#is this self-indulgence/projection? absolutely

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Dude I am absolutely in love with your techno fics. You and Clean liens are keeping my sanity in tact and not crashing out. Anyways, give me your top 3 tropes with techno please!

You're so real for that, Techno-centric fic is what keeps me going too <3

UGH, picking a favorite trope with Techno is like picking a favorite child, it's so hard. I'll name three I really enjoy, but honestly it's just scratching the surface and I'm probably forgetting other tropes I love an equal amount.

One: Hiding an injury/illness. This trope is one of my favorite in general for any fandom but it definitely fits perfectly with a character like Technoblade. I love when a character either is too stubborn to admit they're sick or hurt, don't feel like they're deserving of being cared for, simply are awkward about it because they never had people care for them before, or are used to pushing their own health aside for others (like in a combat scenario where they'd prefer to focus on a hurt friend even if the friend's injury is not as bad as their own) - all of those arguably apply to Techno. Bonus points for combining it with a dramatic or inopportune reveal like ignoring the injury until he faints or something. Very tasty.

Two: 'Just a guy' Techno or 'odd one out' Techno. This one arguably is more AU focused but I think my fic history can attest I'm a big fan of fics where Techno is just a guy. Especially if he isn't necessarily less badass than he is in canon. With 'odd one out' I mean content where Techno is like, a different species than the others. I'm a big fan of human!Techno on the origins server or any AU where Techno is human but sbi isn't (human!techno with alien SBI, vampire SBI, fae SBI, etc). Or sometimes he's the only nonhuman, that's fun too (siren!Techno au my beloved)! Or where he's like, the only commoner while SBI is royalty, or a civilian/hero when the others are villains. That vibe basically. There are a lot of different ways you can play with this trope AND it lends itself especially well for dark SBI which is like, my favorite subgenre of Techno fic lmao.

Three: disabled!Techno. Bit of a self-indulgent one ofc because I love projecting onto my blorbo. But also it just makes sense to me in dsmp canon like, it seems unlikely somebody could have gone through all the stuff Techno goes through and not have it leave some permanent marks. I enjoy giving him chronic pain, migraines, maybe amputated fingers. For bunnyblade there's the obvious leg amputation too. But you can get creative for AUs or just for fun. Seizures because of the anvil!!! Put that man in a wheelchair!!! Again, lots of options.

[shalomniscient]

I‘M HERE I‘M HERE WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS IN ACTOR ARLE

okay so disclaimers first this is somewhat joint brainrot with @/sea-lanterns and also within the context of selfshipping instead of being a real standalone au so this is just going to be a lot of sevchino yappery dhskfjdh ok disclaimers over

like i mentioned in the masterpost arle is an actress who primarily sort of "specialises" in more dramatic roles like suspense, thriller and psychological stuff. she has this aura about her that lends itself well to playing villains or antiheroes or any role that involves really digging deep into the head of a character who might not be exactly "good". she's a very well-established figure in the film industry, with an oscar, emmy and golden globe to her name. the only one she's missing is a tony, but arle doesn't do broadway theatre.

arle was initially a child actor under hearth ent. and starred in a few horror movies as a side character, before she took a hiatus at around age 16. when she turned 17 the director of hearth ent. was arrested for an absolute laundry list of crimes which include child abuse. arle only came back to acting at around age 21 under fatui ent., landing a big role in a thriller film as the main antagonist, the enraged spirit of a murdered child seeking revenge on the perpetrators and the people who stood by and watched. the movie was an absolute runaway hit and propelled arle's career further than anyone really expected. despite the movie's success arle is the most guarded about it in interviews, not really elaborating on her thought process and feelings during filming leading many to believe it was a sort of catharsis for her following the scandal that broke out with the former director of hearth ent., but this is just pure speculation.

the movie achieved such success that arle gained somewhat of a cult following, which still follow her to this day now that she's in her early 40s. despite this, arle is still a very private individual. she doesn't have any personal social medias, only official ones managed by fatui ent, and a lot of the stuff her fans know about her only come from official interviews or comments from her colleagues. paparazzi hesitate to follow her too closely or bother her too much because she reportedly has "a very intimidating presence". there's a famous picture of arlecchino staring right into the lens of a pap from at least 20ft away, looking murderous, and ever since then her paparazzi following dramatically decreased. hence, with the exception of the hearth scandal, arle's name is very rarely mentioned or embroiled in typical celebrity drama.

at some point in the middle of her career, arle took over hearth ent., which had been languishing on the brink of bankruptcy ever since the scandal. using her influence and her own skill she rebranded the talent agency into the hearth ent. it is today, famous for producing diamonds such as the broadway duo lyney and lynette. the new hearth ent. is also well known for its strict rules when dealing with projects and directors wanting to hire their talents, and also for taking the safety and protection of their talents very seriously. as a result, hearth ent. is now one of the most desirable talent agencies on the market to join for up and coming actors and actresses.

ok now that we're done with backstory it's super self indulgent sevchino time <333 in this au sev meets arle not as a fellow actress but as a director. sev dabbles a little in acting with some side roles but overall prefers being behind the camera rather than in front of it. the movie being shot this time is a psychological thriller about a killer of killers, with arlecchino playing the main protagonist. arle and sev get close over the course of the shoot, bonding over stuff like creative vision, the movie's themes, and their own personal interests, but nothing happens in the interest of keeping things professional. it's only after the shoot that arle makes a move, and it's a very slow burn colleagues to friends to lovers type romance. it's so slow moving the tabloids don't even realise until the wedding pictures drop on arle's official instagram. after that, it's a bit of a media storm but both sev and arle are pretty private people so it's still difficult to pry any information of the relationship out of them that they're not willing to personally divulge. when the sevchino kids start popping up arle also spares no expense in hiring a team of lawyers to ensure that any unwanted photos of them on the internet get taken down almost immediately.

as a closing note, one little scenario that has been absolutely haunting me since the inception of this au is sevchino at a red carpet event. it's a pretty popular question for interviewers to ask "who are you wearing?" and for the interviewee to respond with the name of the designer who made their outfit. arle would see sev taking this question and detailing the story behind her overclothes, swing by and chime "don't forget the victoria's secret underneath" and then go a little further down the carpet to take her own interview. rip sev being exposed like that but she'll be exposed in more fun ways later after the event 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ ok bye that's enough selfship delusion for this week

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Heyooo! I spent the last year creating an incredibly self indulgent Ronadora Pinup calendar!

❤💜Pre0rder here!! ❤💜

I'm putting them up for preorder from today (12/06/23) to 12/16/23! Orders are to United States only, for now. This is my first time selling, so plz be kind ;w;

(And shoutout to @biscuitgeekery for the awesome product photos!)

[bean5prouts]

more dating sim stuff that i’m posting as a Special Treat - here’s arthur, guinevere, mordred and dinadan!

[motivation-ga-shinderu]

the price of recognition

[logicpng]

also finding out about re:curse, that involves an organization named aster, shortly after deciding the virtual assistant/system manager/antivirus character im working out will Also be named aster, was oddly funny to me

anyway i guess he felt like today was a good day to make a bad decision /j

[somethingnurseywoulddo]

Cicadas are singing their song in the near distance, an orchestra of thousands surrounding Will-- a singular. The porch is slightly damp from August's evening rain, humidity capturing water into the wood even hours later. None of that bothers him. He's lost in the lights high above him in the night sky, or maybe he's just lost in his own head. It's a differentiation he hasn't been able to make yet.

It's almost torture when he sits out on this porch. No one but him and the crescent moon, nothing besides the condensation of his beer in his hand. Almost as if Will was back in Maine sitting on the porch of his childhood home. Back then, he wasn't out there alone on purpose. Nothing in that small town fit his big emotions so he'd take his heart and spill it out to the stars in order to keep himself in check. He would allow the midnight blue to see his honest self, anyone else would judge his character except for the universe. Better to cling to shooting stars than gamble trusting his secrets to a potential knife in the back.

Except he shouldn't be on the Haus porch projecting childhood. He could very easily ask to devour a homemade pie or study on that god-awful couch or listen to his blades across empty ice. Yet Will finds a yearning in his heart for a familiar loneliness because sometimes that's easier than riding a bike. Pie and studying and even empty ice require questions and people. Improvement in trusting others only goes so far. Sometimes he needs to flashback four years to feel something so entirely known in order to process his current unknown.

This whole situation with Nursey is blooming across his chest. Maybe he's outside--nostalgic--because he can rely on a younger version of himself. He can only rely on those feelings dusted across the night sky all those years ago. He can only hope he finds them as he searches constellations. He can only hope that this ratty porch in Massachusetts can get him close enough to the Maine stars which hold his secrets. The very secrets he's hoping will answer a question of fear from childhood and light a new path.

Will flicks the condensation off of his hands before wiping them on his already-damp jeans. Maybe more than the stars heard his questions tonight. Maybe the cicadas singing were also listening. Maybe they can change past loneliness and provide today's support. He doesn't know why he feels poetic or nostalgic on this random summer evening, but he knows a little peace has found him.

[seventh-district]

it’s finally getting cold enough that i can bring my cardigan collection back into rotation without feeling like i’m gonna melt into a puddle the second i step outside!!!

[stray-dude]

homosexu-vulpes

[bluejaybytes]

wheres "i guess ill have to make it bad" i need it rn. im making it but its so bad rn. did you guys know art is hard or am i the only person who suffers in this way

[evilasiangenius]

fuck this anon specifically

I wrote an angry post because I was accused of using ai to write my big ambitious fic, the one that I have worked on every. single. day. for over three years.

This is the only bit that survives as Tumblr ate it:

Has it ever occurred to you, anon, that THE TRAINING DATA THE AI STOLE INCLUDES HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF MY OWN WORDS THAT I HAVE WRITTEN OVER THE YEARS? If a pattern looks similar, likely IT'S BECAUSE THE AI STOLE MY SHIT.

I am really tired. I work really hard at this, and write every day. I spent years experimenting with style, structure, and voice. I learned how to edit. I spend hours proofreading my own work to the best of my ability. I do lots of research and share it so other people can use it too. It took me years to learn how to be a disciplined writer.

It's horrible getting accused of cheating when all of my work was stolen and folded into the training data.

Seriously what is the point of working so hard at being a good writer.

Update: anon is going around and spamming my works with accusations of being ai generated.

Update2 : Sorry, I have turned off anon comments for any works posted after November 2022 because of this anon. Which is horrid, because I have met some great friends through anon messages, but this will have to stay until this person leaves me alone.

Can't wait for them to accuse me of using an ai writing app for a work that predates ai writing apps. Hell, the big fic they are accusing me on started posting in 2021, most of it predating ai writing apps, and the writing style is consistent throughout. You wanna come after me for something I wrote 10 years ago, nonny? 15?

20???

[revvethasmythh]

thinking about weeks ago when I told my friend that bells hells meeting the mighty nein would actually be very fun, at the time if only to give Caleb a heart attack over ludinus/dunamancy brain/aeormatons etc. and that once I saw where this arc was headed I might fuck around with an au where that happened, but then canon straight up did it for but it has not satisfied my need for interaction and now I am actually even MORE considering writing crossover material and not less

[kresnikcest]

Julius being available in Chapter 12 changes a lot of course but I feel like Ludger would rely a little bit more on Julius being there with him. I can see the final decision when Ludger hesitates to kill Victor resulting in Julius killing Victor instead, for example.

But mostly I want Julius to be there for the sheer drama of Victor alluding to Claudia.

[playingonedchess]

really i dont see how fanfiction even manages to totally lack themes so often cause its not like you have to put them in intentionally they literally just come into existence as a result of writing a story which you use your mind to think about at all because they are literally just ideas about things

[fading-event-608]

Hello! I see people here are talking about Gaza again. 

I’m not one to vaguepost, nor do I usually spend time arguing with zionists and liberals online, but the amount of “pro-Palestine” liberals I’ve seen in the last day saying that Gazans “deserve genocide” because Trump won…

I’m not surprised to hear that democrats are mad at third-party voters. It’s true that even if all swing third-party votes went to Kamala she’d still have lost, but reality isn���t important to these people. Democrats want a monopoly - of course they’re upset at everyone who isn’t voting for their party. Of course they’re more upset with communists and anarchists than they are with nazis.

None of this is new. But even though we’ve seen these patterns before, I am absolutely sick to witness these people blaming Palestinians for this. I’m sick hearing them almost gleefully wishing for Gaza to be turned into a parking lot. I’m sick coming across individualistic little diatribes about how they’re “done” boycotting, “done” helping others.

Is it Palestinians’ fault that Kamala’s campaign was so poorly run?

Is it Palestinians’ fault that the US is now so full of nazis that the Democrats lost the popular vote for the first time since 2004, by 5 million votes?

Is it Palestinians’ fault that the US supplies and supports Israel in their annihilation of Gaza and other occupied Palestinian territories, as well as neighbouring countries?

Is it Palestinians’ fault that the government assisting Israel’s genocidal project was, for the past four years, Biden’s administration? A Democrat’s administration? 

The crime that Palestinians have committed in the eyes of these liberals is the crime of existing where said liberals can see them - namely, on social media. The unofficial charges: not being silent, resisting, asking for help from the people best equipped to give money for their survival. So again, I’ll ask - is it the fault of Palestinians that the people best equipped to help them are those in the imperial core? That the people Palestinians must go to for help are people benefitting from both this genocide and the genocides the empires that house them are built on?

Of course the gravest offence is interrupting the liberal supply of white noise. Comfort is, after all, the biggest priority in liberalism - silence and denial is self care. Murder by proxy is the most popular of hobbies, and is best enjoyed with the sound off. But Palestinians are not quiet. You can see their faces now - and the identification of them as something other than faceless, or rather someone, begins to burrow through the insulation built up around you. 

You have the barest sense of how fragile your world is. You can either turn away from this, or continue your journey towards the truth. These liberals are examples of those violently turning away and taking up the slaughter again, desperate to dispel any reminders that they are not the only people on earth worthy of life.

You can literally buy an indulgence now by donating to a Palestinian fundraiser. Yes, even if you’re not a Democrat, or you’re from Europe (chances are your government supplies Israel too, or is at least complacent), or there’s any other facet of your identity that supplies nuance. This is up to all of us, no matter who we are. 

I’ve been spotlighting Falastin’s campaign to save her family in Gaza for more than two months now. I will continue to do so until they’re safe; but their safety will likely be a long time coming. This is in part because Falastin’s campaign must support 24 people, and in part because donations are slowing down - not only for Falastin, but for a lot of other fundraisers I keep an eye on. To be afraid for so many people while watching liberals angrily abandoning this cause is distressing and disheartening.

This is life or death. I don’t care who you are, and I care even less to hear if you’ve voted or who you voted for. All I ask is that you boost this post and, if you can, donate to Falastin. The Gofundme is in SEK and the rates are:

10$ = 107 SEK

25$ = 269 SEK

50$ = 538 SEK

100$ = 1,076 SEK

You can also donate via PayPal in USD: [LINK]

We also host a raffle for hand-made Palestinian thob [info HERE], and the first winner will be chosen in a bit less than 2 days. 

P. S. Yes, Falastin’s campaign has been vetted, several times across multiple platforms:

#282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [HERE], 

#957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [HERE]

Falastin's account: [LINK]

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

the limit does not exist!

how spencer helps college!reader understand a little calculus and therefore understand how he loves her.

MDNI | smut word count: 1931 warnings & tags & stuff: fem reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), lil bit of overstim hehe, pure unbridled affection, LOVE, FLUFF, hugging, reader cries, this was in fact meant to be written for spence's birthday... sorry about that school is kicking my butt lets just pretend it's october! author's note: this one is for my folks who HATE their calculus class and want spencer reid to give them head instead <3 maybe this can help you romanticize it a bit. i think this is classified as self indulgent…like REALLY self indulgent… hah... anyway i hope you enjoy! let me know your thoughts if u have any, i loveeeee you!! have a great day my hands are shaking posting this smut is so scary!!!!!

You sat in bed, staring down your notebook, eyes narrowed. Limits stared back at you. You were just about at your own limit, if you were being honest. 

Your brain, however sharp and witty it may be, is absolutely not one designed for calculus. A literary analysis essay? Done in half an hour. In depth scientific research project? Easiest months of your life. But there’s something about finding the instantaneous rate of change of a curve at one point in time by finding the slope of a tangent line that hasn't clicked yet. 

A slew of other papers- notes, practice worksheets printed from obscure websites, and formulas- surround you, a sea of unfinished thoughts from the past month of the semester.

You bite on the end of your pen, the little hope you had for a good grade in this class slipping further and further away with each passing moment, like the last ember dying in the remains of a fire.

What you really wanted to be doing was celebrating Spencer’s birthday with him right now. A chocolate cake lay on the kitchen counter and pasta simmers on the stove, but you and your boyfriend had agreed to do a solid hour of work before the celebrations ensued.

You were never particularly strong willed when it came to following through on such agreements.

“Teach me calculus,” you say, a very impressive three minutes later, flopping down on the couch. Your head makes its way to its forever resting spot, Spencer’s lap. He raises his eyebrows slightly, thumb reaching out to trace over the slope of your nose. His eyes flit between you and the file to the side of him. 

“I thought we agreed on an hour.”

“Yeah. But it wouldn’t be a very productive hour if I didn’t know how to do what I have to do. And I missed you.” 

He sighs quietly, closing the file next to him. 

“What do you not understand?” You smile at that, loving how quickly you won.

“Related rates. Like, conceptually.” 

Spencer hums in response.

“It’s October. You’re not even supposed to know related rates yet.”

“Fine. Then let's open presents,” you respond, smiley. His eyebrows get impossibly higher, hand stroking your cheek delicately.

“No. I want our night to be a little more stress free when we celebrate, okay? How about you think about that lovely cake you made for me. What if I decided to squash it so that the diameter would get bigger, going from…let’s say, 20 centimeters to 26 centimeters in 3 seconds, and the height would get smal-”

“That wouldn't be nice. It took me like four hours,” you interrupt, grumbling. He cracks a smile.

“For the sake of the example, let's say I was an awful boyfriend and really wanted to ruin all the hard work you put in for me.”

You roll your eyes.

“Hey,” he says, hand moving down to touch your jaw softly. “Don’t do that. Don’t be difficult. I’m helping you.”

“Sorry. I guess I need you to zoom out a little. I don’t really get why I’m learning this as a whole.” Spencer’s eyes pore into yours, staring down at you adoringly for a small moment as he comes up with an answer.

“Calculus helps us begin to explain the unexplainable by harnessing what we can,” Spencer says simply. “Einstein once said that, ‘Pure mathematics is, in its way, the poetry of logical ideas,’ which makes it simple in practice, but I actually like to think about it as the opposite philosophically. Trying to find logic in the more poetic ideas.”

You cuddle deeper in his lap.

“Think he would agree with that?” you ask. “I do answer to Einstein before you, unfortunately.” Spencer bends down to kiss your hair.

“I think so. He also had a really nice quote where he remarked that, ‘Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.’ He said, ‘How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.’”

Spencer takes a deep breath.

“Math doesn’t explain how I love you. It can’t. But I love the fact that it tries to. It kinda makes you wanna learn it as best you can.”

You process that for a long second and nod. He keeps talking.

… 

Presents get opened, and cake gets eaten before dinner. Of course.

You’re now in bed, on top of the covers, forcing Spencer to give you a fashion show of the new sweater vest and tie you got him. He turns to you after putting it on, and you beam. 

“I really like it. You look great. Do you like it?” you ask. He nods, smiling back at you.

“I’m gonna wear it to work tomorrow.” 

You beckon for Spencer to come closer, sitting up in bed. Your hands go out to the tie, tugging at the knot softly. He stares down at you until eventually interrupting your motions with a slow kiss, hands cupping your face.

“You’re so pretty,” he mutters.

He pulls away and finishes what you started, folding the tie neatly and setting it in the drawer. Then comes the vest, and soon enough, he’s just in his boxers.

“You’re the pretty one,” you say quietly. “Come to bed.” He crawls on next to you, tugging you into his arms. “Happy birthday, Spence. I love you.” He dips his forehead to your shoulder.

“I love you.”

Before you know it, he’s shifted on top of you, moving down. Fast. You blink, hard, trying to rid your head of the hazy endorphins as you register what he’s doing.

“What? No, I was gonna do that. It’s your birthday. You don’t have to,” you protest.

“But I really, really want to, darling girl,” he murmurs back, kissing your knee and softly pushing it to the side.

You fluster and Spencer just looks at you, fingers tracing shapes on your waist, waiting for you to be ready. 

“Well. Um. Okay. If you insist. I can’t really deny the birthday boy.” Your voice is small, and a little giddy smile grows on your face. Of course Spencer Reid would want to give you head on his birthday. 

He smiles a little against the bare skin of your hip where your top meets your shorts. Then he meets your eyes. 

“You know you can, though, right?” he asks, voice a little more serious. You reach out to touch his hair softly. 

“Yeah. I know.”

Fingers hook your shorts, gently pulling them down. He presses a kiss to your thigh, and then he suddenly looks down at it. 

“Soft,” he murmurs, like he’s making a mental note. He presses another, and another, incrementally going closer and closer to your soaked through underwear. His eyebrows scrunch when he sees the wet spot. “All this from a few kisses?” 

You blush, unable to respond. 

Spencer’s fingers hook a centimeter of your underwear. “These?” he checks.

“Yes, please,” you manage. He tugs them down, silently noticing the slickness of your sex, and exhales shakily.

“How many times on average does it take for a guy to call you pretty on a given day before you get annoyed?” he murmurs, soft smile playing on his face. You smile too, head cloudy from his words, but it immediately drops when his lips press directly against your pulsing clit, kissing it softly.

“Fuck,” you say (Spencer would argue moan) softly (loudly). You let out a content sigh, and he moves to suckle it, actions becoming less and less delicate. 

It’s not harsh, but incessant. Spencer knows what you can take. He knows exactly what you can take. You’re both quiet for a bit, save for your breathy moans. 

“Spencer,” you say softly, ripping you both out of your individually hazy and dirty and distracted minds. “You’re too far away.” He looks up to you, face parallel to your aching core, hair beautifully messy and mouth glistening.

After a second, he grabs your hips, gently pushing you up against the pillows so you’re propped up at a better angle. He then shifts his body up wordlessly so he’s more above you, dipping his head down to give you a soft kiss. You taste yourself, tongue darting out to lick your lips.

His hand takes over where his mouth was, sliding in between your folds with a practiced ease. Spencer looks down at you, eyes wide and flitting between yours, searching for a reaction.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him, holding him close. “Holy shit, I love you,” you murmur.

His fingers lightly graze your clit again before one slides into you. “Angel,” he breathes out, so quietly. “I love you too. This okay? Are you okay?”

You nod feverishly and lift your hips to meet his hand, always in a perpetual state of wanting more, to be closer. Your bodies are melded so close together, barely giving him room to push his hand into you. He doesn’t even bother to ask you to use your words or keep your hips down, like he might on a regular night.

He pulls his head back to watch as he pushes another finger into you, stretching you just a little. “There we go. You always feel like heaven around me.”

Your eyes flit up to his face as he says those words, now having a little more room to observe him. You focus on the slope of his nose and curve of his mouth. 

“You’re so perfect,” you say quietly, adoringly, before you even realize it was true.

You blink at that thought. Spencer Reid is perfect, despite whatever universal odds deeming that impossible.

Those graphs, those formulas, now laying discarded & crumpled on the ground. They click, a little bit. You understand why Albert Einstein wanted to spend his life developing theories of relativity.

This is how Spencer sees you? What he was talking about earlier?

This is how he sees you?

The thought is almost too much.

Spencer sees your face, and not knowing what's going on in your head, slides down his free hand from your cheek to your carotid, feeling your racing pulse. “Take a deep breath for me, okay? You're about to come, huh?”

You inhale and are met with peace. Then your orgasm hits you like a wave. You clench hard around his fingers, and he just watches it happen, fascinated. “Baby,” he coos softly at you.

It wasn’t just your sensitivity he’s currently maximizing on or the little kisses he dips down to leave on your neck that sealed the deal, but the very thought that you could be loved in a way that is so perfectly impossible.

You exhale breathily as Spencer pushes you through the last trails of your climax, fingers not caring one bit that you just had your world tilted on its axis. 

“Spencer. Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” you say eventually, overstimulated.

“You’re okay. Did so good.” he murmurs, fingers slipping out of you. 

His thumb brushes your cheek, wiping away a tear you didn't even realize was dripping down.

“Don’t cry, you always cry. It’s my birthday. Don’t cry on my birthday,” he whispers soothingly, affection lacing his voice.

“I’m not.” 

Another one falls. 

You reach and press out that perpetual little slope between his eyebrows with your thumb, gentle, like you might break him. “I’m not crying.”

Spencer lets you lie.