#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.

[bijoumikhawal]

Rotating siskarak in my mind again

[specialagentartemis]

I get variations on this comment on my post about history misinformation all the time: "why does it matter?" Why does it matter that people believe falsehoods about history? Why does it matter if people spread history misinformation? Why does it matter if people on tumblr believe that those bronze dodecahedra were used for knitting, or that Persephone had a daughter named Mespyrian? It's not the kind of misinformation that actually hurts people, like anti-vaxx propaganda or climate change denial. It doesn't hurt anyone to believe something false about the past.

Which, one, thanks for letting me know on my post that you think my job doesn't matter and what I do is pointless, if it doesn't really matter if we know the truth or make up lies about history because lies don't hurt anyone. But two, there are lots of reasons that it matters.

It encourages us to distrust historians when they talk about other aspects of history. You might think it's harmless to believe that Pharaoh Hatshepsut was trans. It's less harmless when you're espousing that the Holocaust wasn't really about Jews because the Nazis "came for trans people first." You might think it's harmless to believe that the French royalty of Versailles pooped and urinated on the floor of the palace all the time, because they were asshole rich people anyway, who cares, we hate the rich here; it's rather less harmless when you decide that the USSR was the communist ideal and Good, Actually, and that reports of its genocidal oppression are actually lies.

It encourages anti-intellectualism in other areas of scholarship. Deciding based on your own gut that the experts don't know what they're talking about and are either too stupid to realize the truth, or maliciously hiding the truth, is how you get to anti-vaxxers and climate change denial. It is also how you come to discount housing-first solutions for homelessness or the idea that long-term sustained weight loss is both biologically unlikely and health-wise unnecessary for the majority of fat people - because they conflict with what you feel should be true. Believing what you want to be true about history, because you want to believe it, and discounting fact-based corrections because you don't want them to be true, can then bleed over into how you approach other sociological and scientific topics.

How we think about history informs how we think about the present. A lot of people want certain things to be true - this famous person from history was gay or trans, this sexist story was actually feminist in its origin - because we want proof that gay people, trans people, and women deserve to be respected, and this gives evidence to prove we once were and deserve to be. But let me tell you a different story: on Thanksgiving of 2016, I was at a family friend's house and listening to their drunk conservative relative rant, and he told me, confidently, that the Roman Empire fell because they instituted universal healthcare, which was proof that Obama was destroying America. Of course that's nonsense. But projecting what we think is true about the world back onto history, and then using that as recursive proof that that is how the world is... is shoddy scholarship, and gets used for topics you don't agree with just as much as the ones you do. We should not be encouraging this, because our politics should be informed by the truth and material reality, not how we wish the past proved us right.

It frequently reinforces "Good vs. Bad" dichotomies that are at best unhelpful and at worst victim-blaming. A very common thread of historical misinformation on tumblr is about the innocence or benevolence of oppressed groups, slandered by oppressors who were far worse. This very frequently has truth to it - but makes the lies hard to separate out. It often simplifies the narrative, and implies that the reason that colonialism and oppression were bad was because the victims were Good and didn't deserve it... not because colonialism and oppression are bad. You see this sometimes with radical feminist mother goddess Neolithic feminist utopia stuff, but you also see it a lot regarding Native American and African history. I have seen people earnestly argue that Aztecs did not practice human sacrifice, that that was a lie made up by the Spanish to slander them. That is not true. Human sacrifice was part of Aztec, Maya, and many Central American war/religious practices. They are significantly more complex than often presented, and came from a captive-based system of warfare that significantly reduced the number of people who got killed in war compared to European styles of war that primarily killed people on the battlefield rather than taking them captive for sacrifice... but the human sacrifice was real and did happen. This can often come off with the implications of a 'noble savage' or an 'innocent victim' that implies that the bad things the Spanish conquistadors did were bad because the victims were innocent or good. This is a very easy trap to fall into; if the victims were good, they didn't deserve it. Right? This logic is dangerous when you are presented with a person or group who did something bad... you're caught in a bind. Did they deserve their injustice or oppression because they did something bad? This kind of logic drives a lot of transphobia, homophobia, racism, and defenses of Kyle Rittenhouse today. The answer to a colonialist logic of "The Aztecs deserved to be conquered because they did human sacrifice and that's bad" is not "The Aztecs didn't do human sacrifice actually, that's just Spanish propaganda" (which is a lie) it should be "We Americans do human sacrifice all the god damn time with our forever wars in the Middle East, we just don't call it that. We use bullets and bombs rather than obsidian knives but we kill way, way more people in the name of our country. What does that make us? Maybe genocide is not okay regardless of if you think the people are weird and scary." It becomes hard to square your ethics of the Innocent Victim and Lying Perpetrator when you see real, complicated, individual-level and group-level interactions, where no group is made up of members who are all completely pure and good, and they don't deserve to be oppressed anyway.

It makes you an unwitting tool of the oppressor. The favorite, favorite allegation transphobes level at trans people, and conservatives at queer people, is that we're lying to push the Gay Agenda. We're liars or deluded fools. If you say something about queer or trans history that's easy to debunk as false, you have permanently hurt your credibility - and the cause of queer history. It makes you easy to write off as a liar or a deluded fool who needs misinformation to make your case. If you say Louisa May Alcott was trans, that's easy to counter with "there is literally no evidence of that, and lots of evidence that she was fine being a woman," and instantly tanks your credibility going forward, so when you then say James Barry was trans and push back against a novel or biopic that treats James Barry as a woman, you get "you don't know what you're talking about, didn't you say Louisa May Alcott was trans too?" TERFs love to call trans people liars - do not hand them ammunition, not even a single bullet. Make sure you can back up what you say with facts and evidence. This is true of homophobes, of racists, of sexists. Be confident of your facts, and have facts to give to the hopeful and questioning learners who you are relating this story to, or the bigots who you are telling off, because misinformation can only hurt you and your cause.

It makes the queer, female, POC, or other marginalized listeners hurt, sad, and betrayed when something they thought was a reflection of their own experiences turns out not to be real. This is a good response to a performance art piece purporting to tell a real story of gay WWI soldiers, until the author revealed it as fiction. Why would you want to set yourself up for disappointment like that? Why would you want to risk inflicting that disappointment and betrayal on anyone else?

It makes it harder to learn the actual truth.

Historical misinformation has consequences, and those consequences are best avoided - by checking your facts, citing your sources, and taking the time and effort to make sure you are actually telling the truth.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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. ❜

[reachartwork]

asked my robot son (@statsbot) to brainstorm a minecraft movie that doesnt suck

text under read more

Let me tell you about a different kind of Minecraft movie:

INITIAL QUESTIONS How do we handle the complete isolation of the Minecraft world without resorting to isekai tropes? What's the core philosophical theme that could drive a mature narrative? How do we address the building/crafting mechanics without making them feel gamey? What role should the hostile mobs play in a serious narrative? How can we incorporate the inherent emptiness and loneliness of the world?

DETAILED RESPONSES The film opens in medias res - we never learn how humanity came to this cubic world, because it doesn't matter. Our protagonist is part of a small community of builders and survivors who have always been here. No portal, no transportation, no explanation needed. This is simply their reality, like how we don't question the physics of our own universe. The core theme revolves around humanity's relationship with creation and destruction. The protagonist is a master builder in their community who discovers ancient ruins suggesting that their civilization isn't the first to exist in this world. The film explores cycles of creation, destruction, and rebirth, drawing parallels to real-world lost civilizations.

The crafting system is presented as an inherent natural law of their universe - materials combine in specific ways, like chemistry in our world. The film treats this as mundane reality rather than game mechanics. Buildings aren't instantly placed but constructed through time lapses showing genuine effort and community cooperation.

The hostile mobs are treated as natural phenomena - the Creepers are portrayed as silent, tragic creatures drawn to human creation with an inherent need to destroy it. Zombies and Skeletons emerge from ancient ruins, suggesting they're remnants of the previous civilization. The Endermen are portrayed as incomprehensible beings studying human behavior from a distance.

The vast emptiness between settlements is treated as both beautiful and terrifying. Long shots of endless cubic horizons emphasize the scale of the world and humanity's tiny place within it. The emptiness serves as a canvas for human creativity but also a reminder of cosmic loneliness.

FOLLOW-UP QUESTIONS How does the discovery of another surviving settlement change the protagonist's worldview? What happens when they find evidence that the previous civilization fell due to their own hubris in attempting to access The End? Why do some members of the community oppose expanding their knowledge of redstone technology? What drives some community members to venture into the Nether despite the obvious dangers? How does the community handle the philosophical implications of villager trading and their level of sentience?

ADDITIONAL DETAILS The film's structure follows a three-act format but breaks conventional storytelling rules by maintaining a meditative pace. The score emphasizes ambient sounds and C418's original music, treating silence as another character. The visual style embraces the cubic nature of the world while using modern lighting techniques to create genuine beauty.

The climax doesn't involve a typical boss fight but rather a moral choice about whether to repeat the cycles of the past. When the protagonist discovers the truth about The End portal beneath their village, they must decide whether knowledge is worth the risk of destruction.

The film ends ambiguously, with the community choosing to build something new while accepting they may not be the last civilization to inhabit this world. The final shot pulls back to reveal their entire settlement is built upon layers of ancient ruins, suggesting countless cycles of civilization before them.

Key scenes include: A silent sequence showing the meticulous construction of a grand structure The first discovery of redstone, treated with the gravity of discovering atomic energy A haunting scene where Endermen gather to observe a funeral ceremony The protagonist realizing their village's architectural style matches patterns in the ancient ruins

The film refuses to explain many of its mysteries, treating the Minecraft world like our own - full of questions we may never answer. This respects both the source material and the audience's intelligence, creating a genuinely thoughtful science fiction film that happens to be set in a cubic world.

[rubberduckyrye]

You know I've seen quite a few people say they're wanting to make v3 rewrites lately--and as someone who is actively working on one by myself, I feel like I should give some advice. I know I'm nowhere NEAR done with Twins AU, but I've made a ridiculous amount of progress and I think these things have greatly helped me out personally

So here are my tips for making a V3 rewrite and actually making it stick/not to burn out before the first chapter!

This is important. Don't try to please everyone. You will never please everyone. Write this for yourself, and you will find an audience. People can and will hate your fic no matter what you do. Don't try to please them, they are not your target audience-- so Write this story for, first and foremost, yourself. It'll feel so much more rewarding if you do I promise.

V3's main theme is extremely muddied due to how the narrative was and how open ended the game was left, and from my own research, no one can agree on what V3 was trying to say about truth and lies, or Reality and Fiction. If you want to rewrite this story, you're going to need to narrow down what you want your rewrite to say about the themes presented.

PLAN THE EVIDENCE AND MURDERS AS THOROUGHLY AS YOU CAN. I think not knowing what I was going to do for the cases and trials really scared me for the longest time until I essentially sat myself down and fleshed out all of the cases for Twins AU. Make evidence lists, do research on how your murder cases might go, the works. It's a lot of work but I personally followed this post and also made an evidence list to help me out plot out the murders for Twins AU. This is also a great way to flesh out your protagonist as well, since you get to explore their note-taking style and what kind of language they'd use for taking notes and if they have opinions about certain things.

Write a summary of each character in the story. DR games have a big cast and V3 has an even BIGGER cast than usual, so it's good to write down summaries for all of the characters. I also suggest really studying each character too, even if you plan on changing a character to better suit your tastes (or to get rid of offensive material.... looking at you Angie) you still want to keep the core of their character intact for fans of that character.

Speaking of characters, make sure to try and remember to write each one as a human being, even if they aren't human (Kiibo for example). Develop them, give them quirks and flaws, motivations and wants and desires and dreams. Even if you hate a character, doing this much character study will help you keep them in character and keep their motivations reasonable and understandable.

If you don't have a good grasp on a character, study harder. Don't go looking for other people's interpretations or try to be a crowd pleaser. Make your own interpretation, and that interpretation becomes special to your rewrite.

If you plan on changing a character, for the love of GOD do your research first. Don't go accidentally making Angie into a worse racist caricature of Pacific Islanders Please and Thank You. Actually, just do a ton of research in subject you think might be relevant to a character or the plot--like Gonta and how ableism prevails in his story. Like how Shuichi has anxiety up the wazoo and how Maki has learned helplessness. Study and research hard.

Pace yourself--I don't think people realize how GIANT a V3 rewrite project is--remember that this game is extremely long and you cannot write this in a single month. Once all of your planning is done, write a reasonable amount for it each day. For me, I'm able to crank out 2k a day because I type absurdly fast, but most people would probably want to start at maybe 500 words a day.

If you're not having fun, step back. You might be burnt out and need a break, or maybe the scene you're writing is just not working. Take time to assess your own feelings and do what is appropriate to resolve them.

Don't feel too discouraged if you need to rewrite a whole scene--it happens to the best of us and sometimes things are just not working. It's not lost progress to retry--consider the scene you are replacing as a rough draft you need to remake. I've had to erase huge 1k chunks due to this.

Reward yourself for big accomplishments! When I finished the prologue, I threw myself and my editor ( @trans-shuichisaihara ) a pizza party, and I plan on doing something like that again, albeit probably cheaper. Reward yourself for huge milestones! Hell, I owe myself at least one treat for two chapters I've written, but tbh I've been having so much fun just writing that doing so is rewarding within itself. That doesn't mean external factors can't help, so if you finish a chapter and you're proud of it, buy yourself a treat for working so hard!

If you got a friend who likes editing/beta reading, invite them to beta read for you! They can help you find errors and typos that you might've missed. If you plan on editing your fic, I highly recommend reading your writing out loud to help you find weird sentence structures and awkward phrases. This should have the bonus of making it easier for people who use screen readers/just prefer audiobooks to enjoy your fic as well!

EDIT! Here are two more:

It's okay to be scared writing something new! Getting out of your comfort zone is going to happen with a giant story like this, and maybe you're going to flop at the best parts. That's perfectly fine!!! You can always edit it later--or even just call it "good enough" and move on! This is fanfic for fun, not a professional project you're making money off of. It's okay if things are less than ideal and incredible imperfect. An imperfect story is at least written. That's better than not writing it at all.

For the love of everything that is holy, remember that the characters should be people--and remember that their talents do not make up their entire personality. Their talents should not solely dictate what they wear, how they act, or the worst offender in this fandom--how their executions go. When writing a character Execution, think instead of what would be the worst way for that character to die--that is to say, what would bring them the most despair upon their death. DR1 and DRV3's executions all play with the despair of the blackened in each execution (with DR2 being noted to heavily miss the mark and to be the set of executions that are the most disappointing to Kodaka, from what I've been told.) So if you're stuck on writing a new Execution, try to think about what each execution from DR1 and DRV3 does to play with the despair of the blackened. What about their executions are giving them despair in their final moments? Do they at all relate to their talents, or are they completely separate from their talent? Study them, and you'll be able to use that information to write your own unique executions that are miles better than most of the fan made executions out there.

And I think that's my advice for now! Happy writing, everyone!

[moonlightpeddler]

Hiatus

The game is on indefinite hiatus.

Demo

[Current word count without code: 11465 with two branches]

Life is unpredictable.

You have just been to your first party, with hope for a different, better, and more social future, but instead of waking up with a hangover, you wake up 13 months of coma later, severely ill and with no chance to build the life you wanted to live.

Confined at home, confined to the night by your medication, deprived of outside contact to keep stress away from you, and with food that tastes like iron, all you have is your loving family and the small village they have moved to during your long sleep.

The house is old, dilapidated, the neighbours unfriendly and distant, looking at you with strange eyes, whispering whenever you see them, treating you like your illness is contagious.

But why has your family never taken you to the hospital for a checkup? Since when do hospital doctors make frequent home visits, and only when their patient isn’t conscious?

What would happen if you open the curtains they tell you to keep closed?

The game is intended for a mature audience.

Blood

Violence

Self-harm (for a reason)

Murder

Assault

Brainwashing

Dysfunctional relationships

Co-dependency

Death

And many more.

Depending on the route you take, Cailean, your character, can not be said to be an innocent or good person, please make sure that you are okay with playing a non-human MC who might act accordingly.

Mending Yesterday pairs folk believes, old elements, and lore from different media, with Vampyr lifestyle to create a modern portrayal of vampires that retains the classic feel yet gives it a more down-to-earth presentation.

You take the place of an established character and turn the tale into your very own, form the adventure and how the protagonist faces his new reality.

Will you change Cailean’s behaviour over the course of the story, develop a new personality for your new life, or will you cling to your old self despite the consequences it could have?

Will you keep to yourself and your loved ones, build something new to spend your long life, or get involved in a struggle that isn’t yours? How will others see you, who are your friends and foes? Do you stick to those who are seemingly safe, or will you place your own judgement?

The game doesn’t give you an overpowered protagonist, you aren’t the chosen one, won’t save the world or change it in any meaningful way.

You are just a 19-year-old young man being in the wrong place at the wrong time, all you can do is live your own life that, in the grand scheme of eternity, is nothing but a fleeting picture.

Taking place in a fictional village in Ireland, the game takes a step away from the Urban-Vampire trope and focuses on dynamics commonly found in, very, rural places.

While I have abstained from using phonetics to make it easier for people not familiar with the country, selected sayings and use of words have been kept to preserve the feeling.

Mending Yesterday is most and foremost a horror-drama, character-driven and story-heavy, not a dating game. The only romantic candidate (male) is a central character and the relationship with him greatly influences the plot instead of being flavour or a sidenote; you can stay distant, friendly, close or even loving, all four options significantly shape your personal story.

Being a family-person, you will have to keep an eye on your parents and brother, how you react to the changes in your life, respond to situations, and how you treat them has a direct impact on how your adventure will go.

A character and relationship focused narrative requires you to think twice about how you interact with others, pay attention not only to yourself but those you meet, decide wisely about how to treat them and with whom you want to be close with.

There are relationship-stats you can and should check regularly, for they keep track not only of your bonds but could give you valuable information, yet they won’t ever tell you clearly what they mean.

Just like in real life, people aren’t open books.

Every choice you have to make is meaningful, it either changes or determines something important; you won’t be continuously prompted to make decisions. The game doesn’t bother with flavour.

Routes are roughly equally long, with several endings dedicated players can try to find.

Prologue

Cailean Morrison, whose place you take, is a 19-year-old geriatric-psychology freshman. Calm, quiet, and slightly distant, he was never good at making connections and even worse at maintaining them. He loves his family above all else, has a good heart, and is very fond of older folks.

James Morrison, Cailean’s father, 46 years old, family lawyer. He’s a sensible, somewhat emotional person, bad at dealing with negative experiences, and generally a kind soul.

Aileen Morrison, Cailean’s mother, 44 years old, elementary school teacher. While she loves her family and students, she can be very strict and vengeful, knows how to stay calm in difficult situations, and often keeps her emotions to herself.

Alfred Morrison, Cailean’s brother, 24 years old, investment banker. Although he was wild in his youth, he’s hardworking and cunning, and while usually perceived as friendly, he has well-hidden sharp edges and a ruthless nature.

Choices will determine which talent you are proficient in, while some increases might be obvious, others are hidden behind story-progression.

You can’t fail skill-checks, instead they will change the story depending either on which talent you are most versed in, or if you are generally lacking - and they might have an impact on how other characters feel about you.

The game is in active development. Planed additions include more visual elements, incidental music, and a compendium that tracks information the player has found (coming in the Chapter 1 update). As a solo dev who does everything by himself, music and visuals are not my priority and will be included only in major updates.

[watchingsunrises]

Ziam is real, climb on board

For the first time, we’re experiencing a genuine influx of people looking into Ziam, the real relationship between Zayn and Liam. And honestly it’s about time. It’s always been so beautiful and devoted and consistent and visible to those willing to invest and find out for themselves. It’s also been so unseen and dismissed and a bit buried by Larry too. I’m a Larry too, but right now I’m all about Ziam. I’m really happy Ziam is getting there deserved time seeing some light.

I’m not here to convince anyone. Ziam isn’t new, it has been around and discussed and real since 2012 when we believe their relationship started extending beyond friendship. There is an existing treasure trove that can be sought out by people willing to open their mind and examine it, especially from Zayn and Liam themselves. Right from the start and up until present day. 

The truth is we are experiencing a moment we weren’t expecting. First with Liam’s death. Now with Zayn touring for the first time ever as a solo artist. 

People are interested in Liam and that is a normal reaction. People are noticing a lot of things that don’t make sense and are curious and questioning that. People can’t make sense about his relationship with his “girlfriend”, the public PR performance at his funeral of a select group of celebrities (all aligned with Modest, Simon Jones PR or existing narratives regarding the boys) and of course the narrative around his “son” Bear.

Usually when things don’t make sense, there is a good reason, we know this with Larry too, and so in the same way people should look and critically engage. Gaps can’t always be filled when we are dealing with public media narratives that then clearly don’t align with who a person really is consistently as a human. It's pretty hard work for all involved to contain a decades plus closet, in times like this. That is a big part of what people are noticing with Liam. They should question public narratives and media. Liam wanted to be seen and heard for who he really was, and celebrating and talking about Ziam right now is one of the biggest parts of seeing and knowing Liam. Its not disrespectful if you've done the work to see and know, just like with Larry.

Now we also finally have Zayn touring for the first time ever as a solo artist. Seeing him on stage after a 10 year wait is kind of exhilarating and like any of the boys you get a reminder on stage of who the person really is, really leaning in and hearing the lyrics live and seeing his being. Zayn is very definitely coding to us in a way that he hasn’t been able to do so before. He knew we would be looking and he wants to be seen. He is literally telling us that he is honest and truthful in his music. Zayn’s public narrative has never made sense either, it's all the same closeting stuff. Copy of a copy of a copy.

The narrative set up for Room Under the Stairs was actually quite strange, and in reality it translates very poorly to the lyrics and the emotions. So many gaps and things that don't make sense. In the future I will share some analysis on RUTS. I’ve been immersed in the album non-stop since May. The album to me is mostly about his closet - the pain it has caused him, the effect it has had on his relationship, the pain and effect it has had on his long term partner, the ways in which he has had to reframe his mindset to live within the reality of his closet, the ways he has changed his lifestyle to focus on the simple things in life to help his mental health impacted by his closet (and other things). Yet throughout all that heartbreaking pain, he still talks about his person, his lover, he refers to 'they' in many key lyrics, he brings his partner into the lyrics clearly, lyrics that clearly refer back to past and present times. Its the same person, it always has been in Zayn's lyrics. He tells them and us that he wouldn’t change anything despite all that pain, that their love has been worth it, that he is devoted, that their love was like stardust from the start until forever. The most specific songs relating to his person haven't been included on the tour setlist - How it Feels, The Time, False Starts, Grateful, Something in the Water and of course Stardust. They are the strongest songs on the album, the ones that have made me cry non-stop for the last 6 months. I suspect he rearranged the setlist, they would have been too hard to sing live. Instead we see a few B sides we wouldn't have expected on tour. I hope more people will listen to RUTS, it's absolutely devastating, empowering and life affirming and you can really see and feel who Zayn is.

Enjoy your Ziam journey if you decide to take it.

[sunset-sprinkles]

The theme of dual perspectives in modern k-dramas :

The idea of presenting stories from the point of views of both the male and the female protagonist sounds refreshing it also adds a layer of depth to understanding the dynamics of their relationships.

"Memories are unstable because some memories are only remembered by one person" - Serendipity's Embrace (2024)

This means that hidden feelings always make way for difference in povs. One might assume what the other feels , but in reality the povs always add a flavour to it. It brilliantly highlights the fact that one situation cannot be judged from the third person's perspective unless we hear both the sides of the same story.

The famous episode 2 of Lovely runner that presents with the pov of Sun-jae that he had always and always been in love with Sol just changes the way we see their love story. And the fact that writers have been continuously coming up with this theme screams that it's indeed the best when it comes to creating a tapestry of emotions and memories.

"Memories don't disappear, they're all smeared into one's soul" - Lovely Runner (2024)

The fact that all these four dramas have been not just plainly romcoms but also presents a source of "interest" in the characters who have known each other for a long time. Cause true feelings just grow and don't dissapear after some moments of staying away from each other.

“Everyone has unforgettable memories from a certain year of their life. They cherish those memories so much that it lasts a lifetime.” - Our Beloved Summer (2022)

All these stories have used "memory" as a tool for story telling. The use of memory as a narrative tool emphasizes the impact of time on relationships. The past isn’t just something that happened; it’s something that continues to live within the characters, influencing their decisions and emotions in the present.

The episode 4 ending of Love next door (2024) symbolizes this same idea when they show the transition from "past perfect -> present perfect continuous"

"Your memories don't mean anything. They are all in the past" - Love Next Door (2024)

By intertwining their perspectives with memories, the writer crafts a narrative that resonates with viewers on a personal level, reminding us of our own cherished or even painful memories and how they’ve shaped our lives. It’s a testament to the idea that we are all, in some way, a product of our past, and that understanding another person often means understanding their history as well.

Here , "First love" also eventually becomes a plot device for exploration. It becomes not just a memory but a recurring theme that influences the characters' actions and decisions. The beauty of exploring first love through two different perspectives is that it allows the audience to see how the same moments can be cherished, misinterpreted, or even forgotten by the two individuals involved. What might have been a fleeting moment for one character could be a defining memory for the other.

"I know all of seunghyo’s firsts: the first day he drank banana milk, the first day he started swimming, the first day he surpassed my height. the only thing I didn’t know was his first love” - Seukryu in Love next door (2024)

[We all know who his first love is though haha]

Therefore,first love, in these dramas, often serves as a touchstone for the characters' development. It’s something they return to, either consciously or subconsciously, as they navigate their current relationships.