally gets it. and i'm sorry to break this to you, if you're one of the people who seem to be chomping at the bits for the narrative to slap the dreams out of stolas until he gets over them, but he wouldn't have gotten all of this without his fantasies.

[burnt-by-marigolds]

Why I think it's important that Astarion embraces the shadows

You know it's funny, at first I thought I was trapped by the shadows – cursed to live in them forever. But in time, I realised that darkness is as much a part of me as my fangs. This is only a curse as long as I refuse to embrace the shadows. So I decided I would.

I love how the choice between ascending and forgoing the ritual is designed: ascension grants an immediate reward (and thus presents an alluring temptation), but requires mass slaughter; letting go of the power comes at a personal cost, but saves lives and gives victims a second chance. If it was any other way, there would be no story in this choice; no dilemma, no conflict, nothing memorable.

I also think it’s crucial how in the spawn route, we see Astarion not only in high spirits (When I look at my future, anything and everything feels possible now), but also grieving. While he doesn’t regret his choice, he does feel sorry for his personal loss – which is natural and valid. And while I love that we can promise him to look for another way to walk in the sun again (after all, the Forgotten Realms are full of wonders – and the whole Multiverse even moreso), I also consider the narrative of him coming to terms with his condition (without giving up hope) much more real – and very important, at least to me.

I’d like to talk about two layers here: the more literal one, and the more metaphorical one.

The more literal one is pretty straightforward: we all have our limits in life. Some of them, we’re born with; some come up along the way; and other still are forced onto us. My first thought is neurodivergency or chronic illnesses, but I’m sure other people can name many more examples. You take medications or you go to therapy (pursuing the sun), but at the same time you just have to accept these things are a part of your reality, beyond your control. 

The more metaphorical layer makes me think of the Jungian shadow.

As some of you probably know, the Jungian shadow is the suppressed part of the psyche. It’s the facts about ourselves that are too painful or uncomfortable to acknowledge, facts we are unaware of, or facts we don’t like about ourselves and associate with shame. They make us behave in certain ways, often without us understanding why. And the more we sweep all of this under the rug of unconsciousness, the stronger the shadow becomes, constantly holding us back or making us repeat certain patterns (sometimes maladaptive) over and over.

(I’d like to emphasise that the shadow isn’t inherently “evil” – for example, we may suppress a trait or a behaviour because it’s culturally viewed as unacceptable, not because it’s objectively bad. The shadow is simply what lies uncovered, and may encompass useful and positive things as well.)

You probably already see where this is all going.

When Astarion says he has accepted the shadows as a part of him, he basically says he has learned to love himself just the way he is, without the need to become some better, idealised – and unattainable – version of himself. He has learned he is enough even with all the “less savoury” aspects – and it's clear it makes him feel free and more in control of his life.

Don’t hate me, but I think it’s more important than him literally walking in the sun. And let me reiterate – the point isn’t to forsake the sun entirely. Searching for it is an important endeavor – it symbolises making the word a better place. But I do believe accepting the shadow(s) is crucial to healing and an important first step towards any other goals.

This is who I am. In all my glory, for better and for worse.

[trulyradicalactivist]

My name is Act. I use She/They/It/Neo pronouns. I have been a radqueer since the original coming, and a part of the pro-para and proship communities before that. This is not a usual pinned post. This is a letter to my community. This blog is designed to support, uplift, and announce all forms of activism for our community and encourage each one of you to begin the revolution. For our identities, for our pride, and for our loved ones.

My call to action is under the cut. I ask you to take the time to read it. Thank you.

For too long, we’ve lived in the shadows of a world that dismisses, marginalizes, and oppresses us. Many wouldn't say oppression. Many downplay what we go through, saying that we’re just trolls taking up minimal space in the digital era. But we have been oppressed. In our own spaces, we’ve had civil wars, fighting over one thing or another, specifically designed to divide us! In spaces beyond our community, we’ve faced not only hostility, but outright discrimination. Told to kill ourselves by cowards who hide behind anonymity, many people who simply desired to be themselves, driven to suicide. Are you not angry? Are you not driven to the brink by what these people have done to us, justified by hatred and misinformation? I'm angry!

We’ve carried the weight of a world that refuses to see us for who we are, and we’ve endured the pain of invisibility and injustice. I refuse to accept that the identities in this community will endure that pain any longer. No more.

This is a call to every single one of you. Whether you’ve been part of this community for years or you’re just now finding your voice, know this: you are not alone. Our strength lies in our connection, our shared experiences, and our collective will to change the minds of people who hate us, to educate, to bring a new era of peace where radqueer is the norm. Everyone thinks the future is radqueer, and I agree, but to make it that way, it takes a community willing to change the present.

We need community and we need action. Not later, not tomorrow, not yesterday, the time hasn't passed and it isn't coming towards us. The time is now.

In the digital age, our voices can and do echo across the world. Activism is not just a tool; it’s a lifeline. It’s where we educate, organize, and amplify. Share your stories, challenge injustice, and build networks of solidarity. Every post, every comment, every shared resource matters. Together, we can flood people’s minds with truth and resistance. We can make a new tomorrow.

But I also recognize the power of individual action, even in isolation. Real life protest does not always mean marching in the streets; it can mean standing firm in your truth, no matter where you are. Writing “radqueer is the future” on a desk, on a bathroom wall. Scattering posters, flyers, stickers in the streets, putting them on benches in parks or sticking them into lamp posts.

Resistance is not a singular act—it’s a lifestyle. It’s choosing, every day, to reject the narratives that tell us we’re less than. It’s refusing to be silent in the face of oppression. It’s demanding change, even when the odds seem insurmountable, and believe me, they certainly seem impossible, but I promise you. They aren't. We have done this before, we will do it again, and again, and again, until we need not fight anymore.

Let’s not forget why we fight. We fight for the right to exist as we are. We fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. We fight for future generations, so they won’t have to endure what we have. And most importantly, we fight because we believe in a world where justice and equality are not ideals but realities.

So, here’s what I ask of you. A few actions, if nothing else.

Be loud. Use your platform, no matter how small, to speak out. Share resources or even create them, talk about your stories, and call others to action. Scream from the rooftops who you are, what you live for, what you fight for.

Be relentless. Don’t let apathy or exhaustion silence you. Take breaks when you need them, but never lose sight of the goal. I know. I know people who hate us break you down, try to make you tired, ruin your mental health. Take breaks. Always take that time for yourself. But a fight waits for nobody, so feel in your heart, even while you aren't fighting, we are. We’re fighting for you.

Be united. This community has shown itself to be a magnet for division, but do you expect to fight while shooting at those fighting with you? Differences in belief aside, differences in opinion on the future, what should be, what shouldn't be, who shouldn't and who should, put them away. We can come back to discuss those when the future isn't against us, when the enemy has laid to rest and we have made a life with them, where they do not want us dead or wish harm upon us. But for now, they do. Together, we are stronger than any force that seeks to divide us, so put away your issues with the person beside you and find that two make a better fight than one ever could.

Be bold. Challenge the status quo, whether it’s online, in your workplace, or in your personal relationships. Change starts with discomfort, and progress begins when we confront what’s wrong. A picrew says radqueer’s aren't allowed to use it? Use it. Make it your profile picture. Do it with flags. Identities. Terms. Pictures. Anything that says you, because of your identity and your beliefs, aren't allowed to use it. Anything that wants to oppress you. Do not accept it.

This is our moment. This is our fight. And we will not stop until the world hears us, sees us, and respects us. I will fight. I will fight for you, for this community, for all of us with identities we cannot share for fear of our income, our lives, our safety.

Justice is what I fight for. What do you fight for? Your family, your friends, the people you love? The right and ability to be yourself? To express yourself the way you desire to? To have the right to change your race, age, gender, species, anything at all, in the court of law? Do you fight for anarchy, for revolution, to tear down the status quo? Then fight.

The revolution begins with us—and it begins now.

[scoobydoodean]

What’s your opinion on dean saying “there is nothing past or present that i would put in front of you” in 8.23 because I often see people use it to not only downplay dean’s other relationships but also claim dean would choose sam over anything as if it’s an obsessive thing, when I feel like the series has time and time again, shown us that dean cares about doing the right thing while trying to keep his brother alive at the same time, I don’t get why it’s always an either/or with them. Because I guarantee if dean had to choose to kill either sam or any innocent person, he would either kill himself or find another way

Bronlies don't believe in love—just obsession and possessiveness. To them this is all a zero sum game and they're always jealous of anyone Dean pays attention to because they don't even get that Dean is theee endless wellspring of love to which everyone is drawn and around which the world orbits and that love is not a limited resource.

People get a lot of ideas in their heads about Dean choosing Sam over the greater good of the world, but then when you start trying to think of examples, you realize that Dean chose the safety of humanity more broadly over Sam plenty of times, and that Sam has killed innocent people (or gotten them killed pretty directly) to protect Dean many times. See: This post and this post for some examples. And also this post. And my whole #sam and human sacrifice tag.

I think it's kind of a weird flex to try and gloat over a scene where Sam threatens to kill himself over Dean having friends, resulting in a situation where Dean has to say whatever Sam wants to hear if he doesn't want his brother to kill himself. A scene that has a two-season long fall out that includes Dean getting The Brother Murderer Curse that symbolizes his many many resentments toward Sam. But regardless, I think there's a conversation about love and trust in that scene, and about Dean's very tenuous love for Sam as a friend but enduring love for Sam as a son and brother. The whole scene is heavily muddled with Dean's parentification, which makes it even less of a zero-sum game as far as Dean's other relationships.

Related posts on Dean's parentification (or see my whole #parentification tag):

This post with examples of Sam wanting Dean to be a brother and a parent in turns, and how the narrative perpetuates Dean's parentification

This post about season 8 Sam, including how Sam's behavior toward Dean reflects the parentification dynamic

This one about how parentification gives the illusion of authority and power without actual authority and power and this one

A part of Dean isn't forced to perceive Cas or Benny as his children, and that's a good thing. It makes his friendships with them less complicated, confusing, and muddled. Sam and Dean's relationship doesn't have that sort of clarity. There are times when Sam wants Dean to treat him as a respected and trusted friend, brother, and hunting partner, and there are times he wants Dean to be proud of him in a way he thinks John never was, and that's an experience that's confusing and distressing and unfair, but no less a reality born from their childhood experiences.

In the 8.23 scene, Sam talks about having let Dean down, and Dean trusting other people (read: Cas and Benny) to have his back more than he trusts Sam. It's a muddying of Sam's desire for Dean to trust him as an equal, friend, brother, and hunting partner with his desire for Dean to be proud of him like a dad, and results in a confused and jealous outburst about Dean having friends. At that particular point in time, Dean does trust Cas and Benny more than Sam. That's just the damn reality of things, and Dean isn't wrong for it. Sam isn't entitled to Dean's trust in 8.23. He just isn't. The lack of trust is brought about by the consequences of Sam's own repeated actions toward Dean. When Dean says that there's nothing past or present that he'd put in front of Sam, he isn't talking about trust. He's talking about the messed up pseudo momdad role he plays in Sam's life due to parentification in a scene where Sam most definitely casts himself as a child whose momdad is disappointed in him, who is about to kill himself over it. So Dean does what a parent would, and tells Sam that he'll always put his needs first—that a lack of trust isn't a lack of love. Dean even includes an example: Dean trusted Benny more (see: Southern Comfort), but when Sam was in danger, Dean begged Benny to risk his neck and return to Purgatory to help Sam get out. You put your kid first because that's your job and it's an ingrained need.

Dean has a long list of problems with Sam. He's had his own parentification used as a battering ram by Sam on tons of occasions. He's been lied to, condescended to, scapegoated, looked down upon, accused of everything in the book by Sam at one time or another. He's been abandoned, he's been betrayed, he's been strangled to near unconsciousness, he's had Sam put a gun to his head and pull the trigger multiple times in a row while telling Dean how useless and stupid he is. He's had his worst traumas thrown in his face and mocked. And all of those things put a strain on Dean's feelings toward Sam as a friend and as a hunting partner and make him doubt that Sam gives a damn about him, but the mix of brotherly (nature) and parental (nurture/neglect) love Dean feels for Sam is actually pretty unshakeable. So Dean leans into that in 8.23, at a time where his relationship with Sam is increasingly strained and they both know it, and Sam is breaking down about it.

It isn't about who Dean loves more. It's about different types of love, brotherly love mixed up with parental feelings Dean has toward Sam and that Sam has toward him, versus friendships built on battle-tested trust that Sam (in a very misguided way) sees as a threat because they represent relationships Dean chose instead of relationships that were thrust upon him and that are wrought with parentification in a tragic childhood. Your love for your kid isn't in competition with your love for your friends or a spouse it's a different kind of love and one does not diminish the other. At the same time, experience shows that Dean is actually willing to let Sam make the sacrifice play when needed—the biggest example being Swan Song. The Trials just weren't that sort of life or death situation. Not completing them meant maintaining the status quo, not an apocalypse.

[allofnypeaches]

I love a lot of things about the hunger games trilogy, but by far my favorite part of reading the books is how suzanne collins manages to use katniss' unreliability as a narrator as an advantage that improves the reading experience instead of limiting the readers' interpretation of the facts. I think about how when reading other first-person narrated books I am always conditioned to perceiving things the way they are presented to me by the narrator, without me even realizing it, and how that - obviously - reflects how every story has multiple sides to it and whatnot. but the hunger games, despite having a very biased narrator, manages to paint us a picture that is wider than katniss' view somehow. I haven't fully figured this out yet, but I think it's a combination of the following things that make this possible;

#1: Katniss, although very young and at times naive and blinded by fear, survival instincts, propaganda and most of the time just sheer confusion because of all the information that is kept from her, is very skeptical of everything. she rarely ever takes things at face value (even when she should, like when peeta shows his feelings for her), and is always questioning, pondering the different motives behind things, the possibilities and outcomes of what could happen if x thing meant y instead of z. and yes, her hypothesizing is often inconclusive - which is very understandable for someone in her situation - but it invites us to question things and hypothesize about them on our own, and through context clues that she may sometimes miss or misinterpret, we are sometimes able to piece together entire puzzles of the narrative before she does, and that is simply delightful to experience, while simultaneously not spoiling anything either, because it makes us anxious to see how and when she will realize what we already know.

a few examples include, but are not limited to :

- realizing that Peeta is madly in love with her before she even considers that possibility

- realizing that Madge genuinely likes her, as well as her entire family, and that they're actually friends before she admits this

- seeing through Gale's words and knowing he has romantic feelings for her before that ever crosses her mind

- thinking that the people in 12 are definitely looking out for her and Prim in any way they can (with their extremely limited resources and freedom) before she gets suspicious of that fact

- realizing how much of a symbol of hope and rebellion she is to Panem before she is told so (that's the most obvious one though)

- comprehending her mother's reaction (or lack thereof) to her father's death before she can see past the resentment in catching fire

- seeing that Gale brings out the worst in her at times, and seeing that he's constantly pressuring her when she's already holding the weight of the world on her shoulders, and how that makes him a bad friend, who, by the way, doesn't see her as a friend at all especially after the first games

- piecing together how terrible Coin is and how she needs to be eliminated just as much as Snow for the war to end before Katniss fully accepts that reality (she is the least oblivious to this one)

- realizing that Squad 451 don't actually believe that Coin gave her a mission in Mockingjay, but they're following her anyway because they want to, long before they tell her that

- watching her fall in love with Peeta, develop deep feelings of love and desire for him, while she is always either excusing it as something else, or too confused/oblivious/naive to see it

#2: the characters around Katniss never seem one-dimensional because of how empathetic she naturally is. because of how much she treats everyone like multi-faceted human beings as complex as she is, we are invited to wonder about those characters' feelings very deeply, and to interpret their actions accordingly, which greatly diminishes the potential for mischaracterization if the person reading actually exercises at least 1% of their critical thinking. this also goes for the system that she lives in, the culture she grows up in and the overall symbolism of things throughout the books. because of how well everything is presented, we don't need Katniss to tell us straight up how manipulative, coniving, dirty, cruel and tyrannic the government is, we can see this time and time again, in small and big things, from her odd description of things she's never seen/tried before showing us how isolated the districts are from eachother and how precarious their living situations are, to her talking about how traumatic her father's death was for her making us wonder if it was actually an accident. she doesn't have to connect the dots for us to wonder about the limited genetic pool of district 12, or about her father's extensive knowledge, where it came from and why he passed it all down to her, why he documented it in a book. it's like there is always a door open into the lives of others, into the things they believe in, into what the past of what that world was like, and if you're just willing to go through that door, the universe within the books greatly expands.

and that is all extremely intentional, too. Suzanne is trying to tell us that it is always worth it to look past our own lenses, to question things, to not be susceptible to manipulation and propaganda, to look beyond what we are shown and see the world, and the people in it, for what they truly are instead of always being limited by our own perspective of things. it's just so beautifully and masterfully written, and it will never stop being relevant. that's why these are my favorite books ever.

[artbyblastweave]

Still playing Skyrim. And I’m interested to report that the game is actually better than I remember, on balance. But I’m kind of fascinated by what’s going on with Lydia, mechanically and narratively.

Lydia is the first follower who gets shoved in your face just by virtue of following the main quest. There are others you can pick up earlier, but not without finishing errands (for Faendal and Sven), by forking up a pretty big chunk of change for the early game by hiring Janessa, or by going out of your way in some other manner. If you’re completely new to the game and you’re just powering through the main story as it’s presented, she’s the first option for a follower that the game highlights for you in giant blinking neon lights. And as a quest reward, she’s mechanically kind of a godsend at that point in the story; a doubling of carry capacity, an excellent meat shield and distraction, a way to extract utility from weapons and armor you don’t want to use yourself. More subjectively she provides the impression of a stalwart ally or companion in what can be a very lonely worldspace to exist in. There’s very little reason not to take her with you, and once you have her, the majority of companions being equal, there’s very little reason to get rid of her until she stops level scaling.

Despite the mechanical utility Lydia provides at a crucial point, and the resultant likelyhood that you’ll haul her along for the ride, she’s only a couple steps up from the companion cube. She has no specific, non-fungible impact on the narrative beyond demonstrating Jarl Balgruuf’s favor. Her deferral to you is automatic; if someone is actively paying her a salary to help you defile graves, cut deals with every deity on the continent and invade the afterlife, it sure as hell isn’t you. It isn’t clear what her gig under Balgruuf was before she was assigned to you. She has no personal narrative. She has no personal side quest. One of her biggest inklings of personality is when she expresses vague dissatisfaction with being treated as a pack mule, but then she does it anyway.  She’s party to world-shaking events and political upheavals, but she’s present purely in her capacity as your appendix, so reality simply treats her as your plus-one. 

She’ll block doors you’re trying to get through, and she’ll get mad at you if you push her out of the way. She’ll charge into battle or set off traps while you’re trying to sneak. She’ll microaggress you with stock Nord dialogue while pulverizing your enemies, a plurality of whom are also Nords. She’ll distract bosses long enough to buy you breathing room for a healing spell or a potion. You’ll kill her by accident with an ill-timed area-of-effect spell, roll your eyes, and, ultimately, probably reload your save. Because she might only be a couple steps up from a companion cube, but the whole gag with the companion cube is how ridiculously low the threshold is for the audience to get genuinely attached to something in a video game. A thin character invites apophenia. Behaviors that are purely downstream of dev thoughtlessness will still imply character traits if taken at Watsonian Face Value. In this case, inexplicable undying loyalty, reserved comments on impressive landmarks, and comical stoicism in the face of some of the weirdest events it’s conceptually possible to encounter.  So here’s to weird, underbaked companions in Bethesda Games, and everything we can project onto the void they provide. And Here’s to that related genus of character- units in squad-based tactics or management-sim games with permadeath mechanics who last long enough and accumulate enough equipment, skill points, etc. that they become your Special Little Guy despite otherwise lacking any deliberate character traits.

[fallenalienz]

i love how westerners try to present 4b movement as so incredibly influential in korea when in reality no one in korea has even fucking heard about that. it's literally more popular in US than it is in korea. i've recently watched a video made by a youtuber who has lived in korea for way over a decade and she made it because a journalist from our country asked her about this movement after reading about it in the western press and she was completely dumbfounded and had no idea what the fuck that was. none of her friends did either lmao.

this is westerners again trying to construct some narrative and use a foreign country for their own political battles. and now braindead radfems are running with this bullshit and spreading it all over the internet and trying to claim that low birthrates in korea are somehow the result of a movement that pretty much nobody in korea even knows about. it's amazing. how dumb do you have to be. there are myriads of substantial issues that contribute to this and not this made up thing. japan's had extremely low birthrates for a very long time now too.

[sewersewersewercouch]

Microphone and ADHD: yet another very rambly analysis

GUESS WHO’S WRITING LONG TUMBLR POSTS ABOUT MIC AGAIN!!!!

i’ve been trying to formulate this post in my brain for a while and i’m finally writing it. I should add a disclaimer here: while i’ve done my own research for this, i’m also mostly writing from my own experience, which a) obviously every case of adhd is different, and b) while adhd is my only diagnosis at present, there are various other things that i’m questioning and in the process of being evaluated for which might also bleed into my experiences with adhd. If there are any issues please feel free to point them out! Also i don’t want to imply that if you don’t have adhd you can’t relate to mic, i’m just discussing the things i personally am seeing in canon. Also also, if this is weird and disjointed and rambly, well, you signed up to read a very long post by someone from adhd about blorbo from their shows.

I think what first comes to mind with Mic and ADHD traits for me is her impulsivity. This is something we see trip her up again and again—for example, when she yells at Fan in Tri Your Best, not considering how the noise could boost him into the air and ahead of her, or in Mazed and Confused, when she calls after Knife in the maze without realizing that Test Tube is in there as well. (And yes, she didn’t hear Baseball say that Test Tube was in there, but if she’d thought before she’d acted she might have considered looking around to make sure there were no Bright Lights missing as well.) Hell, another example I noticed was that during Mine Your Own Business, when Taco and Knife are arguing, Mic physically shoves Knife into the gem, and like, not gently, either—he slams into it pretty hard. It’s been pretty well established at this point that Mic is very averse to physical violence, and she definitely wouldn’t do anything like that intentionally, but the fact of the matter is, when she’s stressed like that, she just kind of makes a snap action without using her head.

This also ties into my second point, her difficulties with emotional regulation, which is something that’s very common with ADHD. I kind of struggle to describe how this shows up in Mic, because honestly, a lot of her seemingly overblown reactions are more of a “straw that breaks the camel’s back” type of situation where she takes so much shit from her teammates that obviously, who wouldn’t be upset? However, I do think it’s fair to say that she’s someone who’s quite easily frustrated, and can have a tendency to lash out quite harshly when she’s in this state. For example, in A Kick In The Right Direction, she’s pissed off about being relegated to goalie, which is fair, but she takes this out on Dough, who wasn’t involved in this decision, just because he happens to be near her, and she’s, like…pretty mean about it, too? Like, when he says he’s bored she says “so am I but not enough to talk to you” and then later flat out tells him to jump off a bridge. Yes, this second one was after he was distracting her and the Bright Lights got a goal past her, but still, it does feel like a pretty dramatic reaction. Especially as in general, Mic’s demeanor is friendly and outgoing, she clearly is someone who cares a lot about others’ well-being, and she’s just a nice person all around, but when something gets under her skin she’s immediately on the defensive and says stuff like this.

Also, just in general, Mic is very outwardly emotional. It’s one of the ways the narrative contrasts her with Taco, who for much of the story is incapable of giving up her facade, whereas Microphone is incapable of not wearing her heart on her sleeve. You can usually at any given time tell from Mic’s expressions and tone exactly what she’s feeling. This is especially noticeable as she’s frequently in a position where she has to lie, and she is…not good at it. Some of the time she falls back on the aforementioned defensiveness—for example, in Alternate Reality Show, when Suitcase asks what she’s painting and she replies, “Uh, zilch! Why are you picking today to talk to me for the first time ever?” and when Knife immediately after asks why she was late, she says, “I got other places to be? What’s it to you?” A lot of the time, though, she just gets all nervous and awkward. Adorable, undeniably, but not helpful when she’s in the position she’s in. (I was very charmed to find that she keeps this trait even after the game, what with her telling Taco to act natural and then going “Heyyyyy!!!! I, uh, found someone! :))))” as if that’s at all acting natural. Never change.) Mic feels everything very strongly, and she can’t naturally hide that like Taco can.

I also wanted to bring up Mic’s extreme sensitivity to negative feedback, or what’s often referred to as Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria—which, yes, I know that isn’t actually technically a diagnostic trait, but I would say it’s kind of an offshoot of emotional dysregulation combined with a response to being ostracised for being neurodivergent in a shitty ableist world. A lot of the time when Mic shows the traits I’ve mentioned here, and they trip her up, her teammates show her very little patience and compassion. (Baseball and Nickel are particularly guilty of this—Cheesy does it as well, but he also apologizes to her and it seems like they get along afterwards. Baseball, however, will be on thin ice until I hear a goddamn apology from him.) And while she tends to respond to their disparagement with anger externally, as mentioned above, it also clearly really upsets her in a deeper way. For all the amount she takes it out on others, she takes it out on herself tenfold: look at the words she uses to describe herself in her diary. “Annoying, harmful, random, useless, insignificant, loser.” This treatment, along with her previously mentioned sensitive emotions, make her very reactive to any form of perceived criticism or failure. Even in the finale, when she’s been through her own arc and had a while to heal from the toxic environment of the show, the image shown in the red line game shows that this is still what upsets her the most—the idea of being ignored and rejected by others.

I think this also goes the other way—she’s so sick of being disparaged that it turns into a desperation for approval and connection. This is kind of the foundation of her entire arc. I noticed this one moment in Mazed and Confused, where Taco offers to help her out and Mic says “Really? You would help me out?” as though she’s completely shocked by the idea of someone offering her help. Which makes sense—the only person who’s actually been there for her is Soap. And one could ask, why does Mic stay in her alliance with Taco? Clearly she realizes, deep down, that what she’s doing is unethical. Mic is someone who has a strong moral code that I think in most circumstances she’d care about more than the money. (Yes, I know, I know, the twist, but it’s been proven several times that contestants are more than capable of putting other things above the game. Look at Marshmallow, Clover, Lightbulb, and obviously, eventually Mic herself!) But I don’t think what keeps her pushing her cognitive dissonance down is actually anything about the money. It’s the approval she gets. Baseball, who as I’ve said is normally quite hard on her, compliments her when she does something right as a result of her cheating, and in so doing cements in her mind that cheating=people liking her. She also gets approval from Taco, which fuels this even more. And as this alliance goes on, it transforms into…well, I don’t know if I’d call it a friendship, per se, but it seems that Mic really does value Taco’s company and wants to connect with her on a more personal level, rather than just as a means to an end. This just muddies matters further, as Mic now has not only approval at stake, but also one of the few actual relationships she has in the game. It takes Taco killing two people in front of her for her to decide that’s not worth it.

I think I maybe got a little sidetracked from my point there, as I am very much wont to do, but I think this leads Mic to display some kinds of masking behavior. One facet of this is politeness/friendliness—and this is not to say that Mic isn’t genuinely an outgoing, friendly person. In my own experience, masking isn’t as cut and dry as “not acting like yourself”---rather, it’s often more putting certain, more socially acceptable aspects of one’s personality forward and suppressing the less acceptable ones. Her politeness also comes off as very stilted to me. For example, in Theft and Battery, where she says, “Guys, not to sound rude, but didn’t MePhone5S and 5C just try to kill MePhone4? Didn't this guy create them? Why would he support us if he just tried to kill us?” It seems like a weird thing to have to tack “not to sound rude” onto—it’s a completely valid and truthful point. But she’s so used to being perceived as rude that it seems she feels like she has to say that. There’s also another example I already talked about in a different post but will go back over here—in Mine Your Own Business, when Mic and Taco are trying to sneak past Knife, but Mic sneezes and then follows it up with “Sorry! ‘Scuse me!” Which, as Taco points out, isn’t something people normally do. And immediately Mic falls back on her other defense mechanism, lashing out. If you listen to what she’s saying when they’re arguing, it’s “What was I supposed to say, ‘bless me’ and bless myself? You’re the one who’s always trying to be proper, what’s your problem?” I think this moment says a lot about her—when she knows she’s messed up, she tries to cover for it with politeness, but she also doesn’t quite get the social rules right. It’s very much something that’s put on, not that comes naturally to her. (This is where I realized she has many parallels with my other favorite Cabby, but that’s a whole different can of worms.)

However, she also masks in kind of the other direction, that is, putting others down to boost herself up. The Grand Slams are not the healthiest of teams, to put it lightly, and Mic mimics the behavior she sees in others that brings them social success. For example, when she jokes to Baseball about not wanting to “pull a Balloon—” Balloon being unpopular as he is, she knows other people will find mocking him funny. And it works! Baseball laughs! She tries this again later, when she says to Knife “talk about emotional baggage” in regards to Suitcase, but this time he doesn’t respond well. Mic seems genuinely surprised at this—this method has worked for her before, so she’s put off by the fact that it doesn’t work this time. And I should say—this isn’t something Taco tells her to do. She does it entirely of her own volition.

Actually, looking at this more, it seems more like part of something she mostly does during her alliance with Taco—an unaffected, jokey front she tends to put on when she’s lying or messing with people, to…limited success, as discussed earlier, but I think she also uses it when she’s lying to herself, or trying to convince herself that what she or Taco is doing isn’t wrong. I had a few examples in mind. The first is in Kick the Bucket, right after the Nickel and Balloon double elimination, when she says, “Well, ha, what a lively experience! Well, not much to gain from sitting around and doing nothing. See ya!” It’s oddly nonchalant when clearly everyone around her is upset, and we see her look concerned for a second beforehand before she goes into this. I interpret that as her…kind of seeing that what just happened messed things up for a lot of people and that it was her fault, but she’s not ready to accept that truth yet. She also uses this affect throughout Mine Your Own Business—both with Taco, as an attempt to get her to open up, and with Knife, I think in some ways trying to mimic what Taco did to recruit her in order to do the same with him. Neither of these are successful. Knife being Knife, he’s someone who’s very able to see right through people (figuratively speaking, that is, because now people can literally see right through him! Get it? Because he’s a ghost? Please imagine the sound of Cheesy slapping his knee from somewhere in the distance). He plants seeds of doubt in Mic’s mind by telling her about Pickle—and she’s still not ready for those seeds to grow, but they certainly are there. In fact, the next time we see her use this behavior, it’s in Hatching the Plan, when she jokes that Taco will “inevitably drop me too or whatever.” She says it casually, but clearly what Knife said is still on her mind, and she’s trying to convince herself that what happened to Pickle won’t happen to her even though she doesn’t at all believe herself. I also think looking at this behavior has really clarified my view of her in the movie—at first I was frustrated at how she seemed much more calm and collected than I would have expected her to, both about the general horrors happening to everyone, and specifically about Taco. I talked about those criticisms in another post, and I do still stand by them to some extent, I would have written her differently. But I don’t think it’s as incongruent with her character as I did before—in fact, I think there’s plenty of precedent for her masking like that in situations of greatly conflicted emotion. (Oddly enough, I think it’s something she has in common with Taco, but Taco’s just better with it.) I kind of doubt she was quite mentally ready to reconnect with Taco yet, but in such a dire situation she doesn’t have time to process all that, so she just kind of shoves that to the back of her brain. Not to say that I don’t think she genuinely cares for Taco, but I do think there’s a lot of processing she hasn’t done yet about her that will hopefully be a topic of discussion later please please please AE please for me???? Anyways, I do think this is a response to her aforementioned emotional dysregulation tending to create problems for her, and it’s definitely a masking technique in my eyes.

I also want to touch briefly on Microphone and Soap’s friendship, because while it’s not evidence for my point exactly, per se, I do think it’s relevant. While unfortunately pretty stereotypical representation, I would say it’s generally considered true that Soap is coded as having OCD. Now I’m not going to say that all neurodivergent people can easily be friends with one another, I know that’s not true. However, looking at the scene we see with the two of them in Rain On Your Charade, it certainly plays a part in this specific friendship. Mic helps Soap cope with her compulsions, and Soap is the only person at this time who really values Mic and doesn’t see her as a burden just because she’s accident-prone.

One minor thing I also wanted to point out was how it’s pretty common for people with ADHD to struggle with controlling our voices, including the tone, speed, and…well, volume. I can’t count the amount of times I’ve had people tell me that I’m talking loudly and I didn’t even realize it. I trust I don’t have to explain how this point is relevant to Mic, and it does very much fit.

There was one specific line that inspired me to write this post, from Everything’s A-OJ: “I’m trying harder than anyone else, so why do I always lose?” One of the diagnostic traits for ADHD is described as making “careless mistakes” in activities, and I never have particularly loved that phrasing. It may look careless on the outside, because it’s often mistakes that other people can easily avoid, but when you have a disorder that affects your attention, impulse control, memory, executive function, et cetera et cetera et cetera, you doing your best might look like someone else half-assing it. Not to get too personal on my blorbo post, but I keep thinking about this one teacher I had in middle school who, when I messed something up in a class, said “oh, that’s such a Clonnie move!” I’m sure she doesn’t remember that, but I do, because when you hear over and over again that people associate you with making mistakes, that shit sticks with you, and eventually when nothing you do helps you start to feel like you’re the mistake. That’s why Mic as a character resonates with me so much. God willing AnimationEpic will bring my girl back because I would like to see how Mic heals from that mindset as time goes on and where she goes from here.

[calliesmemes]

DARKNESS STILL HAUNTS YOUR NARRATIVE

ASSORTED ASKBOX PROMPTS from various sources with dark and / or unsettling themes. The ominous feeling from before is still there, and its prominence has only grown …

* TRIGGERING THEMES MAY BE PRESENT, such as death, wealth inequality, and war. Please exercise caution and curate your space accordingly.

CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed

SPECIFY muse for multimuses

❛ When I look at a person, I see a person — not a rank, not a class, not a title. ❜

❛ What a strange girl you are. ❜

❛ History is written by the rich, and so the poor get blamed for everything. ❜

❛ I could corrupt you. It would be easy. ❜

❛ How many centuries deep is your wound? ❜

❛ You’ll be remembered more for what you destroy than what you create. ❜

❛ Bitter are the wars between brothers. ❜

❛ Power comes with a price. ❜

❛ Your power might destroy you if you don’t learn to control it. ❜

❛ I’m not going to let you anywhere near a battlefield! ❜

❛ War is sweet to those who have never fought. ❜

❛ Cowardice is everywhere in this country. ❜

❛ Which appeals to you more? Power, or love? ❜

❛ Inside my head, the war is everywhere. ❜

❛ You look like your grief and guilt and rage are eating you alive, bit by bit. ❜

❛ Good and evil are a question of perspective. ❜

❛ The only difference between martyrdom and suicide is the press coverage. ❜

❛ Your place is at home; you will fight another day. ❜

❛ How many more children do we have to sacrifice in this war? ❜

❛ When you talk to the dead, the dead will talk back. They’re always there, even if you can’t hear them. ❜

❛ I am half child, half ancient. ❜

❛ You’re like me. You’ve seen too much, too young. ❜

❛ Every word from your mouth, every turn of phrase, will be judged — and possibly used against you. ❜

❛ I prefer the most unfair peace over the most righteous war. ❜

❛ A love like ours could burn down a city. ❜

❛ In my experience, men only call women ‘mad’ when they are doing something inconvenient. ❜

❛ I will do anything to keep you safe from harm. ❜

❛ You wield an incredible amount of power with just your voice. ❜

❛ You know, everything old can be made new again. Like democracy. ❜

❛ You laugh like a little girl, and think like a martyr. ❜

❛ What is a home if not the first place you learn to run from? ❜

❛ Do you understand what it means when you have nowhere else to turn? ❜

❛ The war is never over. ❜

❛ We are products of our past, but we don’t have to be prisoners of it. ❜

❛ I dream of the past as if it were yet to come. ❜

❛ You have endured terrible suffering, haven’t you? ❜

❛ Your beauty terrifies me. ❜

❛ This is war — you never know who’s listening. ❜

❛ This is a land of dreams and madness, where childrens’ stories come to life. ❜

❛ The Earth is littered with the ruins of empires that believed they were eternal. ❜

❛ I’ll never get used to being alive. ❜

❛ We’ve been fighting this battle for too long. ❜

❛ We swore we’d never bow to tyranny. ❜

❛ Young men fall, I see their agony. ❜

❛ We all carry things inside us that no one else can see. ❜

❛ Your suffering can’t end until you stop identifying with it. ❜

❛ You have to be a bit of a liar to tell the story the right way. ❜

❛ I’m so afraid of losing something I love that I refuse to love anything. ❜

❛ You collect scars because you want proof that you’re paying for whatever sins you’ve committed. ❜

❛ You can escape reality, but you can’t escape the consequences of escaping reality. ❜

❛ Is that all you want to be? Liked? Wouldn’t you rather be passionately and voraciously desired? ❜

❛ Sorrow found me when I was young. ❜

❛ The very heavens conspire against me! ❜

❛ Do you like the person that you’ve become under the weight of living? ❜

❛ The evil that men do lives on long after they themselves have gone. ❜

❛ You are not safe here. ❜

❛ I don’t know any places I can hide from the voices that are tearing me apart from the inside. ❜

❛ I am not a legend; I’m a fraud. ❜

❛ Destiny is a worrying concept. I don’t want to be fated; I want to choose. ❜

❛ I am not merciful, and I am not kind. ❜

❛ Until the lion learns how to write, every story will glorify the hunter. ❜

❛ Vulnerability is courage in you and inadequacy in me. ❜

❛ You cannot save people. You can only love them. ❜

❛ This isn’t going to be like last time. ❜

[luna-rainbow]

I know a lot of fans are upset about What If and its continual attempts at making Steggy a thing.

But I don't see it as Disney has won? I came into this fandom in 2021, long after Endgame stopped any chance of further canon Steve and Bucky interactions, and I know of fans who came into the fandom long after that.

Because the magic is still there. Because CATWS was a genuinely well-written story and a well-presented movie. The plot, the themes, the characters, the action, the music -- all of it culminating in a climax where the main character reverses 70 years of manipulation and torture with a simple phrase, and in doing so, saves both him and the person he says it to.

Whether you choose to see them as romantic or platonic or anything else, that unbreakable bond is there.

What If and Rogers Musical are cheap knockoffs trying to capitalise on the same magic without understanding what created the magic in the first place. It's the sacrifice and the loyalty, the shared loss and shared experience, the same wanderlust and same homesickness. It is the thematic relevance and the narrative significance. It is the fact that Bucky was tied to Steve's identity as much as Steve is tied to Bucky's, that every key beat in Steve's journey to becoming Captain America and upholding his values involved Bucky.

The real tragedy about the Steve-Peggy story - as a Peggy fan had pointed out actually - is that even in What If, her story remains subservient to Steve. Not What If Steve, but canon Steve. Unlike other stories in What If, where a simple change leads to a butterly effect of an unrecognisable future, the direct effect of copying Steve-Bucky's interactions beat for beat is that "Peggy" becomes the least consequential factor in the story. "She is just as good as Steve", the writers want to say, "she brought forward feminism by 2 decades". But the reality is…she continues to be a non-character and a non-factor, because even in a timeline as significant as a woman becoming the first super soldier, the universe barely changes. It simply fills in the holes with other characters and continue on the same inevitable path.

Bad stories are forgettable, good stories last forever. Remember when we had that hilarious poll against OFMD and a bunch of people came out of the woodworks to vote for Stucky even though they had long left the fandom? Because a good story has magic, and it's left an indelible print on many people's lives.

Disney had already lost the day Steve uttered, "I'm with you to the end of the line, pal." The characters belong to us now.

[biancasaidstfu]

Sorry, this is long and if you don't post it, I understand.

I want to go back to the WT for a sec, and one of the reasons I don't think what we saw was fake. First of all, I think the existence of dating co-stars, while having the potential to be great for a project, is more likely to be a headache for PR. What if there are problems, or the couple break up while doing promotion? Obviously, when doing promo, there is always the desire to present co-stars who get along and had a great time working together (even when the opposite is true), but beyond that, I don't think Netflix or Shondaland would be putting pressure on them to mirror their characters--certainly not to display the level of unhinged behaviour we saw. Whether or not they were flirting like mad because they're obviously attracted to each other (but were not together), or carrying on an affair while seeing each other people casually, or together all along....I firmly believe that chemistry and closeness is very real.

I didn't really start to think they were together until they started responding to people asking about it. I couldn't for the life of me understand their reactions. I expected them to be clear that Penelope and Colin are characters they play, and reality is different than fiction. Yes, I think Luke said at one point, it meant they did their jobs well, and obviously Nicola said they were great friends....but obviously, I was not the only one that noticed what seemed like very careful word choices, a lot of smiles and blushing, and an acknowledgment that fans shipping them was "sweet" and "not to worry". They saw the whole shipping discourse getting bigger and bigger, you would think they would want to push back harder, not in a mean way, but in a "we're bloody actors" kind of way. And no, I don't think it would have affected viewership--people were already very excited about Part 1, and looking forward to Part 2. And I would say most people--at that time--were not expecting them to behave the way they did; we're still flipping out about it all now.

What's happening now obviously poses many questions and possibilities...the surface narrative that the media is always right there to jump on *could* be true. But for people that are both described as warm, wonderful, caring people....are both really ok with the nasty vitriol their "partners" receive? To have your bf/gf called names, have their appearances and careers mocked; wouldn't that be reason enough to come out and show some kind of support? Or are we meant to believe that's what the no-comment-uncomfortable-looking appearances are about? ("See, this is who I'm with, leave us alone.") Meanwhile, both N and L seem pretty quick to come to each other's defense, when no one would expect them to (for example, the recent SAG blind item when N emphatically denied L was the subject). And while we know she was at the William Tell premiere, I'm fairly certain she posted nothing about the movie (all the other members of the friend group shared supportive IG stories celebrating Jake). Also, while we know she went to see his play (more than once?), yet she also never made a peep about being there, and what she thought of it and his performance, as a supportive gf (or friend!) would do. And while I can understand that L and N are not as active interacting with each other on SM because of the current insanity of fans, wouldn't things like wishing each other happy birthday be a way of retraining fans and assuring them that they are, in fact, the best of friends, who tease each other and have fun the way they used to?

As always, I want to say that they obviously can do whatever they want to do and don't owe the public a thing. But what we do see....mixed messages, indeed. It just reinforces to me that we really have no idea what's going on.

.

[reidmarieprentiss]

I Love You

Summary: Spencer tries to redeem himself after ruining everything he had with you.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: light smut (18+), pain of breakup, voicing that pain

Word count: 8.2k

a/n: eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee part two to i love you (i would write part 3) —hi was gonna wait to post butttt im having a bad monday so i wanted to see these fellas have their happy ending

masterlist part one

July, 2008

“Hey,” you said softly, your eyes searching his, filled with emotions.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

A silence hung between you, thick with unspoken words, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was as if both of you were trying to navigate the delicate terrain of this moment, unsure of where to begin.

“Come in,” you finally said, stepping aside to let him enter. Spencer nodded, stepping into your apartment with familiarity and trepidation. As you closed the door behind him, you couldn’t help but notice how he seemed almost hesitant, as if afraid to disrupt the space you had built for yourself in his absence.

You both moved to the living room, where he sat on the edge of the couch, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. You took a seat across from him, giving him the space he seemed to need.

“I’ve been thinking about what to say to you for months,” Spencer began, his voice tentative, eyes focused on his hands. “But now that I’m here, I realize that no amount of words can really make up for what I did.”

You remained quiet, letting him speak, knowing that this was something he needed to get out.

“I was jealous. Insecure. I let my fears control me, and I ended up pushing away the one person who meant everything to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke. “I know I hurt you, and I can’t take that back. But I need you to know how sorry I am. I’m so sorry for doubting you, for accusing you, for letting my insecurities get in the way of what we had.”

You could see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret that weighed heavily on him. It tugged at your heart, but you weren’t ready to let go of the pain just yet.

“Spencer,” you began, your voice steady but soft, “I appreciate you wanting to fix things, to be willing to admit your feelings. But what happened… it wasn’t between us. It was just you. I wasn’t a part of any of the decision-making, or the understanding. The only part of our relationship that I was present for towards the end, was the breakup. You left me out of everything and made up your own stories and facts about me, your loving, devoted girlfriend. I put all of my trust into you, and I only wish you had done the same for me.”

Your words hung in the air, heavy with the truth that had been buried for too long. Spencer’s face paled as he absorbed what you were saying, the weight of his actions settling on him like a burden he could never fully shake off.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I let my fears and insecurities take control, and I didn’t give you the trust and respect you deserved. I created a narrative in my head, one that wasn’t based on reality, and I let it destroy what we had.”

You nodded, your heart aching but resolute. “Spencer, relationships are built on trust, communication, and partnership. You can’t love someone and keep them at arm’s length, making decisions about them without including them. That’s not how it works.”

He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. “You’re right. I failed you in every way that mattered. I don’t know how to fix that, but I want to try. I want to earn back your trust, if that’s even possible.”

You sighed, feeling the weight of the past year pressing down on you. “It’s not something that can be fixed overnight, Spencer. And honestly, I don’t know if I’m ready to even try right now. I need time to think, to figure out what I want.”

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn. “I understand. I’m willing to wait, to give you all the time you need. I just needed you to know how sorry I am, and how much I regret everything I did.”

The room fell silent again, but this time it was a silence of understanding—a mutual acknowledgment of the pain and the need for space. It wasn’t a resolution, but it was a step toward something, even if that something was simply closure.

“Thank you for coming here, Spencer,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “I needed to hear this, and I think you needed to say it.”

“I did,” he agreed, standing up slowly. “I’ll go now. But if you ever want to talk, or… anything, I’m here.”

“No… you don’t have to leave,” you said quickly, surprising even yourself with the words.

Spencer paused, looking at you with confusion and hope. “What? Why not?”

“You took a three-hour train to be here,” you continued, your voice softer now. “We can… still be friends. Friends spend time together. Right?”

Spencer’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to gauge whether you truly meant it. “Right,” he finally said, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded, feeling a small sense of relief. “So, stay. We can talk, or just… be here. No pressure.”

He hesitated for a moment, then slowly sat back down, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “I’d like that,” he admitted, the words carrying a sincerity that made your heart ache.

And so, you both sat there, the remnants of what you once had still lingering in the air, but now with a new understanding—a step toward healing, toward something different. Maybe it was the beginning of a friendship, or maybe it was just a way to start mending what had been broken. Either way, it felt like the right thing to do, and for now, that was enough.

—

As you both settled into the couch, the initial tension began to dissipate, replaced by a more comfortable atmosphere. Spencer shifted slightly, trying to find the right words to break the ice, but you beat him to it.

“So,” you began with a teasing smile, “have you read any good books lately? Or are you still just hoarding them?”

Spencer chuckled, the familiar sound bringing a sense of warmth to the room. “Hoarding? I prefer to think of it as curating a personal library.”

“Sure, sure,” you laughed. “And how many of those ‘curated’ books have you actually read?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “More than you might think! But okay, I’ll admit, the collection has outgrown my reading pace a bit.”

“A bit?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “I remember you saying that about three bookshelves ago.”

Spencer smiled, feeling more at ease. “Well, you know how it is. So many books, so little time. But I did finish that mystery novel you recommended.”

“Oh, you mean the one where the butler actually didn’t do it?” you grinned, leaning back against the couch.

“Yes! I was convinced it was him the entire time,” Spencer admitted, shaking his head. “They really got me with that twist.”

You laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I knew you’d like it! I told you it wasn’t as predictable as it seemed.”

“Okay, okay, you were right,” he conceded, a playful tone in his voice. “What about you? Been to any good concerts lately, or are you too busy performing in them?”

“Touché,” you said, giving him a mock glare. “But actually, I did go to one recently! It was kind of nice to be in the audience for a change, you know?”

Spencer nodded, a genuine smile on his face. “I can imagine. It’s probably a different experience when you’re not the one on stage.”

“It really is,” you agreed. “I got to just enjoy the music without worrying about anything. It was a good reminder of why I love it so much.”

The conversation flowed easily after that, the two of you slipping back into a comfortable rhythm, sharing stories and light-hearted banter. It felt natural, almost like old times, but with a new understanding and a lighter, more cautious energy. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was something, and it felt good to just be in each other’s company again.

—

Spencer left later that evening, feeling lighter but not completely at ease. The conversation had been a step in the right direction, but he knew there was still a lot of work to do to truly prove to you how sorry he was. The road to rebuilding your trust was going to be long, and he was prepared to do whatever it took.

As the door closed behind him, you found yourself sitting in the quiet of your apartment, reflecting on the unexpected turn of events. Despite everything, Spencer had always been a significant part of your life, and it seemed that, in some ways, he still was. The emotions of the day swirled in your mind, a mix of old memories and new beginnings.

Instinctively, you reached for a notebook and pen, letting your thoughts flow onto the pages. Spencer had been your muse for years, inspiring some of your most heartfelt songs. That hadn’t changed, even after all the pain. Now, as you started scribbling down ideas, you felt that familiar spark—his presence still lingered, giving rise to new melodies and lyrics. The words came naturally, you weren’t sure where this new song would lead or what it would become, but for now, it was enough to let the music carry your emotions, just as it always had.

—

Spencer knew that rebuilding your trust would take time and consistent effort, so he began with the little things, the everyday gestures that showed he was thinking of you. 

He started texting you whenever something small reminded him of you—a funny sign he saw on his way to work, a quirky fact he knew you’d appreciate, or just a picture of his coffee when it was served in one of those oversized mugs you always loved. The messages were brief but thoughtful, his way of staying connected without pushing too hard.

When you didn’t answer his calls, he left sweet, friendly voicemails. “Hey, it’s me,” he’d say, his voice warm with a hint of nervousness. “I just wanted to hear your voice, but no worries if you’re busy. I hope you’re having a good day. Call me back if you can. If not, I’ll catch you later.” His tone was always light, never demanding, just letting you know he was thinking of you.

Every time you finished a show, you’d return to your hotel room to find a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting for you. The notes attached were always simple, but they made your heart ache a little less. I know you were amazing tonight. I can hear the crowd from across the ocean. –Spencer was your favorite one, always signed with just his first name, a touch of the familiar that made you smile despite yourself.

Spencer also made it his mission to read every book you had ever recommended. Late at night, after finishing a chapter, he would call you to share his thoughts. “Hey, I just finished that mystery novel you suggested,” he’d say, excitement evident in his voice. “You were right, the twist was incredible! I didn’t see it coming at all. I’d love to hear what you thought when you read it.” Sometimes you answered, and sometimes you didn’t, but he always left a message, continuing the conversation as if you were right there with him.

These small, consistent gestures slowly chipped away at the walls between you. They weren’t grand declarations, but they were genuine, thoughtful, and persistent—a reflection of Spencer’s commitment to making things right, one step at a time.

—

September, 2008

You had a show tonight in Amsterdam, and the city seemed to glow with a charm that made you fall in love with it a little more every day. The weather was perfect, with a gentle breeze and sunshine that reflected off the canals, making everything feel just a bit more magical. You couldn’t have asked for a better setting to prepare for your performance. You were soaking it all in, convinced that this country might just be one of your favorite stops on the tour.

But that sense of contentment was abruptly interrupted when you left your hotel that morning for a walk with Emerson, your head of security. The usual routine—just a quiet stroll to clear your mind before the day’s whirlwind began. But today, there was something different.

As you stepped out of the hotel, your eyes adjusted to the bright morning light, and then they landed on a figure standing next to Emerson. It took a second for your brain to catch up with what your eyes were seeing, but when it did, your heart skipped a beat. 

Spencer.

He was standing there, looking slightly out of place but unmistakably beautiful. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his posture a mix of nervousness and resolve. When he saw you, his eyes softened, and the hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

“Spencer?” you said, surprise and confusion mingling in your voice as you stepped closer.

“Hey,” he replied, his voice tentative but hopeful. “I was in the neighborhood. I thought… maybe I could catch your show tonight.”

You glanced at Emerson, who gave a small nod, signaling that Spencer had already been vetted and that his presence wasn’t an issue from a security standpoint. That left you to decide how you felt about him being here—unannounced, thousands of miles from home.

“You were in the neighborhood, huh?” you asked, raising an eyebrow with skepticism and amusement.

“Mhm,” Spencer nodded, his expression serious for a moment before a small, teasing smile tugged at his lips. “Just passing through.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his attempt to play along. “You didn’t come here to see anything? Anyone in particular?”

He pretended to think for a moment, then shook his head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No? Why would I do that?” he teased, his tone light but carrying a hint of the vulnerability you knew he was trying to mask.

You rolled your eyes playfully, feeling some of the tension ease between you. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well see a show tonight. I hear it’s going to be a good one.”

Spencer’s smile widened, the relief evident in his eyes as he realized you weren’t upset. “I’d like that,” he said softly. “I’d really like that.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the light banter easing some of the weight that had been hanging over your relationship. There was still so much to talk about, so much to work through, but for now, the fact that Spencer was here—willing to put in the effort and show up—meant something. And that was a start.

—

Emerson found a small table just within view, keeping a discreet yet vigilant eye on you and Spencer as the two of you settled into a cozy café along the canal. The picturesque setting, with its cobblestone streets and gently flowing water, seemed to work its magic, casting a warm, romantic glow over everything. You could see the old-world charm of Amsterdam reflected in the brown of Spencer’s eyes, and the peaceful atmosphere made it easy to forget, if only for a moment, the unresolved tensions between you two.

As you both sipped your coffee, the conversation naturally flowed, light and easy, with a hint of the playfulness that had always existed between you. 

“This place is amazing,” Spencer remarked, looking around with genuine appreciation. “I don’t think I’ve ever been anywhere quite like it.”

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” you agreed, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face. “But I have to admit, I’m a little biased. I’ve always had a soft spot for places like this—where everything feels timeless.”

Spencer smiled, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “Timeless suits you,” he said, his voice soft but filled with meaning.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, the compliment catching you off guard. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?” you teased, trying to downplay the effect his words had on you.

“Only when it comes to you,” he replied, his tone slightly more serious but still playful enough to keep things light.

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his flirtatiousness. “Careful, Dr. Reid. You’re getting dangerously close to charming your way back into my good graces.”

Spencer leaned in slightly, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of intelligence and mischief. “Is that so? Because I was under the impression I had quite a bit of ground to make up.”

You raised an eyebrow, matching his playful tone. “Oh, you definitely do. But I have to say, this impromptu visit to Amsterdam is a pretty solid start.”

Spencer’s smile widened, emboldened by the fact that you hadn’t shut him down. “Well, I’ve always been a fan of spontaneous gestures. Especially when they involve canals and coffee with a beautiful woman.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Spencer, you’re laying it on thick today.”

“Just trying to make the most of the moment,” he said, his voice softening as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that you hadn’t made up your mind about where things stood between you. The romantic setting, the easy conversation, and the lingering affection between you made it feel like everything was just as it had been before. You allowed yourself to bask in the moment, enjoying the way Spencer’s presence made you feel—light, happy, and maybe even a little bit hopeful.

As you both continued to flirt and laugh, the city of Amsterdam seemed to wrap you in its embrace, making it easy to pretend, just for a little while, that all the hurt and uncertainty were far behind you.

—

While you were whisked away for sound checks and concert preparations, Spencer found himself with some time to explore the charming streets of Amsterdam on his own. The city was a maze of narrow alleys, quaint shops, and hidden gems, each turn offering something new to discover. As he wandered, Spencer stumbled upon a small, local florist tucked away on a quiet street corner. The shop was brimming with vibrant blooms, their sweet scent filling the air. It was then that an idea struck him.

—

That evening, as you took the stage, you felt a different kind of energy pulsing through you. The anticipation of the performance always brought a thrill, but tonight was special. You knew Spencer was somewhere in the crowd, watching you with those thoughtful eyes of his. It was hard not to shine a little brighter, knowing he was there, sharing this moment with you.

Even with thousands of faces in the crowd, you could sense him out there, unwavering in his attention. Knowing he was watching, supporting you, made you feel invincible. For the first time in a long while, you fully embraced the moment, letting the music and the crowd's energy fill you up.

When the concert ended, the thunderous applause echoed in your ears as you walked off the stage, your heart racing—not just from the performance, but from the anticipation of seeing Spencer again. The night wasn’t over, and you couldn’t wait to see what it had in store.

—

The ride back to your hotel from the venue was charged with a new, palpable energy between you and Spencer. The city lights flickered past as you sat together in the backseat, his hand gently holding yours, and you didn’t pull away. You let him hold onto you, both of you savoring the quiet connection that had started to rebuild itself.

When you arrived at your hotel, Emerson gave you a goodnight with a knowing wink before leaving you and Spencer alone. As you opened the door to your room, you were greeted by a breathtaking sight—every surface in the vintage, pristine room was covered in flower bouquets. The rich scent of fresh blooms filled the air, making the moment even more surreal.

“Spencer?” you called out, still taking in the unexpected surprise.

“Yes, Y/N?” he replied, his voice soft, almost nervous.

“You did this?” you asked, turning to face him with wide eyes.

“No, it was all Dylan,” he teased, trying to keep his tone light.

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “He would never. He’s allergic to flowers.”

“Emerson?” Spencer suggested, his voice growing more uncertain as you began to slowly walk toward him.

“Nope,” you shook your head, a playful glint in your eye. “They have strict rules to follow. This would break a lot of them.”

Spencer swallowed hard, his mind racing as you closed the distance between you. “Then it seems like you have a secret admirer,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

“I wish I could properly thank them,” you said, your voice just above a whisper as you stopped right in front of him.

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. “How… how would you thank them? Just so I can pass the word on if I find them,” he asked, his voice barely steady.

You leaned in closer, your lips almost brushing his as you whispered, “I don’t think I can say… it’s explicit.”

His eyes darkened with desire, the playful banter between you intensifying the tension. Spencer’s breath hitched, his mind reeling as he struggled to keep his composure, realizing that perhaps, just perhaps, this night was about to become even more unforgettable.

“Maybe—shit,” Spencer stammered as you began kissing his neck, your hands skillfully unbuttoning his shirt. His words faltered as he tried to maintain the playful charade. “Maybe, if you showed me, I could tell them…”

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, a smirk playing on your lips. “Spencer, drop the act, or I’m kicking you out.”

He swallowed hard, his playful facade crumbling under the intensity of the moment. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, his voice a mix of submission and anticipation.

Spencer leaned down to kiss you, his intentions clear in the warmth of his gaze, but you stepped back just in time, a playful smile dancing on your lips. He paused, momentarily thrown off by your sudden evasion, but then a glint of mischief sparked in his eyes.

You slowly dodged him, weaving around the vases of flowers that filled the room, sneaking glances at him over the tops of the beautiful petals. Each bouquet served as a playful barrier, giving you just enough of an edge to keep him at bay. Spencer, undeterred, followed you with the focused intensity of a predator stalking its prey, his movements deliberate yet light-hearted.

The room was filled with the scent of fresh blooms, but all you could focus on was the chase—the way Spencer’s eyes tracked your every move, the way his playful demeanor had resurfaced after being buried under months of tension. It was as if the playful spirit of your relationship had finally defrosted, melting away the distance that had grown between you.

As you ducked behind a particularly large vase, you caught a glimpse of him moving closer, his eyes locked on yours. He was enjoying the chase, and you could feel the thrill of the game building between you. You darted to the side, but he was faster, anticipating your move and closing the distance.

“Got you,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he finally cornered you against the wall, his arms bracketing you in. His smile was wide, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he leaned in close, leaving no more room for escape.

“Promise?” you whispered, your voice barely audible, yet filled with vulnerability. 

Spencer’s eyes softened even more, understanding the weight of that single word. His expression grew serious, all the playfulness giving way to something deeper. He reached up, gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“I promise,” he said, his voice steady and sincere. “I won’t let you down again.”

With those words hanging in the air, the distance between you finally closed as Spencer leaned in to kiss you. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he was savoring the moment, afraid to rush what felt so fragile. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, and for a brief second, everything else faded away—the flowers, the room, the world outside—leaving just the two of you, wrapped in intimacy.

As the kiss deepened, the tentative touch gave way to something more urgent, more desperate. Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers pressing gently but firmly into your skin as if grounding himself in the reality of you being there, in his arms. You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, the soft strands slipping between your fingers as you pressed your body against his, seeking more of the warmth and comfort his presence brought.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a blend of familiarity and longing that you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much. His lips moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, taking their time to explore every curve and contour of your mouth, as if memorizing the sensation all over again. The kiss was filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long, now finally unleashed in the safety of this shared moment.

Your breath quickened as the heat between you grew, the banter from earlier now replaced with an intensity that left you both breathless. Spencer’s hands slid up your back, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake as he pressed you against the wall, his body a solid, reassuring presence against yours. 

Every inch of you was aware of him—the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the subtle tremor in his hands as they roamed your body, the way his lips claimed yours with a possessive need that made your pulse race. The air around you crackled with the electricity of unspoken desires, the kind that had been dormant for far too long.

You felt the world around you blur, your senses overwhelmed by the feel, taste, and scent of him. Spencer’s lips left yours only to travel down your jawline, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive curve of your neck. A shiver ran through you, your body responding instinctively to the sensation, your head tilting slightly to grant him better access. His name slipped from your lips, a breathless whisper that held a world of meaning, of need, of budding trust.

He paused for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours as you both caught your breath. The look in his eyes was one of pure, unfiltered emotion—love, desire, and a hint of the vulnerability that came with baring one’s soul to another.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion, “I need you.”

The simple statement, filled with so much more than just physical desire, resonated deep within you. It wasn’t just about the touch or the kiss—it was about everything you had shared, everything you had lost, and everything you were beginning to find again. In that moment, you knew that this was more than just a kiss—it was a step toward healing, toward rebuilding what had been broken, and toward rediscovering the love that had always been there, just waiting for the right moment to bloom again.

“You have me,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions swirling inside you.

“I do?” Spencer asked, his eyes searching yours, filled with hope and disbelief.

“You do, Spencer,” you affirmed, your words laced with all the sincerity you felt in that moment.

With that, any lingering hesitation vanished. Spencer’s hands, warm and sure, found yours as you both slowly made your way toward the bed. The room seemed to pulse with the energy between you, every step heightening the anticipation that had been building all evening.

As you reached the edge of the bed, Spencer paused, his gaze locking onto yours, his eyes reflecting the depth of what was about to happen. He pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly, and in that moment, it was as if everything fell into place—every word, every gesture, every unspoken promise.

Gently, he guided you down onto the soft sheets, the world narrowing to just the two of you. The mattress dipped slightly under your combined weight, the sensation grounding you both in the reality of this moment. Spencer hovered above you, his hands framing your face as he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and filled with the unspoken vows of what you were rebuilding together.

His lips moved against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His touch was careful, almost reverent, as though he was savoring every second, every sensation. His fingers trailed down the side of your face, brushing over your jawline before gently tracing the curve of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

You felt the warmth of his body pressing against yours. The fabric of your clothes created a tantalizing friction between you, the anticipation building with every subtle movement. Spencer’s hand slid down to your waist, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin just beneath the hem of your shirt, igniting a trail of heat as he slowly lifted the fabric, his touch both hesitant and eager.

As he leaned in closer, his breath ghosted over your skin, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake. The weight of him above you was a comforting reminder of his presence, his body cocooning you in a protective embrace. His lips moved to your jaw, then to the delicate curve of your neck, where he pressed soft, lingering kisses, each one sending a wave of warmth cascading through your body.

You arched slightly beneath him, your hands finding their way to his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. Spencer’s hand continued its exploration, moving from your waist to your hip, then down the curve of your thigh, his fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns that left you breathless.

The world outside the room faded away, leaving just the two of you enveloped in this moment of rediscovery. Every touch, every kiss, felt like a promise—of forgiveness, of healing, of a love that had been tested but refused to break. Spencer’s eyes met yours, a silent question lingering in them, and when you nodded, he smiled—a tender, genuine smile that spoke of the hope you both held for what lay ahead.

His lips found yours again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent, as if you were both trying to make up for lost time. The intensity of the moment wrapped around you both like a warm embrace, pulling you closer, dissolving any remaining doubts.

The soft fabric of your clothes slowly gave way under his touch, his hands sliding beneath to explore the warmth of your skin. Every brush of his fingers sent a wave of sensation coursing through you, heightening the anticipation that had been building between you.

You arched into him, your breath hitching as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake. His name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper, urging him on as he continued his slow, deliberate exploration. The way he touched you, the way he kissed you, was as though he was rediscovering every part of you, savoring the familiarity and the newfound intensity that came with the rekindling of your connection.

Your hands found their way to the buttons of his shirt you never got to finish undoing, your fingers trembling slightly with the urgency of your desire. As you worked to undo them, Spencer’s lips moved lower, his breath warm against your skin, each kiss igniting a deeper longing within you. The fabric of his shirt slipped off his shoulders, revealing the familiar contours of his chest, his skin warm and inviting under your touch.

With a gentle but insistent push, Spencer guided you back down onto the sheets, his body hovering over yours, the weight of him pressing into you in a way that made your heart race. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything else fell away—there was just you, him, and the intense connection that pulsed between you.

His lips found yours once more, the kiss growing more heated, more insistent, as the boundaries between you blurred. His hand slid down your body, tracing familiar paths with a renewed intensity. When he reached your core, his touch was confident, knowing exactly how to apply just the right amount of pressure, a skill only a lover who truly knows your body could master.

A soft moan escaped your lips as Spencer’s fingers continued to work their magic, the sensations sending shivers of pleasure coursing through you. His mouth moved from your lips to your chest, leaving a trail of heated kisses down to your nipples. His breath was warm against your skin, each exhale sending a new wave of anticipation through your body. Your hands roamed over his back, fingers digging in slightly as the intensity of the moment built between you.

Spencer’s touch was both firm and gentle, guiding you through waves of pleasure with an ease that spoke to the depth of your connection. Every movement was purposeful, designed to bring you closer to that edge, yet slow enough to savor each moment. He was meticulous, attentive, ensuring that your every reaction was met with just the right response.

The rhythm between you was perfect, a dance of mutual desire and trust. As you moved together, the sensations intensified, each one drawing you closer to the brink. Spencer’s name slipped from your lips in a breathy whisper, a sound that spurred him on, his own need mirrored in your eyes.

Finally, when the tension became too much to bear, you let go, surrendering to the flood of sensations that washed over you. Spencer kept his rhythm steady, guiding you through the waves of pleasure until you began to shake, your body trembling from the intensity. When you pushed his hand away, overwhelmed by the sensations, he relented, his touch immediately softening.

“Spencer…” you looked up at him with desperation in your eyes, your voice breathless, “please.”

He gazed down at you, his expression softening with affection and understanding. “Okay, baby. I got you,” he whispered, his voice soothing, full of promise.

“I know,” you replied, your trust in him evident in those two simple words.

Spencer smiled at you, the warmth in his eyes reflecting the deep connection between you. He leaned down, brushing a tender kiss against your lips before positioning himself. His movements were deliberate, careful, as he lined himself up with you, ensuring that you were both ready for what came next.

The anticipation hung heavy in the air as he entered you slowly, each inch sending a new wave of sensation through your body. He paused for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the feeling, before he began to move with a steady, unhurried rhythm. Every thrust was measured, deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second of being with you in this way.

Your hands found their way to his back, your nails digging in slightly as he picked up the pace, the urgency between you building once more. The sounds of your breathless moans and his deep groans filled the room, blending with the scent of flowers and the lingering intimacy that wrapped around you both.

With every movement, Spencer's focus was entirely on you—on your pleasure, your needs. He watched your reactions closely, his gaze never leaving your face as he adjusted his rhythm to match what you needed. His own pleasure was secondary, a distant thought compared to the overwhelming desire to see you completely fulfilled.

Spencer’s name slipped from your lips in breathless whispers, the sound fueling his determination to bring you as much pleasure as possible. His touch was both gentle and firm, knowing exactly when to push you further and when to hold back, drawing out the moment, making it last.

As the tension built once more, you could feel the waves of pleasure building inside you, Spencer’s steady rhythm guiding you to the brink. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, a gesture that was both intimate and grounding, reminding you that he was right there with you, sharing in every moment. 

When the release finally came, it was overwhelming, a powerful surge of sensation that left you breathless and trembling in his arms. Spencer helped you through it, his movements gentle and reassuring as he guided you down from the heights of pleasure as he held you close, as if you were the most precious thing in his world.

His own release followed soon after, his grip on you tightening as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The sound of his ragged breathing filled the room, mingling with your own as you both rode out the waves of pleasure together.

In the quiet aftermath, Spencer pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. Your heart beats slowly returned to normal, the world around you gradually coming back into focus. The room was filled with the scent of flowers, the warmth of your shared intimacy, and the comforting presence of the person who knew you better than anyone else.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, his touch soothing and gentle. “Are you okay?” he whispered, his voice soft, full of concern and love.

“I’m not sure,” you teased, a smile playing on your lips. “I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

Spencer groaned, a flush of mild embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Y/N…”

You laughed softly, the sound light and free. “I’m okay, Spencer. Really. Are you?”

He looked down at you, his eyes warm and filled with a contentment that made your heart swell. “I’m happy,” he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

Your heart soared at his confession, a wave of warmth spreading through you. “Me too,” you whispered, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over you.

And for the first time in what felt like too goddamn long, you fell asleep in Spencer’s arms, your bodies intertwined, the world outside fading away as you drifted off into a restful, contented sleep.

—

Spencer did have to return home, and you had to move on to your next tour location, but neither of you parted without lingering kisses and heartfelt promises. 

Standing at the door of your hotel room, Spencer pulled you close, his hands gently cradling your face as he pressed one last, tender kiss to your lips. The moment was bittersweet, filled with the knowledge that your paths would diverge once more, but also with the hope that this wasn’t goodbye.

“See you later,” he murmured against your lips, his voice full of sincerity.

“See you later,” you echoed, your hands clutching at his shirt, reluctant to let go.

With one final embrace, Spencer slowly pulled away, his fingers trailing down your arm as if he couldn’t bear to break the connection entirely. He gave you a soft smile, one that spoke of the unspoken feelings still lingering between you, before turning to leave.

As you watched him walk away, your heart felt lighter, knowing that this was just a temporary farewell. There was a quiet confidence in the promise you had made to each other—a promise that despite the distance, you would find your way back to one another. And as you prepared to move on to your next tour location, you carried that promise with you, feeling more connected to Spencer than ever before.

—

November, 2008

“Y/N, how would you feel about taking a break between the next two stops?” Dylan suggested casually, though his tone held a hint of something more.

You immediately perked up, curiosity and concern flashing across your face. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that,” Dylan reassured you with a warm smile. “You’ve just been working so hard, and there’s a scheduled two-week break where you don’t have any obligations.”

“Seriously? How did that happen?” you asked, surprised and a bit skeptical. It wasn’t like your schedule to have such a gap.

Dylan chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Because your assistant loves you and wants to make sure you stay healthy.”

Your face lit up with gratitude. “I love you too. There’s really a whole two weeks of nothing?”

“Well, not nothing,” Dylan laughed. “I still need you back for sound checks before your next show. And at least one or two posts each week.”

“Deal,” you agreed without hesitation, excitement bubbling up inside you. “When can I leave?”

“After tonight,” he replied with a grin, knowing exactly where your mind was headed.

Without thinking, you ran over to Dylan and planted a big, affectionate smooch on his head, overwhelmed with gratitude. You hadn’t seen Spencer since Amsterdam—two long months filled with phone calls and texts that were nice but could never quite fill the void. It was hard, and you couldn’t lie to yourself about that. You missed him, missed the way he made you feel when you were together.

And Spencer? He was trying his best to be patient, reminding himself that you were busy, that you were on another continent, and that the occasional game of phone tag had nothing to do with how you felt about him. But it was tough, and he was counting the days until he could hold you again.

As you packed up your things, the thought of seeing Spencer after so long filled you with a renewed energy. The anticipation of being together again, even if just for a short time, made the time apart seem worth it. And you knew that the moment you were back in his arms, everything would feel right again.

—

You knew Spencer wasn’t on a case—he always made sure to tell you when one came in, just in case you needed to reach him and he was unavailable. So, without hesitation, you booked a flight to New York. You barely had time to drop off your things, shower, and repack before you were on a train heading to Virginia, your heart racing with anticipation.

Spencer wasn’t expecting anyone when he heard a knock on his front door. He approached with caution, wondering who could be visiting at this hour. But when he opened the door, his breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N??” he exclaimed, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Boo,” you said playfully, a grin spreading across your face.

Without a second thought, Spencer opened the door all the way and pulled you into a tight hug, the relief and joy in his embrace unmistakable. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see my favorite genius,” you replied, your voice muffled slightly against his chest.

“But you’re on tour,” he said, pulling back just enough to look at you, concern and confusion etched on his face.

“Oh yeah, I quit. Canceled everything,” you said nonchalantly, trying to keep a straight face.

“What?? You can’t do that! Your fans! Your—” Spencer began to panic, but the sight of your teasing smile stopped him mid-sentence.

“I’m kidding, Spence,” you laughed, lightly tapping his chest. “Dylan scheduled me for a break.” You bit your lip, smiling up at him with excitement and mischief.

“How long do I have you for?” he asked, his voice softening as he searched your eyes.

“Forever? Hopefully,” you teased, but there was a sincerity in your tone that made Spencer’s heart swell.

“Y/N…” Spencer was speechless, overwhelmed by the sight of you standing there, in his doorway, after so long. He was so, so in love.

“Just under two weeks,” you added, your smile growing as you saw the love and happiness in his eyes.

“That’s more than I could’ve hoped for,” he whispered, pulling you back into his arms, holding you as if he never wanted to let go. And in that moment, with you in his arms, the world felt perfect once again.

—

While Spencer was at work, he recommended that you read a book he loved, something to keep you occupied while he was away. With nothing else on your agenda, you decided to take him up on the suggestion and finally had a chance to relax. Settling into a comfortable spot, you cracked open the book, curious to see what had captured Spencer’s heart.

As the hours passed, you became completely engrossed in the story, savoring every word. It was a romance novel, something you hadn’t expected from Spencer, but it touched you deeply. The characters’ journey mirrored so many of your own emotions, their struggles and triumphs in love resonating with everything you and Spencer had gone through.

When you finally turned over the last page, satisfied yet yearning for more, you noticed something scrawled in messy pen on the inside of the back cover. Your heart skipped a beat as you began to read the familiar handwriting.

My love—

Words will never be able to capture how truly sorry I am for everything I have done, for everything I have put you through. I am beyond grateful you gave me a second chance, not just with you, but at happiness, fulfillment, and love. I love you. There is only one piece missing now from our ever-evolving puzzle.

Will you be my girlfriend?

Sincerely, your desperately in love, Spencer

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reread the note, the sincerity and vulnerability in his words hitting you right in the heart. You couldn’t help but smile through the tears, your heart swelling with love for the man who had poured his emotions onto the page, who had been brave enough to ask you for a second chance at happiness.

When Spencer returned home that evening, you didn’t wait for him to ask how the book was. You simply walked up to him, holding the book in your hands, and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“Is that a yes?” Spencer asked softly, his voice full of hope and love as he held you close.

You looked up at him, your eyes still glistening with tears but your smile radiant. “Of course it’s a yes, Spencer,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I would love to be your girlfriend.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his embrace, you knew that this was just the beginning of a new, beautiful piece in your love story.

—

Bonus

“Billie, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Billie,” you said, introducing the two with a warm smile.

Billie smiled at Spencer, her eyes curious as she took him in. “Hey, nice to finally meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said, her tone friendly and genuine.

Spencer returned the smile. “Likewise. It’s great to meet you too, Billie. Y/N’s told me a lot about you as well.”

Billie chuckled, glancing at you with a playful grin. “All good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Spencer replied, his gaze shifting to you with a fondness that didn’t go unnoticed.

You couldn’t help but smile at the easy exchange, relieved that two of the most important people in your life were finally meeting. The moment felt natural, like two pieces of your world finally clicking into place.

“So, Spencer… you thought I was Phoebe Bridgers?” Billie asked with a teasing grin, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he managed a sheepish smile. “In my defense, the photo was pretty blurry,” he replied, his tone light but sincere.

Billie laughed, shaking her head. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment. But I’m glad we’ve cleared that up.”

“Only a year or so too late, but he just upgraded his prescription,” you teased, flashing Spencer a playful grin.

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. “Better late than never, right?”

Billie laughed along, the lighthearted banter putting everyone at ease. “Well, I’m glad you can see things clearly now,” she joked, giving you a wink. 

“Did she just wink at you?” Spencer asked, his voice a mix of playful suspicion and amusement.

“Spencer!” you groaned, laughing as you nudged him lightly. “Don’t start!”

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

tag list <333 @spencerreidsreads @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @dirtytissuebox @yokaimoon @reggieswriter @loumouse @mentallyunwellsposts @time-himself @chaneladdicted @kathrynlakestone @furrybouquettrash @hearts4spensco @gilwm @khxna @charismatic-writer @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @noelliece

[artigas]

I’m really happy that Black Sails is experiencing a bit of a renaissance, but (predictably) some of the takes I’m seeing online are so busted. It’s wild to me that anyone would complain about the fact that Anne Bonny kisses Jack after she’s developed this life-changing relationship with Max. It’s absolutely wild to see anyone roll their eyes or feel uncomfortable about the fact that Flint has sex with Miranda when he returns to her in season one or that Max is most likely a lesbian but actively has sex with men for pay and knows how to make that pleasurable. It’s crazy to me that some of the very audiences who claim to want queer representation feel so discomforted when they actually see the mess and seeming inconsistencies of queerness that they asked for.

The reality is that there are lesbians who have had (and will have!) meaningful, mutually-gratifying, and deeply sexual relationships with men. There are gay men who’ve enjoyed having sex with women, who are gay as the day is long and nevertheless feel sexually attracted to a woman or two and are nevertheless gay men, full stop. There are gay cis men who are happily married to trans women. There are femme dom tops and butch bottoms and there are mascs afab people who like femme boys. There are non-binary people and trans men who actively identify as lesbians. There are ace and aro people who enjoy thinking about and engaging with sex — sometimes in fiction and sometimes in real life. Queerness, in fiction and in reality, defies neat categorization. That is the beauty, power, and (perceived) unorthodoxy of queerness.

Now, I’ll say this — do I think the straight men behind Black Sails were actively thinking deeply and insightfully about the paradoxes and fuckery of queer identity when they wrote Black Sails? No! By their own admission, Steinberg and Levine have owned up to the fact that some of the writing of the show was really hinged on their own blind spots as people who are not (to my knowledge) members of the queer community. If I want to be generous, I think that the beautiful mess of Black Sails is that, in not feeling like experts enough to designate specific identity labels to any of their characters, the writers stumbled their way into more authentic representation of lived queer experience, which is to say that the notion that James Flint was actively thinking of himself as a gay man was anachronistic. As many lesbian archivists and theories have noted, the notion of a queer identity — as in, queerness is who you are, not what you do — was patently unthinkable for most cultures in the past. In other words, the idea that Anne Bonny operates in the eighteenth century as a lesbian and thus would not willingly engage in relationships with men is not only untrue of the series, but untrue of most recorded lesbian experiences in the real world. The notion that a lesbian would operate her entire life without engaging sexually or romantically with men, for instance, is a very new privilege that some of us are very lucky to enjoy, but it is not true for the vast majority of human history — hell, it’s not even true of our present world.

This is all to say that think that there’s something really funny about how we want queer characters to fit into neatly organized boxes. This isn’t a new problem, either. When the show was still airing, the BS fandom would get itself into tizzies about wether or not Flint is gay or bisexual, wether or not Anne Bonny is a lesbian, wether or not Silver is queer when his only canonical relationship is with Madi, etc etc. We’ve been having these discourses for years and I don’t know. I get that much of it is fueled by how badly some people want to see themselves represented in media, but . . . well. The siloing of queer characters and queer narratives into neat little boxes has never felt very authentic to me and nine times out of ten, it’s also just so damn boring.

[drdemonprince]

Do you have any immediate thoughts about core identity and autism?

I have a great, neurodivergent friendly therapist - bottom-up, somatic, all that shit that's supposed to be good for autistic clients. But I've been stalled for the last half dozen sessions over the feeling that I have no core 'self', that I am so much a mimic of people around me that my internal self has no core qualities beyond the immediate drive to survive and avoid demands and sensations.

It comes out as "I have no inherent value" (c'mon, no one does) and "I have no inherent moral drive, I just know what causes me pain probably causes others pain, and I am aware other people are different enough from me that I have to believe them when they say something causes them pain, and I must avoid pain for myself and others"

I've been trying to express to my therapist that core identity terms are maybe better couched in vocabulary for computer programs or robots, but it's difficult to adjust therapy speak into that even with a curious and agile therapist.

I have been thinking a lot about animals lately. Animals that are not humans have no "core self." They have no thoughts of self-worth. If you truly look into the eyes of, say, a squirrel or a turtle, you will immediately recognize a great, living void. They are a collection of survival instincts, learned responses, and reactions to the present environment that have some general pattern of constancy but which are ever-evolving.

They do not exist for any "reason," they just exist. No instinct that they have is false, even one that is mimicked or new. They have no morality, only reactions that propel them and follow a sense that is senseless to us creatures with minds that are forever narrating and judging. They just exist and that existence is inseparable from their present physical reality. The same is true of each of us, our minds only complicate it.

I think it is very compelling to be much like any other animal. When I am alone, or feeding my most primal hungers (when I am famished, say, or craving a drink or cigarette), I have no worries of whether I am being authentic or valuable to society or even if I am good. I simply experience feelings and cravings. Life is lived through experiences, as a consciousness that can take things in and do things that affect reality in turn. Life is not lived via our identity or even our beliefs. The universe is horrifically indifferent to what we aspire to be, or believe is right. Entire species exist only due to mating rituals that require murder or rape, and the thriving of one species often spells the doom of others or even itself. It is disgusting and meaningless, being an animal. But in that void there is such stillness and great beauty.

I have been able to access this dark-eyed feral side of myself more lately. I have been spending more time alone, no longer even trying to mask to myself as the kind of social, giving being I had convinced myself I had to be, if my life narrative were to be that I got well. I don't care about being well. Or even being good. Those terms are playmobil level human made up stupid. When I touch that void, and dwell in it, I can see that none of it matters and none of those human judgments are real, and that the fiction of my core self does not really exist at all. And I find it very peaceful.

Lately hard core bondage really helps me get there, mentally, as do long swims and long walks late at night. Conversations with the rare few who are not afraid of almost any thought also help me get there. Most of all I just need time and fucking silence. There are pictures of me lately where I can see an animal. Not someone posing or trying to manage an impression. In those few photos I can feel some unnamable emotion that is real. It is that animal void that exists in all things, that is the breathing of life into flesh.

Therapy, I have got to say, is the stuff of small minds. I don't mean you, I mean your therapist. Therapy can only process in individual personality units, which are a fiction, and it believes that problems exist to be solved through an optimization of the self. You need to be confident. Need to know who you are.

I have often written like that, forgive me for it. But problems do not exist to be solved, they just exist, and some things do not get better, and there really isn't a better or a worse anyway, there is just a vast ecosystem responding to things. A great void of life always teeming, always changing. Great loss and growth and change, violence and birth.

And so I am not surprised to hear your therapist does not get it. The detached view you take of morality likely frightens them. But that might mean you are on a far more compelling path than what they would desire for you, which is probably self-esteem boosting exercises and tidy scripts for setting boundaries with your parents. That stuff is fine. But expecting too much from it is like asking a can opener to explain the universe.

Thanks for writing.