#so I'm not sure where it is or if it exists

[messenger-of-babel]

Could you write about the sweetheart grips? Soldiers in ww2 used to put photos of their lovers on the grips of their guns and I think that would be cute with Jason.

Eye for An Eye

Summary: Jason keeps a photo of you in his gun to keep you close to him, even in his hardest moments. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: dear anon I really, really wanted to make this sweet. But then I got an angst idea and- I tried to do it justice without too many tears. Forehead kisses for you because as soon as you sent this in I legit thought about this idea for like three days straight I fell in love with the concept. I might use it again for other Jason fics you got me hooked (I was a MASSIVE military history nerd). Warnings for description of violence and injury, character death, some choppy writing. Back onto my angst train, I'm so sorry y'all (I'll write this concept sweeter sometime, I SWEAR).

ALSO HAPPY 100 POSTS. It's crazy when I remember I'm still a baby blog. <3

Enjoy~! RiRi xoxo <3

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Bruce had never been one for guns, and while Jason was Robin, he hadn't either.

He didn't consider himself a particularly violent child or had any real craving to use weapons. After all, he never really hit anyone who didn't deserve it, and he got great satisfaction of getting back at people who thought they could hurt innocent civilians just because they were bigger and older than him.

That was until he was taken by Joker and showed just how much hurt someone older and bigger than could inflict.

April 27th, the date that the Joker killed Jason Todd.

Now, he couldn’t imagine his hands without the comforting grip of his pistol. The grips were designed just for him, slotting into the contours of his fingers and worn away in the areas he instinctually rubbed. They were wide so they sat snug in his large palms, with a coarse texture in the areas he habitually flexed. The grip allowed it to stick to his gloves for a steadier shot while it would simply irritate anyone else who tried to hold them.

Everyone knew that those guns were Jasons, but nothing said it quite like the new addition of the faded photo tucked into the grips. The colt's had originally come with wooden handgrips, which were quickly removed while he made his modifications.

"You know the Bat isn't gonna be happy with you getting another set of guns." Dick calls out, approaching his worktable in the cave. Jason just grunts at him over his shoulder, making sure he keeps the screws where he can see them.

"Bruce can honestly suck it up." he huffs, the mention of the Bat souring his demeanour immediately. Jason had wanted to do this in his apartment for this exact same reason. He knew Stephanie would annoy him with questions if she caught sight of him, and that Tim would interject constantly with 'improvements' he deemed necessary. Duke he could deal with, and Cass would leave him well enough alone.

Dick and Damian just managed to piss him off simply existing sometimes.

Mostly when he was already in a bad mood.

His older brother trots down the stairs, a frown forming on his face as he puts his hands on his hips to observe.

"Quiet." Jason mumbles flatly, knowing the older vigilante was giving him a disapproving stare. Dick ignores him, eyeing the photo tucked up near his water bottle.

"Jason," he says, voice a warning tone.

"I said quiet." he cuts off, wiping the area down with a damp cloth. Dick just sighs behind him as Jason gingerly picks up the photo, rubbing his calloused thumbs over it. Dick wants to say something as he eyes the photo but can't bring himself to speak above the block in his chest. He watches the tension ease from his brother’s shoulders, the muscles that had been stiffly held by his ears for weeks. The scowl he wore softened slightly, and he could actually hear him exhale for once instead of wondering if his chest actually was moving or not. Instead, Dick sighs in reluctance, giving in. Dick watches him with sad eyes, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a slight squeeze. "Don't forget to, you know," he leans forward slightly and draws a circle with his finger on a certain point of the photo. Jason's face ripples with a flash of pain, but he watches his younger brother grit his teeth and nod.

"Look after yourself, Jay." he murmurs, pulling back. "Don't do anything stupid."

Jason waits a little bit before turning back the photo, ensuring that Dick had left the cave. A still silence settled over the dim space once more. It didn't help the hum in his head, making his fingers and muscles shake, the white noise refusing to settle in his conscious. He gently drew on the photo of you with pencil, tracing the shape that he needed for the grip and ensuring that you weren't cut out by accident.

It was a favourite photo of his, taken at one of Bruce's galas. He hadn't wanted to go, hardly showing to the events in the first place. "Full of rich idiots trying to get even richer." he had told you, tossing a look over his shoulder to you. You were standing at the door, holding the invite that had been slipped through the mail slot. You waved the thick cardstock, a small smile on your face. "Aw, but I was kinda looking forward to going." you say, looking over the details. "I think it'll be fun."

"The only one who thinks those things are fun are Dick and Steph if she's around. Tim will get bored and probably turn into a loan shark if left unattended too long. So yeah, fun." he grumbled.

"What about Dami?"

Her turns around, eyebrows raised.

"I’m sorry?" he asks. "When did we start calling the demon child, Dami? We're on nickname level now?"

He hates how his heart flutters in his chest when he hears you laugh, melting away his annoyance.

"He's sweet, just a little prickly. like you." you grin, coming to wrap your arms around his neck, pecking him on the lips.

"Yeah, he's sweet to you, he's a little shit to everyone else." he grumbles.

"Sounds like someone else I know." you tease.

He can't help but grin, sighing out through his nose softly. "Fine. we can go." he grumbles, knowing he won’t be able to stay mad at you for long.

The photo he traces was from that night, you tucked into his side. You're staring at the camera with a sparkle in your eye, lips pulled back into a wide grin. You're wearing black to fit the theme of the ball, with red accents, matching him. He’s got his arm around your shoulder, taking the photo with you pressed up against him. He thinks you look stunning, eyes twinkling at him from the page.

He takes the exacto knife and gently runs it over the image, cutting himself out so that he can focus on you. The piece pops free, and he trims the edges. His heart thrums as he slides you onto the handle, fluttering with a tame delight.

"Don't forget to, you know..."

Dick’s voice floats back into his mind, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards once more. Reluctantly he pulls your photo from the handle and reaches for a screwdriver to his left, bringing it above the paper. He feels like he's about to stab you, the way the metal tip hovers above the image smiling back at him.

But he does it, heart clenching with each scrape across your eyes, slowly erasing the twinkle he loved so much. There's something sickening about the feeling of scratching your face out, the gritty sound of the photo tearing and leaving white streaks in its wake making his stomach flip. Finally, it's done, stark white lines blotting out your gaze. All that's left is the upturn of your lips, and the soft smile you wore.

With a heavy sigh Jason slots it back onto the handle, placing the clear protector over you. At least nothing could damage you more than he already had. He told himself it was for the better, as he cleaned his hands on a nearby rag and bit the inside of his cheek. You weren't the most supportive of his guns, but you liked that they kept him safe. You had had a few conversations with him about it but never an argument. He wanted to keep you close, but he knew he wasn't going to be an idiot about it. He wanted to protect you, hide your identity from any eagle-eyed thugs.

"Besides," he thought to himself. "Don't want em seeing what I'm about to do."

Maybe it was for the best that he covered your face for this.

His body hums with adrenaline, still alone in the Batcave. With scarred fingers he screws the cover onto the grip, clear cover sitting flush and keeping your photo secure. Jasons tosses it a few times in his hand, getting used to the feeling of the new colt pistols and making sure you weren't going to shake loose. When he was content, he looked over his shoulder, scanning the shadows for movement.

He knew that Bruce would condemn his actions, he didn’t even need to ask on that front. Dick would be understanding but try to hold him back, and Tim would try to talk him out of it. The only person he felt that silently agreed with him was Damian, the pair of them fostering an unlikely bond in the last few weeks.

Everyone in the manor knew what Jason was thinking.

What Jason was doing spending his nights in the Batcave, the one place he had grown to hate ever since coming back.

What he contemplated as he haunted the halls of the manor, the place he often traded in for the comfort of his downtown apartment.

Everyone knew what Jason was going to do tonight, yet none of them were game enough to say it out loud or stop him.

Therefore, Jason took their silence as compliance because he knew somewhere deep down, they wanted him to do it.

Or was he deluding himself?

He shook the thought from his head, holstering the newly decorated pistol. He was already dressed and strapped for this mission, no turning back now. With heavy hands he donned his helmet, taking a deep breath as he pushed Jason aside to become Red Hood. The air was still, as if the Batcave was filled with spirits watching him in silence as he mounted the bike and pressed the key for the garage door, speeding out.

He was already haunted by too many ghosts.

The streets of Gotham were relatively quiet, the usual alleys he stalked devoid of the thugs he would have expected. It seemed that even the city was holding its breath, civilians tucked safely inside. He knew where he was going.

He had been receiving mocking invites in the mail for the last week, notes attached to crime scenes in a gory fashion just to mock him. So really, it was no surprise when he arrived at Gotham cemetery, parking outside and not even bothering to kill the engine. He wasn’t going to be long anyways.

Just past the cemetery was the crumbling shell of Arkham, ivy covering the brickwork and roof caving in. His boots crushed broken panes of glass as he entered the decaying mental hospital, leaves scattered through the building from wrinkled trees that had cracked through the floors. He slowly made his way to the upper floor, where he had seen the lights.

Instinctually he reached for his gun, and he felt his heart calm sliding his hand over your picture secured into his sweetheart grip. He hadn't felt this anxious fighting in a while, unused to the way that his pulse thudded against his neck or the dryness that crept into his mouth. The corridor felt like it stretched on forever, making his vision swim trying to reach the light at the end.

Candlelight flickered weakly at the end of the hall, luring him in like a moth. As he stepped in he took note of it, hand tightening. Jason knew he was going to play with him, taunt and torture him. The images of you taped up on the peeling walls were enough. Photos that spanned back months, photos of you on dates, at work, in his car, in your apartment, blurry photos of you and him in his bed. His thumb instinctually placed itself over your eyes, despite them already being scratched out.

He didn't need you seeing the messy patchwork of your life.

Jason didn't even mind the photos, knowing the sadist would be doing something like that. What he did mind though were the images of you from three weeks ago, the same images that Dick had refused to let him see, that Tim wiped off the Batcomputer hard drive and Babs had removed from the GCPD database. The ones displaying the blood, the bone, the bruising.

Your eyes, unseeing.

Everything that was so familiar to him, but so foreign on you.

Everything that that one curved piece of metal had caused way back when, stained a dark brown. The same piece of metal that was sitting in the middle of the desk at the centre of the crude shrine, drying with a fresher coat of oxidised red.

He felt his heart rise to his throat, but he wasn’t sure if it was bile in his throat or the taste of blood from his bitten lip. His grip turned white, muscles flexing under the skin and pressing unnaturally hard. He felt the green tinged mania inside him rear its head, threatening to take over his mind and act purely on instinct. The Lazarus pit clawed and pulled at his soul harder that it had in years, gasping at him like a beggar, screaming for a shred of violence to feed it.

He knew the game. He knew all of this was to provoke him, try to get Jason to release the rage inside him. The monster wanted to see him squirm, see him struggle to keep himself in check. He wanted to watch Jason Todd fight against the Red Hood, watch the Bats moral code play out on his face.

Well, Jason wasn't Batman. He wasn't Bruce.

As soon as a skinny figure moved from the shadows to his right, his pistol was out in a flash. His free hand ripped the mask from his face, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed, but he felt more relaxed than he had been in ages.

He was no Batman. He was Jason Todd.

And Jason was going to do the one thing Bruce had always been too much of a coward to do.

With one crisp bang the clown couldn’t get a single word out before he was splayed on the floor. As Jason stepped over the body he regarded it apathetically, barely biting down the urge to step on it. The bastards’ lips were pulled back in a wide smile, even in death. Maybe he had expected Jason to do this, maybe it was his last hurrah as an asshole, but Jason didn't care.

He didn’t even feel scared at the idea of the aftermath as a retraced his steps out of the abandoned building, mounting his still-running bike.

There hadn't been a single gloat before the gun cracked through the night, not a single joke or pun or taunt to leave the devil’s mouth. Bruce might have entertained it, let him play it out, but not Jason.

For Jason, everything that needed to be said had been said in actions.

The air was strangely cool, devoid of the humidity that nomrally hung in the streets. The city itself seemed to be sighing, taking a breath like the chord holding the city on a leash had been cut. He relished the feeling of it on his skin, the cracks in his suit letting the breeze run across his knuckles and where his mask met his neck. He imagined the cool fingers were you, cradling his face and whispering for him to take a rest, and he let his eyes flutter closed briefly.

 As he hit a red light he took a pause, reaching his hand down to pat where you were, tucked tightly under his hip. He didn't care what the reaction was going to be when he reached the manor, or the screaming match that was likely going to destroy what was left of his relationship with his pseudo father. All that matters is that he had done right by you, that he had done what he wished someone had done for him.

April 17th, the night Jason Todd killed the Joker.

[arandomao3user]

(Directed at the third person to send me death threats in this fandom-–)

Die hard Batman comic junkies will be like: TIM IS A PLAYBOY, READ THE COMICS!!!! BRUCE IS A BAD DAD, READ THE COMICS!!! JASON WAS NEVER BRUCE'S SON, READ THE COMICS!!! ZBSIKABAOAMNAHAOANAUSOBSYWJSBS YOU CAN'T HEADCANON THAT!?M? WAYNE FAMILY ADVENTURES IS THE REASON I AM DIVORCED!!!! FANFIC!?!?!?!? YOU CAN'T LIKE BATMAN MEDIA!!! DENIED!!! I SHALL GATEKEEP THEE AS THE DUNGEON MASTER OF MY OWN FANTASY!!!!! THIS IS MY FANDOM >:((( MY MOM SAID NOOOOOO!!!!

Like. Sir. Clam the F-- down and get off TikTok? Sir. Sir. Sir. I read comics, I have read the comics, I owns several physical comics, I have big books. I have small boks. I have Hush, Death In The Family, Death Of The Family, the ultimate Under The Red Hood book, I have three pride month specials shut up I am the queer, I have seventeen Batman movies I have watched religiously, I have read Tim Drake: Robin twice and I have reread Batman #408-409 that I have several theories revolving Jason and Bruce's relationship and also I have an entire site where any Batman comic I want to read is at my finger tips and YOU KNOW WHAT!?!?

I STILL LOVE WRITING FANON, FANON HEADCANONS!!! But my thing is let people enjoy things how they want because if I get one more death threat for enjoying a media that has existed since the 30's than I'm gonna crash out and post a thirty part long series about Tim fighting through a caffeine addiction and being adopted by Jason to get through it, I'll make him sad, and I'll make him date Bernard the entire time. I won't hesitate.

Also, if we stick to JUST the source material of every comic ever than there's two Jason Todd's, one from the circus who's a ginger and dates a girl named Rena (bring her back DC you cowards), and another from Crime Alley who steals tires and dies. Oh, also Batman and Robin have guns but then they stop using them for whatever reason. Also there's like two or three different Talia Al Ghul's but they aren't ever in the same room and we aren't sure which exactly is Damian's Mother or if Damian exists or how many there are and the clones but there's so many Damian's it ain't even funny... Oh, and Tim may or may not exist sometimes or date Babs or be married to her or be insane but that happened in the movies so it doesn't count for whatever reason because we can not combine movies and comics because the LOF (Laws Of Fandom) say so. Also Dick was adopted both before and after Jason but another Jason, like a third one or variant of the second one, who didn't actually die but did die the specifics don't matter!

MY POINT IS THIS IS A SERIES ABOUT AN EVER EVOLVING STORY WITH ALTERNATE UNIVERSES AND DIFFERENT TAKES AND THESE ARE COMICS!?!? These characters were literally designed with a basic outline to be adapted to however the writer sees fit for telling their story. A DIRECT QUOTE FROM SOMEONE WHO WORKED ON THE VERY POPULAR "Under The Red Hood" STORY IS THAT THIS IS JUST FANFIC AND BRINGING JASON BACK WAS BASICALLY A FANFICTION! A "WHAT IF" HE GOT FROM HUSH!

I don't care how YOU enjoy Batman media, and if you care how I ENJOY IT then block me so I don't have to see you telling the world how much bad you wish on people who enjoy fanfiction and certain comics even though you tell us to read the comics but not specific comics because you don't like the characterisation in that comic..? Like. Dude. Don't gatekeep and let people enjoy things how they want, that's all I'm saying, the mindset of gatekeeping a fandom is so 2020 and also 2015 Steven Universe/ Undertale amino... I am not going back to arguing over the gender of Frisk and Chara.

Wayne Family Adventures is also bad a%# and I am not a fan of how the writers wrote Duke, but I can accept it because it's funny and cute and you can't take it from me ♥︎

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk—

[breadnaan]

I would like to reiterate this point a little more strongly, and tie it back into one of the Great Big Lies of capitalism:

"Capitalism drives innovation"

I'm sure this is something we've all heard repeated hundreds of times, because this is one of the fundamental pillars of what I call the "brochure/sales pitch" description of capitalism. The argument always goes something like, "sure a more equitable society might be nice, but progress requires the ruthless competition of the free market to push the state of the art forward. Without the profit motive as incentive, no one would be rewarded for innovation! Sure capitalism has its faults, but it's the best system that we have and has advanced humanity tremendously!

Except none of that is true. Because the market provides zero incentive to innovate.

Let's look at the actual economics behind this claim. Say that I have a fantastic idea to either make a new product, improve an existing product, or to use resources more efficiently. I will still need to invest time and resources into developing and testing this idea to make it ready for market. The moment that I launch and reveal my new and improved product/process what will happen is all of my competitors in that market will see my work and think, "That's a great idea, I will do the same thing."

And that is the "intended" way for markets to work in the brochure version of capitalism. Competition is supposed to force competitors to adapt to the state of the art in their industry in order to remain competitive, so that the end consumer benefits from the competition by having access to "the best quality products possible at the best possible prices," which is another one of the bullet points on the brochure.

But this comes into conflict with capitalism incentivizing innovation, because as you might have noticed there was no incentive for me to be the one to innovate. In this scenario, I put time and resources into an idea that all of my competitors got for free once I entered the market with the fruits of that labor. Not only do I receive no competitive advantage for my innovation, but I'm actually coming out behind because I had to spend time and resources that my competitors did not need to spend in order to match my efforts.

If we want this hypothetical to be a little more realistic, there will be a brief period of time where my innovation gives me an advantage while I'm waiting for my competitors to "catch up to me," either because they need time to reverse engineer what I've done or because my innovation requires them to update/replace/modernize their tools and practices which takes some amount of time. But for any significantly impactful advancement which requires a meaningful investment of resources and months to years of research & development time, this brief window of small competitive advantage is no where near enough incentive for any business to invest in an idea that might not even pay out.

And this is where Intellectual property law enters the picture. IP law is a band aid on this whole mess that says "We know that the market is actually a uniquely terrible vehicle for rewarding and incentivizing intellectual work. We will solve this problem by granting temporary monopolies for products brought to market that utilize novel intellectual work."

Which, is incredibly wild for a number of reasons that have already been brought up on this post. I will assert that this is the "solution" provided for this problem because it is the solution that is valuable for capitalists. It effectively transforms intellectual work into property/capital that can be owned, complete with a publicly funded police state to enforce that ownership on behalf of the capitalist class. Both of these things are incredibly valuable for the economic class of people whose income is a function of the rent they are able to extract from the capital they own, and this legal framework allows intellectual work to simply be another thing that they can own and extract passive income from.

And ultimately, it "works" as a solution to incentivize innovation and intellectual work, because monopolization is incredibly profitable. But it is not "the market" that is providing that incentive, it is the publicly funded massive police state enforcing your monopoly that is providing that incentive.

Which, at that point, if we require public funding to make this entire thing function, why not just use that public funding to just pay people to do intellectual work and allow the public to enjoy the benefits of the thing that they are paying for?

And in fact, we already often do this. Because while this IP law band aid is somewhat effective, its scope is limited to only incentivizing intellectual work that can ultimately contribute to the creation of a product that can be brought to market. And "products that can be brought to market" is only a tiny slice of the things we care about when we're talking about innovation and intellectual work that contributes to the advancement of humanity. Even with IP law, capitalism contributes very little to the advancement of humanity. The things that we decide are priorities are prioritized using public funds, even in capitalist society. When the US was embarrassingly behind the Soviets in the Space Race, they didn't leave the shuttle program in the incapable hands of the market. Nor could they, because what consumer market exists for a lunar landing shuttle? In order to keep up, the US was required to create agencies to use their funds to simply pay people to do the intellectual work that a space program required, which is the same model most meaningful advancements follow.

And that doesn't even get into all the ways that IP laws hinder progress and innovation, from preventing people from iterating on previous work, to patent trolling, to abandoned but still protected works, and so on.

The only real accomplishment of IP law is giving capitalists another frontier of pseudo-property to accumulate and collect rents from.

patents are so fucking evil though. you can patent game mechanics and limit the kinds of games people are legally able to make. you can patent medicine to be the sole producer of that medicine. you can patent fucking, crops to ask a premium on specific variations of crops. it's so fucked

[ventique18]

- Rant, a bit of a controversial topic but I'm trying to make sense of it -

While I personally haven't seen anyone blatantly announcing so, I've been hearing that a few Yuuna haters dislike her because she'd get in the way of their BL ships like. 😭

If your guy breaks up with your other guy just because he caught a whiff of woman pheromones then that's a him problem. I mean, you'd think your guy would sooner be attracted to the other boys than give a shit about a random girl lmao. If you're openly admitting that Yuuna is superior in every way to the other guy so his position is threatened anyway, then sure.

And yes, bi people exist. But where's this hater energy when the other male Yuus released? If Yuuna is a threat to your bl ship then everyone is.

This argument literally does not make objective sense except for being misogynistic for no reason.

[spencessocks]

bucky AND spencer??!!! are you my brain? my brain has a tumblr? but seriously im so happy you exist.

i was originally coming to say how in ‘through the silence’ the theme and the conversation could be the same (okay maybe just similar) with post prison spencer x reader and how he is trying to get back to reality and leave prison behind

love you xx

a/n: omfg what... im literally going to eat ur face... this sort of got a little longer than i intended and it took me a while because i was busy with work so im sorry!😭😭 but thank u so much omg i was reeling from this ask, ur so sweet and ilysm!!!

what remains

summary: after spencer returns from prison, the trauma he endured drives a wedge between him and the one person who loves him most.

pairing: postprison!spencer reid x reader

wordcount: 6.8k

warnings: sad spencer, sad reader, everyones sad, reader drinks like a sip of wine

the apartment is quiet when spencer walks in. it’s late—again. you don’t know where he goes, but he never offers, and you’ve stopped asking.

he drops his keys onto the counter with a dull clink, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion, and you watch from your place on the couch, heart aching at the sight of him. he looks different now. he's been home for months, but the man who walked through your door after prison isn’t the same one who left.

“hey,” you say gently, closing your book and setting it aside.

he glances at you but doesn’t hold your gaze for long. “hey.”

you swallow down the lump in your throat. “did you eat?”

“i'm not hungry.” his answer is clipped, automatic, the same response he’s given you almost every night since he’s been back.

you knew it wouldn’t be easy. that things would be different and he wouldn’t be the same. you had told yourself that over and over in the days leading up to his return, had braced yourself for the changes.

but you'd had hope—hope that, with time, things would settle. that he would come back to you—not just physically, but in the ways that mattered. that he would find his way back to the man he used to be, the man who used to curl up beside you on the couch, rambling about his latest case or a book he was reading. the man who used to laugh, used to smile, used to pull you into his arms like you were the safest place in the world.

but you had underestimated the impression this whole ordeal would leave on him.

it wasn't just in the way he carried himself, the way exhaustion clung to his frame or how the light in his eyes had dimmed. it was deeper than that. it was in the way he recoiled from touch when he used to seek it, in the way his voice lacked the excitement and curiosity it once held. in the distance that stretched between you, widening a little more each day, despite your best efforts to close it.

prison had carved something out of him, something you weren’t sure could ever be replaced. he had been home for months, but a harsh reality was starting to settle in you—that some wounds don’t heal the way you expect them to. some stay raw, lingering beneath the surface, invisible until they make themselves known in quiet moments—in the silence at the dinner table, in the way he avoids your gaze, in the way he flinches at your touch, in the walls he keeps building no matter how hard you try to tear them down.

he didn’t talk about what happened in there, and you didn’t press—even if sometimes curiosity clawed at you. but every laconic response, every empty stare, every night he disappeared without explanation told you more than words ever could. he was still there, trapped in a place you couldn’t seem to reach, and no matter how badly you wanted to, you weren’t sure you ever would.

you exhale slowly, measuring your words before speaking. "spencer, you know what i'm going to say." your voice is soft, careful, but it still makes him flinch, just barely.

"i'm fine," he mutters, turning away from you.

you hesitate, just for a moment, before the words slip out. a quiet, almost embarrassed whisper in the stillness of the room.

"will you at least sit with me for a little while?"

you regret the question the second it leaves your mouth, second-guessing yourself as soon as the vulnerability hits you. it sounds so small, so simple—sit with me, like it’s not asking for much, but in a way, it feels like you’re begging. you feel humiliation crawl up your neck.

"we don't have to talk," you add quickly, trying to soften the weight of your words. "we can just—"

"i'm tired," he interrupts, voice hollow. he’s already moving toward the bedroom, like he can't get away fast enough.

you stare blanky at him, his back already turned to you. you don't say anything. you can't. the words get stuck somewhere in your throat, tangled up with the shock and the sting of his dismissal. you just sit there, still as stone, the weight of his words settling over you like a thick, suffocating fog.

it shouldn't surprise you—this response, this distance, the way he shuts you out without a second thought. it’s been happening for weeks now, a slow unraveling of something that once felt unbreakable. and yet, it does surprise you.

because you still hoped—that he would just sit with you. that it couldn't possibly be that bad that your own husband couldn't sit on the the same goddamn couch as you.

you don’t know if your lack of response matters. maybe it does. maybe that’s why he hesitates in the doorway, fingers gripping the frame as if he's weighing his options. for a second, you think he might turn around, might give you something—anything. but then, just as quickly, he lets go and disappears into the darkness of the bedroom.

you sit there, motionless, as the door to the bedroom clicks shut behind him. the sound feels final, sharp.

the interaction plays in your head. "i'm tired."

the look on his face—or the lack of one. there’s nothing there. no fight, no frustration, not even the faintest trace of a desire to make things right.

you blink, once, twice, trying to shake the fog from your brain, but the shock is still there, thick in your chest. it’s like a pulse, steady and unrelenting, buzzing through your veins. you don’t know what to do with it. how to process it.

at this point, you can hardly recognize yourself. the person you used to be—before all this. you would have never let spencer walk away from that. you would’ve confronted him, spoken your truth, demanded that he listen. you were an opinionated person, it wasn't like you to let someone walk over you—spencer liked that about you. you would’ve never felt embarrassed by something so simple, so vulnerable, said to the man you loved.

the anger bubbles up, creeping through the shock like a slow poison, and suddenly, your skin feels tight. it feels wrong. how dare he? how can he just walk away, leave you in this empty room, in this awful, suffocating silence, after everything you’ve been through together?

surely, you wouldn't do this to him. that thought had crossed your mind before, only to be quickly pushed away by the reminder that you couldn't possibly know what he was going through—what he felt in that place.

but now, the thought clung to you, insistent, refusing to be ignored and with it came another. maybe he didn’t know how to let go of you—maybe he was too afraid to say the words, so instead, he kept hurting you without even realizing it. maybe he thought pulling away was easier than facing the truth. if the roles were reversed, you'd seek him out, wanting his comfort, his presence. so why wasn't he doing the same for you? why was he so unwilling to lean on you—when he had done it a million times before?

the pulse in your neck quickens, blood rushing, and you grip the edge of the couch, knuckles white. you don't even realize you're standing now, the instinct to do something, anything, pushing you forward. your breath comes quick and shallow as frustration and disbelief twist inside you like a knot that you can't untangle.

what are you supposed to do with this? what are you supposed to do when your own husband looks at you like you’re nothing—like you’re some kind of inconvenience he just can’t deal with tonight?

your body moves on its own, your legs carrying you to the door as if they have a will of their own—pyjamas and slippers be damned—the front door slams shut behind you with an almost violent finality. the apartment feels suffocating now, the weight of his absence, of his rejection, too much to bear. you need to leave.

you don’t bother to grab your phone. what would be the point? there’s nothing to say to him anymore—if he would even call. not when you’re standing on the edge of something you can’t even explain to yourself, a frustration and sadness mixing into something unrecognizable.

you walk fast, too fast, the cold air biting at your skin, and it helps. the briskness of the night, the sting of it, gives you a sense of purpose, something to focus on other than the gnawing emptiness inside you. you don’t want to sit in that silence any longer, don’t want to stew in your thoughts, trapped in that apartment where the echoes of your broken attempts at connection are suffocating.

jj’s place isn’t far—just a few blocks—but it might as well be a world away. the walk feels like an eternity, but it’s the only thing you can control right now. you don't have to think about spencer. you don’t have to think about him.

you find yourself at jj’s door, your breath coming out in white clouds, and for the first time tonight, you feel a brief flicker of something approaching relief. you knock twice, hard, before pulling back and pressing your forehead against the doorframe, closing your eyes, letting the coolness of it ground you. what the hell am i doing?

when she opens the door, her eyes widen at the sight of you, but she doesn’t ask. she doesn’t need to. she just steps aside, pulling you in with a soft, understanding smile.

“you okay?” she asks gently, though you know she already knows the answer.

you nod, but only because you don't trust your voice not to break if you speak. she doesn’t push, just closes the door behind you and leads you to the couch. you sit without a word, leaning back against the cushions, closing your eyes, and for the first time in what feels like months, you let yourself breathe.

jj moves toward the kitchen without a word, and you hear the familiar sound of glasses clinking, followed by the admittedly soothing pour of wine. she returns with a glass in each hand, her expression knowing. she hands you one and sits down beside you, settling into the cushions with the kind of ease that makes you wish you could do the same.

"talk to me,” she says, her voice quiet, but firm enough to break the silence that’s settled between you. it’s not a question, really—more like a gentle command, the kind that only someone who knows you can give.

you let out a breath, leaning back into the couch, staring at the ceiling for a moment, unsure where to even begin. everything feels like a mess. but her presence, her calm, makes you feel like you might find the strength to sort it out.

“spencer—" you stop yourself, the words catching in your throat. you shake your head, a laugh escaping your lips at the disbelief of your situation. "i don’t even know what to say anymore. i don’t know how we got here. it’s like i don’t even know who he is anymore.”

jj listens, her eyes steady, her hands wrapped around her own glass, but her gaze never wavers. she’s waiting. you know she won’t interrupt.

“i thought... i thought he’d come back to me, you know?” the words slip out before you can stop them, and the sadness that follows hits you harder than anything before. “i thought, with time, things would get better. that i could get him back, the way he was. but... it’s like he’s not even here anymore. i don’t know how to reach him. and when i try, it feels like he just shuts me out more.”

you swallow hard, feeling a sharp sting behind your eyes. it feels pathetic, but you can’t stop it now. you can’t stop the flood of everything that’s been building up, everything you’ve been trying to ignore.

“he’s gone, jj. and i don’t know how to be with someone who’s... not really here,” you say, your voice breaking on the last word.

jj doesn’t say anything at first, just lets you breathe, lets you sit with it for a moment. “i know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but he’s not gone. he’s just... changed. and change is hard. for both of you.”

you scoff softly, shaking your head. “i feel like i'm going crazy."

jj watches you carefully, her gaze unwavering as she processes your words. you feel exhausted—physically, emotionally—like the weight of the past few months has finally settled on your shoulders all at once.

jj studies you for a long moment, her expression unreadable. then, she exhales, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table. “you’re not crazy,” she says simply. “you’re grieving.”

that catches you off guard. you blink at her. “grieving?”

she nods. “yeah. you’re grieving the life you had before. the spencer you had before.” she pauses. “and maybe... the version of yourself that existed before all this.”

you open your mouth, but no words come out. you want to argue, to tell her it’s not that simple, that you’re not mourning spencer like he’s some lost cause, but—god—doesn’t it feel like that sometimes? doesn’t it feel like the person you knew, the person you loved, is slipping further and further away?

jj sighs, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “i know what it’s like to watch someone you love disappear into themselves. to feel helpless while they struggle with something you can’t fix.” her voice is softer now, careful, like she’s walking a tightrope. “it’s terrifying.”

your fingers tighten around your wine glass. “so what do i do?” the question comes out more fragile than you want it to, barely above a whisper.

she’s quiet for a moment, thinking. “you—" her words are interrupted by an abrupt sound. jj’s phone is ringing, sharp and sudden in the quiet of the room. you flinch, your heart leaping into your throat before you even see the name on the screen. but you already know.

spencer.

panic grips you, fast and unrelenting, and before you can think, the words spill out. “don’t answer it.”

jj hesitates, glancing at the phone on the coffee table. the screen glows with his name, the sound vibrating between you like a living thing. “he’s your husband,” she says gently, but her fingers hover over the screen instead of answering.

“i don’t care,” you whisper, shaking your head. “please, jj. don’t.”

she studies you, eyes flicking over your face like she’s trying to gauge just how serious you are. if she picks up, you’ll have to hear him—his voice, his clipped tone, his inevitable question: where are you? and what then? you don’t have an answer.

jj sighs, silencing the call but not declining it. the ringing stops, but the silence that follows is almost worse.

“you know he’s worried,” she says carefully. “you left without your phone. you think he’s just going to let that go?”

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your glass like it’s the only thing tethering you to the moment. “i don’t know,” you admit. “i just—I can’t do this right now. fuck.”

jj shifts closer, her voice calm but firm. “running won’t fix this.”

you let out a short, bitter laugh. “staying hasn't."

she doesn’t have an answer for that.

jj watches you carefully, then sighs. “stay here as long as you need. but at some point, you have to decide—are you going home? or are you walking away?”

your arm is moving suddenly, the wine glass at your lips. her words settle over you like a weight. and for the first time, you realize—you don’t know.

jj's phone buzzes again, and you flinch at the sight of spencer’s name lighting up the screen. the call goes to voicemail, and for a few seconds, there’s nothing but silence.

the phone rings a second time. you can almost hear spencer’s voice in your head, the exact tone he always takes when he doesn’t know what to say.

“I’ll answer it,” jj says softly, but the words feel like a concession rather than a promise. she picks up the phone, and her thumb hovers over the screen.

you don’t stop her, but you wish you could. you wish you could shut everything down, turn it all off.

“spencer?” jj says, her voice calm, controlled.

you close your eyes, hearing his voice crackle through the speaker.

“jj... is she there?” spencer’s voice sounds worn, tight with something just beneath the surface. you can hear the familiar threads of guilt and concern tangled in his words. “i—i don’t know where she went. she just… she left without saying anything.”

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“yeah, she's here.” jj finally responds, her words careful. “but she's not ready to talk to you right now, spencer.”

a long pause follows. you can hear spencer’s breath, shallow, like he’s holding something back.

“i just... i just need to know she's okay,” he says, the frustration and desperation clear in his voice. “please.”

you wince at the pleading in his words. it cuts through you in a way you hadn’t expected.

jj looks at you, her expression unreadable, before she glances down at the phone again. you can feel the heat of her stare on you.

“she’s fine,” jj says, with a note of finality. “but I think you need to give her some time. she’s been through a lot, spencer. you both have.”

“time?” Spencer’s voice cracks. “jj, i don’t—“

but she cuts him off. “i’m not getting in the middle of this. just... take care of yourself for now, okay? you’ll talk when she’s ready. she’ll come back when she’s ready.”

the phone goes silent for a moment, and then the faint click of the line disconnecting. jj pulls the phone away from her ear and sets it down on the coffee table with a soft sigh.

jj sits back, her gaze still trained on you, like she’s waiting for something.

the silence in the room feels heavier now. It presses against your chest, and the weight of it makes your thoughts swirl faster than they should. spencer’s voice still echoes in your mind—i just need to know she's okay. you don’t want to admit it, but the desperation in his words cuts deeper than you anticipated. you don’t want to feel guilty. but it settles over you, thick and unavoidable, as you sit on jj’s couch, the comfort of her presence fading into the background.

“he sounded worried,” you murmur, more to yourself than to jj.

she nods, watching you carefully. “of course he’s worried.”

you press your lips together, exhaling slowly. “i didn’t think he’d care that much.” the words taste bitter on your tongue, because the truth is, you had wanted him to care. you had wanted him to call, to ask where you were, to prove—at least to himself—that there was still something left between you worth saving.

and he did.

he did.

but now, sitting here, away from him, away from that apartment, the weight of your actions starts creeping in, cold and insidious.

you left.

you walked out without a word.

you knew what it was like to feel abandoned, to reach for someone and find nothing but empty space. and now you’ve done the same to him.

the realization makes your chest tighten, and suddenly, the fight, the frustration, the resentment—it all feels distant, overshadowed by something heavier. something closer to shame.

jj shifts beside you, her voice quiet but knowing. “you’re thinking about going back.”

you shake your head quickly. “i don’t know.” but it’s a lie. you do know.

you inhale sharply, pressing your palm to your forehead, trying to ground yourself. “god, what am I doing, jj?”

“you’re allowed to feel this, you know,” she says simply. “you’re allowed to be angry. to be hurt. to need space.”

you swallow hard, blinking down at your hands. they feel foreign to you, like they belong to someone else. “i just—” you hesitate, voice cracking slightly. “i just got so mad. he was so dismissive of me, and i couldn't be there anymore.”

“i know.”

you stare down at your lap, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your sweater.

you shake your head, guilt curling in your chest. “but that’s not me, jj. that’s not who I am. i don’t just… walk away. i got angry and i overreacted.”

she sighs. “one moment doesn't define you. things are different now. you've never been in a situation like this before,” she pauses. “sometimes you have to walk away, to get your thoughts in order."

"it would've been worse if you blew up at him." she added.

"i think i still might." you said with a dry laugh.

jj smiled slightly, her gaze softening as she leaned back, “you’ve always been the one to hold things together,” she said, her voice gentle but firm, as if trying to remind you that it was okay to break sometimes. “but you can’t hold it all in forever. and sometimes… sometimes you need space to breathe, to think. you don’t always have to be the strong one.”

you let out a breath, unsure of what to say next. jj was always good at cutting through the noise, but the guilt still sat heavily in your chest. you couldn’t escape the feeling that walking away—no matter how much you needed to—had been the wrong choice.

jj watches you for a moment, then leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “listen, i know it feels like you did something wrong by leaving, but you didn’t. you needed space. that’s not the same as giving up.”

you nod slowly, staring down at your hands, but you don’t respond.

jj sighs, then reaches over and squeezes your arm. "look, if there’s anyone who understands why you did what you did, it’s spencer. he has spent his life studying human behavior—figuring out how they think and why they do what they do. spencer knows exactly why you walked out, even if he won't admit it. he knows it was about needing space, about trying to make sense of everything that’s been building up between you.”

she pauses, giving you a reassuring look. “this isn’t the end. this is just a bump in the road—you'll go back when you're ready, and you'll start working through it all."

spencer knows why you left.

the thought lingers, easing the guilt that’s been clawing at you since you walked out. maybe that’s why he didn’t come after you. maybe, in his own way, he understood that you needed this moment to step back, to breathe, to process.

you hope—no, you need—to believe that he’s coming to his own realization. that in the quiet of your absence, in the stillness of an apartment that no longer holds your presence, he’s starting to understand. that maybe, just maybe, he’s replaying every word, every moment, and seeing where it all went wrong.

you want him to recognize that pushing you away was a mistake. that shutting you out, closing himself off instead of letting you in, only built more distance between you. and most of all, you hope he understands now—truly understands—that love isn’t about shutting doors, but about keeping them open, even when it’s hard.

the irony of the situation dawns on you. sitting here, hoping he comes to the right conclusion on his own, won’t change anything. no matter how hurt or frustrated you are, you know one thing for certain—you aren’t going to push him away the way he did to you.

you glance at jj, her eyes soft with understanding, and suddenly, you don’t feel as lost as you did before.

“i have to go back,” you murmur, the words feeling right the moment they leave your lips.

jj studies you for a moment before nodding. “yeah, i figured.” there’s no judgment in her voice, only quiet support.

you stand, but before you can say anything, jj speaks again. “i’m driving you.”

you blink at her. “jj, i can—”

"it’s late, and it’s cold,” she interrupts, crossing her arms. “and i know you. you’ll spend the entire walk overthinking, or worse, you’ll turn around and come right back here.”

you open your mouth to argue, but she raises an eyebrow, daring you to fight her on this. you sigh, giving in. “fine. i'll still overthink in the car though.”

jj smirks as she grabs her keys. "yeah, but at least this way, you’ll be overthinking with heated seats and no risk of getting hit by a rogue cyclist."

you roll your eyes, but there's a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "alright, alright. guess I’ll overthink in comfort then." you step outside, the weight of everything that’s about to unfold on your back.

the ride back is quiet, the streets nearly empty as jj navigates the familiar roads. you stare out the window, your finger spinning your wedding band, mind racing with all the possibilities of what comes next.

you wonder how it will be when you walk through that door. will he be surprised to see you? will he be angry? will he apologize? the questions swirl in your mind, but you push them aside—you'll find out in a few minutes either way.

jj pulls up in front of the apartment building and turns to you, her expression gentle. “you don’t have to fix everything tonight,” she reminds you. “just… put all your cards on the table. don't sugarcoat anything.”

you nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and nervous anticipation. "thank you, jj," you say softly, giving her a small smile. "i don’t know what i would’ve done without you tonight."

she smiles back, her eyes warm with understanding. "you’ll be fine. just be honest, that’s all you can do."

with a final nod, you push the door open, the cold air immediately hitting you as you step out onto the sidewalk. your heart is pounding in your chest, each step towards the apartment feeling heavier than the last.

you twist the handle, it's unlocked, but you hesitate before pushing the door open, gathering your courage in the silent hallway. when you finally step inside, the apartment is quiet—but not empty. a single lamp illuminates the living room, casting long shadows across the walls.

and there's spencer, sitting on the couch hunched over with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

he looks up at the sound of the door, and for a brief moment, his face is completely unguarded. relief washes over his features, followed quickly by something that looks almost like fear. he stands immediately, his movements stiff and uncertain.

"you came back," he says, his voice hoarse.

you close the door behind you, still standing near the threshold. "i started feeling guilty." you sighed, jj's voice in the back of your head—just be honest.

spencer swallows, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. "guilty?" he repeats, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

spencer exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “you shouldn't feel guilty," he murmurs, then shakes his head. "i mean, it makes sense,” he says quickly, his words picking up speed.

“studies show that guilt is often a response to perceived moral transgressions rather than actual wrongdoing. it’s the brain’s way of enforcing social cohesion—an evolutionary mechanism designed to maintain interpersonal relationships by making us feel responsible for potential harm, even when no actual harm has been inflicted.”

you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of disbelief and amusement as he rambled on. it was as if, in the middle of all this, the man you once knew had momentarily resurfaced. even if what he was saying wasn’t at all what you needed to hear right now, a part of you couldn't help but recognize the familiarity in it—the way he always got lost in his thoughts, trying to explain things when he didn’t quite know how to connect.

he shifts on his feet, his words picking up speed. “and in this case, your reaction makes perfect sense. you removed yourself from a heightened emotional situation in order to regulate your response, which, psychologically speaking, is a far healthier alternative to reactive conflict. but then, the cognitive dissonance sets in—the part where your brain tells you that leaving contradicts your usual patterns of behavior, and that discrepancy triggers guilt, even if logically—”

“spencer,” you interrupt gently.

his mouth snaps shut, and for a second, there’s just silence. a flicker of something vulnerable crosses his face, and you realize—he’s rambling because he doesn’t know what else to say. because this is easier for him than actually talking about what matters.

you step forward, closing a bit of the distance between you. “i don’t need an analysis,” you tell him gently. "i just want you to tell me what's going on."

spencer’s gaze flickers for a moment, like he’s trying to find the words, trying to make sense of the situation. "i never wanted you to feel like you needed to leave," he says, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “but i didn’t exactly make it easy for you to stay.”

you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, the weight of everything you haven’t said pressing heavily on your chest. "no, you didn’t," you admit, your voice just above a whisper.

his expression tightens, a flash of something—guilt, maybe—crossing his face before he looks away.

"i've been trying," he says quietly. "i have."

"have you?" the question comes out sharper than you intended, but you don't soften it. "because from where i'm standing, it feels like you've been doing everything possible to push me away."

spencer's gaze snaps back to you, a hint of defensiveness in his eyes. "that's not fair."

"isn't it?" you take another step forward, emboldened by the surge of emotions you've held back for too long. "you won't talk to me. you won't look at me. you won't even sit next to me on the couch. what am i supposed to think, spencer?"

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "it's not that simple," he says, his voice strained. "i want to be the person you remember, but i don't know if i can be that man anymore."

the admission hits you like a physical blow. "i'm not asking you to be exactly who you were before," you say softly. "i know that's not possible. i just... i need you to be present. to talk to me. to not shut me out completely."

spencer is quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on some point beyond you. when he finally speaks, his voice is barely audible. "i don't know how to explain what it was like in there."

your breath catches. this is the closest he's come to talking about prison since he's been home. you don't know if you should say something. you hold your breath, afraid that if you move or speak, he'll retreat again.

his eyes are distant, far away, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s even aware of how much you’re hanging on his every word. finally, he exhales slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of it all is too much to bear.

“being in there… it broke something inside of me,” he says, voice low and strained. “i kept thinking about what it would be like to come back, to be here, with you. and then i just—" he paused for a moment. "i had to do something really bad. i had to do things in there that… things i never thought i would do."

"i hate myself for it. every second of it." his voice breaks on the last word, he shakes his head, hands shaking slightly as he runs them through his hair, frustration and guilt radiating from him.

"i wasn't just a victim in there—i became someone i don't even recognize anymore. i did things that went against everything i ever believed in, everything i told myself i would never do."

he looks at you now, and you can see the turmoil in his eyes—the deep-rooted shame and the self-loathing that’s consumed him. "and now i’m back here, with you, and i don’t even know who i am anymore. i’ve become this person who did unforgivable things. you don't deserve someone like me, someone who’s capable of—of that." he gestures vaguely, as if trying to encompass everything that’s happened to him.

"is that why you've been pushing me away?" you ask softly. "because you think i won't love who you are now?"

he doesn't answer, but the way he avoids your gaze tells you everything.

"baby," you whisper, shifting closer to him. "nothing could change how I see you."

you take a slow, unsteady breath, searching for the right words—any words—but everything feels inadequate. how do you explain something that goes beyond language?

"god, spencer," you exhale, shaking your head. "i wish i was better at this. i wish i had the right words, i wish i was some kind of poet, and that i could say the right things to make you understand, but i'm not."

you finally close the gap between you two and take his hands, gripping them tightly, pressing them against your chest as if somehow, if he just feels the way your heart beats for him, he’ll finally understand.

"it’s frustrating," you continue, voice thick with emotion. "because what i feel for you—it’s bigger than me. it’s bigger than words. i can’t explain it, and i hate that, because i need you to know. i need you to understand that this isn’t something breakable, something you can ruin, something you can chase away just because you think you should."

he swallows hard, his fingers curling around yours, but he doesn’t speak. maybe he can’t.

"i swear, spencer, if there was a way to pull this feeling out of me and give it to you, i would. if i could make you see yourself the way i see you, make you understand that what you did—what you had to do—doesn’t make you unworthy of love, i would do it in a heartbeat." your voice breaks slightly, tears now lining your eyes. "because i don’t just love you. it’s not that simple. it’s not just some feeling, some thing i could ever put into words. it’s more. it doesn’t begin or end with what you’ve done, or what’s happened to you, or who you think you’ve become. it just is."

he lets out a shaky breath, his eye are now wet, shining under the dim apartment light, his lips parted slightly like he wants to argue but can’t find the strength to. because maybe, just maybe, for the first time—he’s starting to believe you.

"i just wish—i wish you could feel it," you murmur, voice breaking. "i wish you could step into my skin, into my heart, and know how much i love you."

you don’t realize you’re crying until he reaches up, hesitantly, brushing his fingers against your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he touches you. his hand is shaking, but he doesn’t pull away.

spencer’s expression falters, something breaking inside of him, and when he finally—finally—pulls you into his arms, it’s not desperate or frantic. his arms wrap around you slowly, almost reverently, as though he's trying to let the feeling of your love wash over him, to understand it the way you do.

at first, it’s just the slightest tremble in his shoulders, so faint you almost miss it. but then you feel it—the shaky exhale against your neck, the way his fingers clutch at the fabric of your shirt like he’s afraid to let go. and then, slowly, silently, he starts to break.

his breath hitches, and before he can stop it, a quiet sob escapes him, muffled against your shoulder. his body shakes, all the pain and guilt unraveling all at once, and all you can do is hold him through it. his hands grasp at you like you’re the only thing tethering him to the present, like if he lets go, he’ll disappear into everything he’s been trying so hard to contain.

you don’t say anything. you don’t tell him it’s okay, because you know he wouldn’t believe it. or maybe because it isn't. but it will be. you'll make sure of that.

your fingers thread through his hair, your lips press against his temple, and you whisper the same words over and over, a promise and a lifeline: "i love you. i love you. i love you."

you stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, the weight of everything that’s happened still lingering in the air between you. but it’s different now. lighter, somehow. not because everything is fixed—there are still conversations to have, wounds to tend to, pieces of him he hasn’t shown you yet.

but for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re on the same side again. you’re not standing in separate corners, silently blaming each other for things you can’t control.

the weight in your chest, the anxiety that has gnawed at you since that day you got the call about him being detained, begins to fade. you don’t need to fix everything tonight. you don’t need to have all the answers.

his breathing begins to steady, the tears slowing, but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his voice a raw whisper as he says the only thing he can in this moment. “i’m sorry.”

you close your eyes for a moment, exhaling softly. “i know,” you whisper.

there's a beat of silence. "i've been having nightmares," he says, his voice so low you have to strain to hear him. "almost every night. that's where i go sometimes—i walk before going to bed. i walk so that i'm exhausted enough that my mind shuts down."

the sudden admission breaks your heart—but there's also a part of you that feels relief. relief that he wasn't turning to something worse or someone else to numb the pain.

"spencer, you could have told me." you said, fingers rubbings patterns into his back.

"i didn't want to burden you more than i already have," he says, shaking his head. "you've already been through so much because of me."

"that's not how this works," you say, squeezing his hand. "just forget all of that, okay? things will be different now. you not talking to me hurts more than that ever could."

he leans into you, his eyes closing for a brief moment. "i'm sorry," he whispers. "for pushing you away. for making you feel like you weren't enough. you've always been enough."

you lift a hand to his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek as you take in the exhaustion lining his features—the weight he’s been carrying alone for too long. slowly, carefully, you lean in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. just a warm, quiet reassurance that you’re here, that you’re staying.

when you finally pull away, his forehead rests against yours, and he lets out a quiet sigh, his breath warm against your skin. he looks at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. "do you want to go to bed?" he asks, voice low.

you pause for a moment, you hadn’t realized just how exhausted you were until his mention of sleep. your shoulders feel heavy, and your body aches from the emotional toll it’s taken.

a deep, almost instinctual sigh escapes your lips, and you nod softly, “yeah."

spencer squeezes your hand gently and leads you toward the bedroom. the moment the covers are pulled back, you slip under the soft sheets, the cool fabric against your skin offering the smallest comfort after everything you've been through. spencer follows you in, his body warm and reassuring as he settles beside you.

he moves closer, carefully wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into him with a tenderness that makes your chest tighten. you rest your head on his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. his presence, steady and constant, washes over you like a balm, soothing the frantic, scattered thoughts in your mind.

his hand moves slowly up and down your back, the rhythm soothing, and you realize just how much you've missed this—missed him.

you close your eyes, letting the weight of everything melt away as you drift closer to sleep. spencer’s voice is soft, a comforting murmur as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"i love you."

[rotationalsymmetry]

I know it tends to lead to more heat than light when people do a "ok disability though" counterpoint to these sorts of posts, but I do want to point out that this sort of thing is exactly one situation where it can help to zoom out and look at the issue from a societal rather than individual perspective.

I spent a fair bit of time on the internet before I got sick -- in college, when I was surrounded by people I mostly liked and lots of fun things to do, in the mountains when I was surrounded by natural beauty -- and somewhat more than I thought I should, but it was very much in balance. I'd spend a few hours reading webcomics when I thought I should have been doing my homework or NaNoWriMo or meditation or something, but I'd also go out and walk for a few hours, or go grocery shopping, or bake bread, or play "gay Life" (Life the board game but the pegs in front seat of your car can be the same color) with the Alliance kids, or do that homework I'd been putting off. I'd go on Facebook maybe a couple times a week to keep up with what my friends were doing and as far as social media went, that was it.

The times I've spent an out of balance amount of time on screen stuff, rather than a reasonable leisure amount of time that I felt guilty about because I've got an overdeveloped "work ethic", were when I was depressed and unemployed and socially isolated, and now when I have CFS and am unemployed and socially isolated. I can sit outside for a bit, but I take a while to get dressed because I'm sick and I can't do long walks like I used to because I'm sick and my ability to grocery shop or cook...anyways, you get the idea. Social contact too.

And part of that is my illness -- impairment. And part of that is living in a society where either you're working (or something like working, like going to school) or you may as well not exist, people do not make room for disabled people in society. I'd get out more if it was socially acceptable to walk around the block in my pajamas and a bath robe, but it's not and I don't; I'd get out more if I expected I could lie down on public benches without getting harassed by a cop, but I can't expect that so I don't.

We have a society. That is happy for people like me to spend all our time on electronics and none of it in meat space, because that's convenient and easy and good for capitalism, and who the fuck even cares about disabled people anyways.

(And thank goodness the internet exists, because how the fuck would I find people who know how to live with my illness without it? I'd do what people used to do and just be sick and have no clue what to do to manage my symptoms better. I'm substantially better off than I was at my worst due to activities related to looking at a screen.)

And sure, there's some wiggle room where I can make an effort to spend more time on idk coloring books or whatever and less on screen stuff, and I do, and I can reach out to people I know for calls and quiet at home visits where we talk or play board games but only for a couple hours at a time, and I do, but it would be so much fucking easier and better if I wasn't swimming fucking upstream about it.

There is an attitude that gets all over the place like spilled glitter that good health (physical or mental) is primarily about individual choices and is maybe even a reflection of personal character, and it just isn't, not with physical health and not with mental health either, personal choices aren't irrelevant but they're not doing the heavy lifting either and we could treat health as a COLLECTIVE, social concern, something that we do together and for each other and also something that is morally neutral on an individual level, something that happens to us more than the consequences of our choices.

And we could expect that some people can't be healthy (at least not with current medical knowledge) and need care and accommodation and that's not a personal failing and it's not something that anyone's going to be able to fix any time soon but sick people can have better or worse lives in a way that is not tied to better or worse health.

(Very. Much. Including. Depressed. People.)

unironically tho, you need to fill your life with nature and exercise and reading and crafting and cooking and physically engaging with the world around you. the key to happiness is not in your computer screen, especially not if most of your time is spent looking at bad opinions and arguing with people. it sounds so stupid but you are an animal that needs enrichment. so take your meds, go outside or at least look outside and turn off the computer and phone more often. I promise you'll feel better.

[atlaculture]

From ATLA to LOK to Seven Havens Pt. 1

So I'm sure you're all aware that Avatar Studios is currently working on a new series starring the new Earth Avatar immediately following Korra. It'll take place in a cyberpunk setting where the four nations no longer exist. To be honest, I don't see myself following this series unless it manages to generate a lot of positive feedback within the first few episodes. I like fantasy and I like cyberpunk, but I don't really want to see a show juggle both.

That said, from a behind-the-scenes perspective, the way the franchise has evolved provides us with unique insight into what Bryke initially wanted for ATLA.

Above is the very first sketch that Bryan ever did of Aang. As you can see, our protagonist was originally supposed to have a giant dog-bear sidekick and the setting was supposed to be futuristic. Hmm... Sounds familiar.

Katara originally had loosely-tied bundles of hair that framed her face. This hard-to-animate type of hair would get passed on to Korra.

Bryke initially wanted all bending to be based on only one style, specifically Northern Shaolin. It was Sifu Kisu that convinced them to have each nation practice a different type of kung fu. With Korra, they were able to integrate the four elements into one martial art as they had originally planned; this time, they used MMA, as it had gotten quite popular by the 2010s.

[writingwisterias]

Hi! I'm new to your blog and love it! I had the idea of Leon finding out he's video game character. How do you think that would go depending on what game he's in?

Hiii welcome!!

I'm so sorry this late, I hope you have enjoyed your time being here omg ily

I also wasn't entirely sure what you meant but then got the idea of him interacting through cutscenes almost like breaking the forth wall! So I hope you enjoy and if it isn't what you meant feel free to request again and I'll do another 💕

Warnings: None

Gn!Reader

RE2:

The night is already stressful enough, like he's on edge. Mentally panicking. Just all the above.

So when he figures it out, I think he would use it as an escape almost

Like you'll notice he'll talk aloud a lot more and to himself almost like he's trying to have a conversation with you.

He also asks you questions about random topics just to hear you talk more instead of the sounds around him

It makes him feel less alone

In cut scenes his eyes will wander like he's trying to find where he can see you

When he whimpers he turns really red if you comment on the sounds he's making

RE4R:

Definitely backflipping to impress you

As well as all his round house kicks

Breaking chains without the guns just to show you how strong he is but if you comment on it he'll blush

He also wouldn't really acknowledge your existence but will blush at any comments etc that you make

Praises get you in good books, especially around his boss fight with Krasuer

The constant reminder that he will get Ashley back safely spurs him on

Infinite darkness:

The hallway scene where he shoots the zombie without looking was for you

I feel like he would break the forth wall in the scene where Jason and Shen mei give him no information

He's just side glancing at you with a "are you kidding me face"

All of his shoulders and model looking faces are for your pleasure

Along with any of acrobatic shit he does

Damnation:

Doesn't really acknowledge you but will smirk if you laugh at his stupid jokes

The "don't be shy" joke was just to get you flustered

I think when he's injured a lot as well or has a few seconds to himself I think your praise and encouragement he would appreciate

He already wills himself to get up despite everything but hearing you just makes it all the better

RE6:

Much like ID Leon when helana refuses to tell him anything during the first half of the game he's side glancing and smirking at you

Will also whisper under his breath

In cutscenes when you get close he will do a very subtle wink

Starts showing off more in combat if you comment on it

The slutty walk he does gets even worse when he hears you fawn over it

He would again also use you as an escape as he faces the same trauma again and again during the events of the game

Your praises just spur him on to run a little faster or work a little harder in a boss fight

Vendetta:

If you call him cool during the motorcycle scene then you are in his good books

In fact the only reason he then proceeds to ride the bike up the building is to show off

In the second that he hangs off the edge of the building he'll need you to get him to snap out of it

Along with when arias threatens to spill his guts

Any form of praise or encouragement is getting him riled up

Death Island:

Again with the bike stuff, you are in his good books if you call him cool

If you comment on the fight with Maria and how he must have liked being stepped on he'll give you a smirk (we all know he's into that shit)

Hangs from places like a monkeh for a bit too long because he's showing off the fact he can literally do that with ONE arm

If you call him pretty he'll do that deep chuckle thing

If you laugh at his jokes he'll smirk at you

[for-a-longlongtime]

Hey Anon, I saw your message this morning! 💜

You pointed out "Yall need to be careful of bi erasure" and linked to a post someone made about me. I appreciate the heads up! To be honest, I’m not concerned about people suggesting that I’m doing bi erasure. Whether it’s regarding Pedro characters in canon, head canons, or bisexuality in any other way. But hey, everybody can have their opinion about things, including what they think about me.

I dont talk much about myself here, but my tumblr bio has said from day 1 that I’m a bi woman. My master list mentions most of my fic “is queer (m/m, bi4bi, m/m/f, non-binary and trans characters)”. Folks who have read my fic know I've written pairings where every character is explicitly bi ( Frankie x f!reader x Santi; Peña x Rockford x OFC; Ezra x f!reader x Benny Miller, and WIPs with Joel and Marcus M, Frankie x f!reader x OFC and Maximus x Acacius x Lucilla).

Can bisexual people still do bi erasure? Sure!

Do I worry whether straight folks or other random folks online think I'm involved in bi erasure? Nahhh.

Anyway, I did make some posts the other day based on anons submitted to me about issues re: queer representation in this fandom. Let me just direct you to the several posts I made on that day, which started in response to a question about Renaldo:

"Was Renaldo Gay in the SNL sketch?? I've seen a lot of blogs saying he wasn't?". TL;DR version of my response: the ending of the song states "word to the wise, if you've got wives, hide them from the three bros!" suggesting that Renaldo, Domingo, and Santiago all hook up with women/wives. Considering Renaldo hooked up with Matthew, that probably makes him bisexual (and not the fact that he had Sophie, aka Sabrina's character, dancing up on him) - or queer, or someone who doesn't like to label himself. However, while 'hide your wives' works linguistically as a great punch line to wrap up the song, it does not refer to Renaldo's affair with Matthew (now that is bi erasure, if you wanna be exact), so I did point out that 'hide your spouses' would've been more accurate - but understandably, that's not as catchy. I'm currently writing a Renaldo x Matthew one shot, and I said my headcanon has Renaldo as gay - but that's my interpretation/hc/fic.

Someone wrote to me: Some blogs in the fandom is hellbent on taking away any attention away from anything mlm based with his characters anyway so it wouldn't matter in Renaldo was gay - someone would find a loophole to make him like women. TL;DR I agreed, because there are people who definitely do that. It became part of a longer thread of reblogs with some other folks in which we talked about how Pedro's mlm (men loving men) characters, such as Oberyn, Dieter and Silva in particular, either tend to be canonized primarily as bisexual by people but in fic are almost always paired with women (f!reader or OFCs). Which is fine, but people are definitely interested in seeing more m/m representation for those characters. Someone also brought up that when Pedro characters are paired with non-binary reader inserts or OC, it tends to be mostly afab!nb (or afab!trans characters), and that they were surprised that there weren't more amab!nb characters - that's a great point too.

I made a post with an anon message that pointed out "MLM includes bi, pan and queer men. They might like women. (And/or other genders, but they still like men)". Very correct!

Finally, there was an excellent long message from an anon saying "We need more representation of bi people in same-gender relationships represented" and that even in threesomes or throuples (fic) that include two men, there should ideally be more mlm representation. Once again, I fully agree. Everybody should write whatever they want, but I do often see threesomes that are listed as Pedro Character 1 x reader x Pedro Character 2, but in the fic it's more like reader having sex with two straight men at the same time while they're trying to not cross swords, rather than mlm being represented. THIS IS DEFINITELY CHANGING THOUGH: it's wonderful to see a big increase of mlm characters in threesomes/throuple fics over the past year!

So here is my main issue with a lot of people who are raging about 'bi erasure', and why I've made several posts about queerness within this fandom (not just recently, but from the start). Of course bisexual people exist (hello, it me, for one). Pull up some statistics if you want: there are a lot more folks who identify as bisexual than there are folks who identify as gay or lesbian. I'm an older millenial, so if you wanna talk about bi erasure: the measure in which it happens today is nothing compared to the bi erasure and deeply engrained homophobia we experienced in our teens and twenties from society at large. However:

🏳‍🌈 In your rush to point out bisexuals exist, you're shutting down a much broader dialogue with people within the LGBTQIA+ community. 🏳‍🌈

Because have you noticed how gay men, nonbinary/genderqueer fans, amab!trans or amab!nonbinary FANS (not fic characters; I'm talking actual people) are extremely underrepresented in this fandom? In addition to in fic? And that these fans won't have their fiction or actual posts shared all that much? Or that when they carefully speak up, e.g. about being happy to see Pedro portray Silva as a gay character, they're immediately rebuffed and called biphobic or that they're trying to erasure bisexuality?

Yeah. That part.

It's messed up.

Nobody is even making demands. Nobody is even saying "what writers are doing is wrong". They're just saying, "This is a bummer". And some of us are pointing out that mlm Pedro characters in m/m pairings are hard to come by, which is too bad because it's not only us queers who read m/m Pedro character pairings - there are lots of straight fans out there who have indicated they like reading that, too.

Are you gonna call that bi erasure? Or marginalization of women? Or anything really except for what it actually is? Fans are just saying "yknow, I wish there were more fans/fic characters/bodies in fic represented in this fandom that look and feel more like me". People seem to have finally understood that in varying degrees when this applies to body type or racial/cultural background (which took many white people a lot longer to fully grasp; BIPOC folks have been saying this for such a long time already) - it's about diversity and wanting to feel included. But when gay or transfolks say this about mlm, a whole bunch of y'all are crying bi erasure?

In short (and I can't believe I need to even fuckin' say this):

The Pedro fandom or its fic does NOT belong exclusively to women.

It does not belong to cis folks, to straight people, or any other particular group of people.

Aren't we all just trying to be a community? Then stop acting like people reading Silva or Renaldo (or any other character) as gay are erasing bisexuality - that's not the case or the damn point.

And anon-- my critique truly isn't directed at you, I'm not dragging you in any way. You took the effort to bring something to my attention, plus you clearly care about people, and I appreciate that a lot. But there are tons of people who don't dare to speak up about this in public settings, so I can't help but take this opportunity to not only clarify what I said earlier -- but also to address the bigger problem at large. Read or write all the gossip blogs you want, by all means, but maybe also consider using that time to actually connect with people.

[phoenixyfriend]

Feb. 26, 2024 - Status of the Colourpop New Moon Collection argument

Hi! No idea if you're a follower who's been following me and my decision to try to cyberbully a multimillion dollar company into doing the right thing. If you're not, you may be confused! I explain under the cut, including a timeline of actions so far.

If you're not new, then the latest is that they do appear to be deleting some comments on this issue, and possibly shadow-banning.

So... maybe it's working? Here are the links to the six places where they can be contacted. Pick one and have at it. Use one of my past posts (post one, post two) if you need suggested phrasing.

Email contact form: private, and slow response times, but this is the place where we can make the longest arguments/explanations of the issue and why we care. This is something you do once or twice, and keep polite, then go over to the social medias to grind them down.

Instagram: The one I've been haunting. They post several times a day, but often about specific products that I don't feel give me a segue option.

TikTok: I don't have TikTok but given its presence in the marketing world, I assume they post there as often as they do on Instagram, and with pretty much the same content as their reels. I feel like TikTok is wild enough for me to tell you to give 'em hell.

YouTube: exists, but they haven't used it in nine months, so not really on top of things. That said, if it's your ONLY social media, go for it. Can't hurt.

Facebook: I can't actually access this one so I don't know what's going on there, and the link appears to be broken. If you can find their page, go for it.

X/Twitter: Like Facebook, I can't really access this one (I'm using xcancel to see it in chronological form), but it looks like they're bragging about Chappell Roan approving of their makeup. So uh. If you follow her on any platform, ask her if she approves of the situation (also of the Harry Potter collaboration, which is directing money through merch royalties to JKR's transphobic lobbying, something I'm sure Chappell Roan would also be unhappy with).

The short explanation version: Colourpop is a cosmetics company known for fun colors and cool collaborations. At the start of 2024, they started releasing a collaboration with Twilight.* January of 2025, they dropped a New Moon collection. Given that the Quileute people have not seen a cent of the Twilight money despite the massive role their people and culture played in it, much of the fandom has decided that the best approach to any Twilight merchandise is to send a portion of the profits to the Quileute "Move to Higher Ground" fundraiser, meant to relocate their town away from the danger posed by higher sea levels. Colourpop has made no statements on donating to the fundraiser, and it's a topic I care about enough to try and galvanize people into making it happen.

The long version: here. And here. And here.

* I wasn't paying attention at the time, as I'd last purchased from them in 2020 (the Safiya Nygaard collaboration), and I'd only come back because they were having a massive sale back in early January. The New Moon collection hadn't dropped yet so I didn't see it, and the first Twilight collection was in colors I don't wear much, so I was more focused on being mad at the Harry Potter stuff.

I am not the first person to have expressed frustration about this to Colourpop, and it's not the first problematic collab they've done. However, they are smaller than many make-up companies, so it feels possible to actually move the needle here, which is what I'm hoping to do.

To be very clear: My goal is not to get the makeup pulled from shelves or to get a public apology. My goal is to get money directed to the fundraiser. That is what's important here, not any virtue signalling or grandstanding. If there is no donation, then we want a statement as to why. Those are the demands: donate, or explain why you won't. We focus on this.

Timeline:

I sent my first email on January 19th, posted about it here the same day, and then started commenting on their New Moon Instagram posts on February 3rd.

I sent a second email on February 9th, as the promised "3-5 business days to respond" had come and gone.

I was temporarily blocked from commenting on anything by instagram on suspicions of being a bot due to suspicious activity, lasting a week. During that time, I continued updating tumblr posts with links to instagram posts that I thought posed an opening (being about the New Moon collection, about sales that weren't content-specific, or that had some phrasing that I thought invited response, like 'what do you want to see?').

Feb. 10: In response to one comment where I admittedly baited them by being ambiguous enough for them to think I had a problem with an order instead of my usual comments, they deleted said comment and DMed me directly. I responded, explaining my actual issue, and they left me on read.

On February 14th, they responded to my Feb. 9th email, likely spurred by the DM conversation. I assume the folded whatever case file the Jan. 19th email had opened into that one. The response was very canned, but it was at least some response.

Since then, I tried sending another email through the contact form, and it failed to go through since I already have 'open threads,' which I'm guessing is an automatic filter and not targeted.

I have continued to comment on their Instagram posts, and have also encouraged others to do the same. One of those posts was taken down after a day, but I don't think it had to do with us; rather, they were getting a lot of flack for perceived violations of some kind of health and safety thing (iirc people were arguing over what length of beard required a net).

Today, February 26th, we have confirmation from @rairii that comments on this topic are being deleted. Not all, possibly for plausible deniability of 'see, we're not trying to hide the problem!' while still making it harder for the layperson to see, but at least one of theirs. This tumblr user also appears to have been shadow-blocked in some way, as they are unable to access colourpop's page at all on mobile.

So. That's where we're at now.

Let's hope we're getting a little closer to them making a statement on this issue.

[redsrooftopprincess]

Hi!! I love the way you write the bayverse boys, especially your headcanons! My favorite has to be your disability headcanons, I'm disabled and I love seeing representation. Would you be willing to write some headcanons of how the boys would act with a disabled partner? I know that's kind of a vague request since there are so many different ways to be disabled, but maybe some general headcanons on how they'd be with a partner that just has a hard time doing the "everyday" stuff, like getting out of bed/brushing teeth/walking around for a long time? I understand if you're not comfortable with writing this!

Hello, my dear anon! You're in luck! Luck? Is that the word? Idk. I, myself, am disabled! I'm only really comfortable writing the disabilities I'm intimately familiar with (without extensive conversation with people who do have them), but I CAN speak to the ol' classic combo of ADHD, Autism Spectrum Disorder, and Sensory Processing Disorder (I have an alphabet full, but these are the main 3 that cause me daily issues).

AuDHD Reader Headcanons

Here are some ways our boys would actively love a Sensory Avoidant Autistic with ADHD (much, non-physical love to my fellow neurosparklies), and a few things they might have a little trouble with.

Leo

Don't worry about a thing, love. He's got you covered.

Need a dark quiet place to hide for a while? His room exists. It's already perfect.

Leo's a light sleeper, so your very soft morning alarm, *will* wake him, but he loves that he doesn't have to endure an obnoxious wake up call.

If he's not there to fix them himself, your current breakfast foods and drinks are already on the counter waiting for you. A lunch box / containers sitting behind them, just in case you can't eat yet.

Always has a portable safe food on hand in case you get distracted or forget to eat AND forgot what he laid out for you, as well as earplugs, sunglasses, a water bottle in whatever temperature you prefer, and a soft hoodie just in case you're having one of *those* days where *everything* is too much.

Expect him to be checking in every few hours. He doesn't want to overwhelm you with constant attention, but will ensure meds, water, and food happen.

If you can't speak, he'll usually be pretty good at picking up on what you need until you can talk again.

Issues:

Leo has OCD. While at first, he may be fine picking up after you when you leave a mess, it could build resentment after a while, so try not to keep your stuff in his room.

Leo's never had an issue with executive function, so expect him not to understand why you can't just *do* the thing. It'll take a bit for him to get that your brain needs to play before it's capable of doing a task that doesn't give you dopamine, and he may give you a hard time about "getting the important thing done first."

Raph

He's got this. Donnie's autistic, so he has an idea of what to expect... at least, he thinks he does. Hopes he does. Regardless, he'll figure it out.

He cleans the HELL out of his room the first time you come over, no chaotic mess or wierd smells allowed. He may have a bit of an issue *keeping* it that way, but if he notices it's affecting you, he'll handle it.

Pressure. Therapy. My guy gives the BIGGEST BESTEST hugs and will hold you as long for as tightly as you need. (This is really all of them, but I have a favorite, okay?)

OT anyone? Existing physically is hard when you feel like you have to tell every part of you, separately, what to do. Posture and overall muscle mass and flexibility suffer. Raph is there to make sure that doesn't happen. He won't be a dick about it, and he'll find ways to make the weightroom more sensory friendly, but he won't be okay with you neglecting yourself.

Similarly, nutrition! Raph has this uncanny ability to make just about ANYTHING into a safe food. Up to and including removing things after the dish is done cooking. If you order take out and you don't like mushrooms (or your disliked ingredient of choice), expect them to be removed before you even sit down. Multivitamins and hydration are also priority, and expect him to occasionally shove a water bottle in your face. He has a vested interest in you staying healthy.

He usually knows how and when to interrupt you to avoid the bulk of hyperfixation rage, and even when you snap at him, he knows not to take it personally. He's used to Donnie's "moments," so he'll just silently raise a brow ridge and wait for you to fully come back to earth.

Loves to sing and when you lay on his shell the reverb of his rich baritone feels niiiiiice. 10/10 for sensory regulation.

Listens oh so patiently to your info dumping. Half the time he has no idea what your saying, but he loves the sound of your voice and he loves how excited you get about your latest hyperfixation. Seeing you bouncy and bright eyed about... cereal or whatever, can fully turn his day around.

Issues:

Raphael is a physical guy, If you are touch averse, expect this to be a problem. He'll try not to take it personally, he knows it's not personal, Donnie doesn't like being touched either, but it does mess with his head for a while. During those times you're okay with physical contact, try and give him all the reassurance.

Can be a bit pushy about your health and safety at times. Usually it's easy to determine when there's an actual threat and when he's just being overprotective. He's getting better about the latter.

Donnie

'Tism twins!!!

While there is the usual social tapdance of "what type of neurospicy are you?" when you first meet, you both know how important it is to get as much information as possible right up front, so you know how to operate around each other.

Infodumping becomes an art form. You can see be working in silence for hours when one of you will start talking, already halfway through your own conversation in your head, and the other is instantly on board. You learn a LOT from each other about the most beautifully random things.

Expect him to keep a small fridge/pantry stocked with safe foods (when he remembers) and drinks (when he remembers). You more or less end up taking turns restocking everything when you notice the other's safe foods are out.

Fidgets. Everywhere.

Understanding that when either of you check in with the other to make sure they're staying on task, it's not passive aggressive, and your genuinely asking if they need help staying focused.

Has a "Sensory Regulation Chamber" in the lab that's essentially just quiet room stocked with anything either of you need to regulate. Sunglasses, fluffy sweaters, a drum set, you need it? He'll get it.

Issues:

Beware the usual issues that arise with Neurodivergent couples, when your 'tism clashes with his. If you need quiet and he needs to infodump, you can direct him elsewhere, but you're his person, and he wants to tell YOU. So expect pouting.

Hyperfixation rage on both sides can be a huge problem, and if you're not careful, it can quickly turn into a full blown fight over nothing.

Mike

It's all good, Angel. Whatever you need.

The most chill about it, and will fully roll with the punches whenever something happens he isn't expecting.

Snacks? Snacks. No need to worry about the stress of sitting down to, or putting together a whole meal. He's got your safe snacks on hand at all times.

His hoodie is now your hoodie. Full stop.

Want to watch the same movie, listen to the same song, play the same game, or eat the same food seventeen times in a row? Hell yeah! Let's go for the record!

Many with SPD (sensory processing disorder), know how helpful cannabis can be. He and Donnie are already tinkering with some plants, so he'll put a few aside to breed into something that tones down the world without leaving you tired and foggy.

Will listen to you infodump for hours with a goofy lovestruck smile on his face. You'll think he isn't listening, but he'll surprise you with something later that shows just how closely he was.

Issues:

OVERSTIMULATION. And NOT in the fun way (maybe the fun way, but that wouldn't necessarily be an "issue"). Both he and his space are bright and loud and there's a lot of stuff with very little organization. which we all know isn't a problem... Until, suddenly, it really *really* is. Set up a quiet space. You will need it.

Similarly, he's got a bit of a codependency issue. They all do, really, but Mike's is pretty extreme. Before you, things were... dark. And now you're here and things are awesome and what do you mean you don't want to snuggle on the couch right now? Did he do something wrong? Handling touch aversion and your occasional need for solitude takes him a WHILE.

ALL OF 'EM

These boys are sensory heaven. It's like they were made for sensory regulation. From textured skin to big strong arms to their churr basically solving every problem in your world, if only for a little while, expect them to be your safe space and refuge.

...

Tag list

@thelaundrybitch @the-cauldron-witch @fyreball66 @ninnosaurus @tmntngl @thegirlwiththeninjaturtletattoos @zagreustomb @ramielll @silverwatergalaxy @gornackeaterofworlds @daedric-sorceress @sophiacloud28 @iridescentflamingo @sacred-holy-light @celeste-clearwater-06 @pheradream-15 @its-a-me-emmabee

[vnfadinglight]

Let me propose to you another (not really fun) way to look at ACoTaR as a series.

Firstly, forget that it's a romance. It's not anymore. Horror would be a better description.

Secondly, make few assumptions:

1) The way Feyre tricked Tarquins's mental walls to let her through and change his way of thinking without him realising? Rhysand is daemati of over 500 years, he knows it and USES IT freely.

2) Rhys lies, including to Feyre, when it suits his narrative.

3) One thing he didn't lie about? He believes mating bonds exist to produce the strongest offspring. He sees himself as the strongest High Lord so a child he would have with his mate would be even stronger than him and that is his goal.

The whole idea is sounds quite anti-Rhysand but I think it makes him way interesting of a character.

Instead of a romance we see a story of a girl being slowly manipulated to break up with her (now) ex, isolating from any support outside NC, losing own beliefs and personality and being used by a guy and believing that it was HER IDEA.

Let's go book by book

About ACOTAR

Rhys mentioned that he had dreams about Feyre hunting and he went to Calanmai to see her. Assuming that he didn't lie to her this time we can guess that he suspected a mating bond before it snapped UTM. So he went there to see his mate - someone he needs for his offspring.

Then we have all of Tamlin's storyline. But instead of focusing it on romance with Feyre let's focus it on 50 years this man spent sending his own people to slaughter. Amarantha's curse is basically psychology torture for this man whose only fault was that he didn't want her. But when he thought that all hope had died, Feyre showed up and he chosen HER over whatever Amarantha was doing to him UTM and was planning to do.

UTM happens. In there Rhysand:

Forces Feyre into a pact where she has to see him regularly, in his place, unattended

Uses his daemati powers to have her drink wine

SA her. For what reason (other than his own gratification) I don't know. He claims he wanted to provoke Tamlin to kill Amarantha but imo he would just rovoke Tamlin to kill him instead. How does it count against Amarantha? Never mind, figured it out. See later.

Don't remember if it happened in ACoTaR or later, but Rhys lies about taking away Claire's pain to make himself look better. He doesn't do it when Feyre's in labour pain, that's for sure.

Blames Tamlin for "not getting Feyre out of UTM when he had a chance". But Tamlin did - he send her back to human lands just before 50 years was over. She come back to save him anyway. He tries to paint himself as opposition to Tamlin with clear distinction of who "the real bad guy is". He basically wants to put that thought in Feyre's head.

About ACOMAF

I don't remember this book as well as the others but there are few key points.

Feyre is forced to learn how to write and read using this silly "Rhysand is the most handsome High Lord" lines. How many times do you have to write it for it to stick in your mind?

Also, while Rhys is teaching Feyre Mind Shielding he has a full and unrestricted access to her head. He KNOWS that she is afraid of closed spaces. He also knows that after all those weeks of him SAing her UTM, Tamlin is absolutely paranoid about about Feyre spending any amount of time with Rhysand. As you would be. Add to it that Tamlin seen her DYING IN HORRIBLE PAIN (were was your power to take away the pain again, Rhysand?) and I'm amazed that he didn't lock her in her bedroom earlier.

So what if... That trouble on the border that Tamlin was tending to when he locked Feyre... Was all Rhysand's doing?

I could keep going like this but I have stuff to do.

It just explains so many weird behaviours in the series. HL meeting? He used his powers to placate them.

[fanofmischiefmakers]

I know we deserved at least one moment of Steve being vulnerable after CATWS, but the MCU is a coward so...

You know when something big happens which changes your life forever, but you're so overwhelmed by the change, you aren't able to process it until much, much later.

Now, I'm imagining Steve Rogers, who couldn't even properly process Bucky's death before crashing into the Arctic, being forced to live in a new century. Everyone expects him to be stoic and grateful because, well, he is Captain America (the propaganda), and his survival is nothing short of a miracle. And Steve is just existing.

And then, Bucky is back from the dead, and Steve, he is running on pure adrenaline. He knows if he stops to think about it for even a second, he will just stop. And he can't afford that. He needs to make sure Bucky is safe first.

Fast forward, Bucky is with Steve. He is recovering. They both are alive, safe, and with each other. And with no immediate danger, Steve's mind just comes to a halt, and he breaks down. He starts crying. The kind of crying where he is trying to control his sobs and keeps wiping away his tears in attempts to stop them.

And Bucky, who was in front of Steve, freezes for a second. Only for a second, because in the next, he pulls Steve close and tightly holds him in his arms. He knows how much Steve needs this, how much he needs to let it all out, and how much he needs to stop being brave for a second. He keeps whispering reassurances in Steve's ear and runs his hand through Steve's hair. So, who cares if there are tears on Bucky's face? He needs it, too.

And when they sleep at night, their hands are firmly holding the other. Steve's breath still comes up short. Maybe they will talk about it in the morning, maybe they won't. But they know they will have each other, and they can figure the rest of the stuff along the way.

[crazyxtogether]

Thoughts about the painting + season 5 byler

I've been thinking a lot about the painting reveal scene in stranger things 5 and I have many thoughts about how it could go. I don't think this will happen, but I am worried that the painting reveal will be the crux of the byler arc in season 5; like their whole storyline and eventual getting together is going to center around the painting. I do NOT want that. Even though I love the painting I think it would be kind of lame if they make it too much of the focus for another season. So here are my ideas for how the painting reveal could go down without it being too central.

1.The painting is never mentioned again

Starting off strong with something that is not very probable BUT I do think could definitely happen. I can see how maybe the painting served it's purpose in season 4 already so they don't need to bring it up again because they are going to go in a different direction with making byler canon. Like the painting really set the stage to show Will's feelings and now they are going to leave it behind because the focus will be more on Mike's perspective. Just to be clear I do not think this is the right choice, but I have to keep in mind that these are the people that forgot about Will's birthday. Even though this is different, it just means there is a chance they don't take things as seriously as we think they do.

2."What painting?"

I would love to see Mike find out from El that she didn't commission the painting and then stew on it and maybe lash out a little bit before he finally confronts Will about it. I think this is likely to happen, HOWEVER this would maybe make the painting into too much of a thing and take away from establishing Mike and Will's relationship. I know the painting is a big thing, but it's also not. As much as I wouldn't hate to see one last byler argument ending in a confession, I really hope we left that back in season 4. And I feel like this type of painting reveal could lead to that. So while this is a great idea I really hope they do it differently.

3.Mike already knows

Now we're getting to what I really want to happen!! I think it would make the most sense if Mike knew right away that El didn't commission the painting and that Will was talking about his own feelings. Mike may be extremely emotionally repressed, but he's also really smart. I think because so much of his story centers around his relationships, it's easy to think that he's a lot more oblivious about things than he actually is because his feeling confuse him. But I do think he is smart enough to have put together that El didn't commission the painting because she told Mike that she thought Will was making it for a girl (among other evidence).

So I think that Mike already knows, but what does this mean for the painting reveal scene?

I picture an offhand comment about Mike being the heart or something like that at the beginning of the season just to bring back the idea that the painting still exists and maybe show that Will is a little guilty for lying about it... and then AFTER they have already gotten together Will confesses that the painting was from him and Mike tells him he already knows.

Maybe this is just my perspective, but the whole series has been leading up to this relationship between Mike and Will where they really care about each other and are soft with each other. There have been some bumps in the road, but overall this is what we've seen throughout every season. And I think that even though Mike has been a little bit confrontational with Will in the past (thinking mostly about the rink-o-mania fight) after their MANY heart to hearts in season 4 he's not going to want to risk hurting Will when he's not sure of his own feelings. I really do think Mike already knowing fits with his character and with what we have seen/will see with byler overall.

Anyway this is way more than my two cents but I'm excited for whatever way the painting reveal will (or wont) happen!

[noxiatoxia]

i love komaeda tidbits!!! his valley girl dialect adds so much ahhh... do you recall any particularly funny/notable instances of him speaking like that, or times where other characters comment on it?

I wouldn't go as far as to say it is a valley girl-type accent. 1, because that is just the closest approximate to English (obviously the exact same thing doesn't exist in Japanese) and 2, Komaeda does not use sa and ne nearly enough for it to be those levels...well, in my opinion. I'm sure other people could weigh in on what they think.

Either way he's still stumbling over his words a lot, and I do think that's very charming.

I guess you could make the argument that he does have a valley girl accent by proxy of the fact most other characters don't over-use filler particles as much...like I said in the post, people do it all the time in real life, but in media, characters rarely ever stutter or use filler words (unless it's, like, a super tense situation). So the casual usage, even if it is small, stands out. I guess in that way, you can argue Komaeda has a "noticeable" accent in that regard...but that's very much a topic up for debate.

I'm getting side-tricked, lol.

Anyways, while not related to ne or sa, there is another thing I love that's overlooked, and that's how he uses ってば (tte ba)!

Again, this is a very cute detail. It does not happen often, but I can recall 2 instances where he uses it.

Firstly, let me explain. tte ba in the case I'm talking about is a sentence ender used to express frustration, annoyance, urgency, etc. It can kind of sound like whining, but it's the verbal equivalent of stomping your foot.

What's fun is that this word is predominantly used by women. Men use it too of course, but overwhelmingly it just seems to be a word that girls use.

But Komaeda uses it too!

First instance is in the prologue, where he says it to Hanamura.

ちょっと！花村クンってば！

The English translation is perfectly fine. But to go more in depth, as you recall, earlier in the prologue Komaeda told Hanamura to stop pestering Sonia with sexual advances. Here, Hanamura does it again. So, naturally, Komaeda responds...

Come on, Hanamura-kun! I told you to quit it already!

The tte ba added at the end makes Komaeda sound like he's scolding Hanamura and is very exasperated.

Also, while the sentence literally is just "Hey, Hanamura-kun!" with an irritated edge, using prior context and knowing what tte ba means (kind of serving to be like "I already told you this!" sort of thing) we can make the sentence sound better in English.

Next is in chapter 2.

おーい、日向クンってばー！

This one is extra funny, because おーい (usually just おい, oi) is neutral-leaning-male, while as we've said, tte ba is neutral-leaning-female. That's what I love about Komaeda's dialogue: he mixes together "traditionally" male speech patterns and female speech patterns. While, again, not uncommon in real life, anime is so much different. Scripts and word choice are used to tell you about a character's personality. As such, you usually get characters who speak hyper-masculine or hyper-feminine or deliberately ambiguous. I'd say a character who speaks a clean mix of feminine and masculine is very rare. Although, to be more precise, Komaeda speaks masculine and neutral-leaning-feminine...if that makes sense (I will explain later).

Anyways, again, the English translation is good. Komaeda does sound pretty whiny in this scene.

Heeeey! C'mon, Hinata-kuuun!

Now, for the opposite. Something that gets overlooked is an interesting scene in 2.5.

The subtitles has Komaeda as saying "I've heard enough!" but I disagree with this. Komaeda says 黙れよ！in the dub. This is a very masculine turn of phrase because of the imperative nature of it - something Komaeda, to my knowledge, never uses. Very masculine characters do use it often - like Hinata or Oowada or Kuzuryuu - but not Komaeda.

2.5 is complex enough, but this adds a whole new layer to it...Komaeda has never spoke so roughly before. I think it shows just how emotional he truly was in this scene.

I'd translate this line as:

Just shut the fuck up!

And finally...while not canon per se, it is voiced by Megumi Ogata and is very in-character for Komaeda, so I count it. This cute little voice line she recorded for the Danganronpa x Crash Fever on Halloween. It let's me segue into something.

トリック・オア・トリート！お菓子をくれなきゃイタズラしちゃうぞ...なんてね。

Earlier I said Komaeda speaks masculine + neutral-leaning-feminine, and this probably sounds like gibberish to a lot of people because...what does that even mean?

(Keep in mind I'm speaking for the perspective of anime, where these grammar rules carry exaggerated connotations compared to real life! I am also speaking from the perspective of Tokyo dialect aka standard Japanese.)

Komaeda typically uses these particles: sa, ne, yo.

All of these particles are gender-neutral, but ne can be more feminine depending on the context. For example, Saonji uses ne constantly, and so does Mioda. But characters like Hinata and Souda still use ne because again it's context dependent.

There are feminine particles, such as wa, which Komaeda does not use. It is used by characters like Sonia and Celestia and even Kirigiri, which is surprising considering her stoic image (it's very cute).

Then, there's masculine particles, like zo, ze and na. Characters who use zo are Kuzuryuu, Souda, Hinata, and Owari to name a few. Despite Owari being female, she talks very masculine, which adds to her rough image. Ze is also used by all of those characters, as is na.

Komaeda's choice of pronoun is also mild-mannered. Boku is a polite masculine pronoun. It makes sense for him to use it when speaking casually which he is always seen doing. If he used Watashi - also gender neutral (to a point) - while speaking casually, it would make him seem feminine or like a girl.

However, the vast majority of male characters when speaking casually will use Ore, which is a hyper-masculine pronoun. I have lost count of the amount of characters who use this. Only characters I can remember who use Boku (besides Komaeda and Naegi) are Yamada, Hanamura, and Ishimaru.

And for those three, I think it makes sense - they all have this level of acting polite/wanting to be polite or seen as proper.

Which is why the fact Komaeda/Naegi uses it stands out a little bit with the rest of the cast. Makes them appear more mild. opting to use gender-neutral particles only and a mild-mannered male pronoun for your male character tells you a lot about them, especially when almost every other guy in the same series is talking super masculine.

Okay, back to that video. What's cute about it is how Komaeda switches from talking masculine to feminine on purpose.

Trick or Treat! If you don't gimmie some candy...I'mma pull a trick on ya! ...Joking!

I'm unsure how to word this in a way that sounds "masculine" or "feminine" as that doesn't really exist in English I don't think...but the first half of his sentence, Komaeda uses zo at the end to sound threatening/rough, then the last part, nante-ne, sounds feminine when pitched up at the end there. It definitely makes him sound playful.

I also want to point out...though I use masculine/feminine (as what I've talked about are usually employed by men, hence masculine, or women, hence feminine) it is not a matter of being absolute...for example, dresses are seen as being feminine, but that does not mean a man can't wear a dress and still be a man.

Wow, this post got long...I sure do talk. I hope this answers something at least haha. Thank you for the ask!

[lsunstreakerl]

For the kink prompt: max wanting unconditional love and family bonds and Charles wanting max to be happy and pampered and then accidentally stumbling on the

Biggest breeding kink

That ever existed

this is kind of that? charles ran away from me tbh.

900 words, charles POV. kink prompt, explicit.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant warnings: uhhh charles wants to get max pregnant, even though it's literally not possible. however you want to call that.

Max is holding one of the children at the party on his hip. Charles knows this because it's all he's been able to focus on for twenty minutes– he's completely lost his train of thought anywhere else, stuck on the way Max is shifting his weight to one side, hip cocked to accommodate the younger girl.

It's one of Pierre's friend's children, Charles is pretty sure. He isn't entirely confident, because the only thing he can think right now is that Max looks good– good in a way Charles didn't know he was into.

He feels like his brain has short circuited. It's not even that Max is doing anything sexy, it's just–

He's so casual about it, carrying on his conversation with some other guy, occasionally readjusting his grip so she doesn't fall.

He'd be such a good parent.

It's not a topic that's come up– their careers are in full swing, and Charles has a feeling discussing kids would be a minefield and half, considering how Max was raised, but–

Max is a natural. Charles wants to see him with a kid of their own, Max's blonde hair and round cheeks, Charles' eyes and dimples.

Charles wants it bad.

------

Charles isn't stupid. He knows it's not possible to actually get Max pregnant. This has not stopped his stupid brain from going on a complete trip lately, bending Max over counters and the couch, fucking him raw and wanting to keep it there, elevating his hips slightly after sex just in case it fucking–

He knows it's not possible.

Max is currently writhing underneath him, coming around Charles' cock as he fucks into him deep, because he wants to give them the best possible chance, wants to give Max all the stupid little round faced babies they could possibly want.

"Charlie, Charlie please–"

"I know, chéri, almost– I am so close, just a little longer–"

Charles slides into him again, presses their hips flush together, grinding in soft circles as he comes into Max again.

It's the third time today, and he hadn't even needed lube this time- Max had been open and slick with cum from this morning.

Max shudders underneath him, eyes hazy as Charles pulls out.

He presses two fingers into him, bullying one of their pillows under Max to keep his hips up.

"So good for me, going to be such a good–"

Charles cuts himself off, pushing cum back inside Max.

Max whines softly, twitching around his fingers. He's not exactly coherent– Charles can probably get away with it.

He's still not going to risk it. Doesn't even want to say anything out loud, because what if this time it really does take, and he's finally done it?

It's not possible. Charles knows that, but–

Their entire careers are about doing the impossible, so Charles is going to keep trying.

------

Max is eyeing him weirdly over the kitchen table.

"You are being weird lately, Charles."

Charles freezes, thumb hovering above where he's been scrolling nearby schools.

"No?"

Max narrows his eyes.

"Yes, you are. What has gotten into you?"

Charles winces, carefully bookmarking the tab into his private folder as he turns his phone off.

"Nothing. Why do you think I'm being weird? Maybe you're being weird."

Max sets his fork down, glaring at him.

"Not that I do not enjoy fucking, but it has been nonstop. And I of course do not mind raw either, but it has been– you are being weird about it, it's like you're trying to get me knocked up or something."

Charles blanches, wincing involuntary.

Max's jaw drops open.

"Are you serious? What the- Charles, what is going on with you?"

Charles slumps back into his seat, giving Max his best puppy dog eyes.

"I know it is not possible, don't give me that face– I just–"

He sighs.

"That party a few months ago, at Pierre's– you were so good with the kids, and it was– it looked so good on you chéri, you're a natural. And it has been stuck in my head every single day since then."

Max is looking at him like he thinks Charles is insane.

"So the solution was to– what, fuck me like we're trying?"

Well when he puts it like that...

"Oui."

Max drops his face into his hands, but Charles can see the tips of his ears flushing red, the way his fingers fidget across the bridge of his nose.

"That is so stupid, Charles."

"It is hot."

Max makes a soft noise, eyes wide when he looks back up at Charles.

"It is weird."

Charles slides out of his chair, stepping around the table to gently hold Max's face in his hands.

"Not at all."

Max looks away.

"Charlie, I do not– I am not sure if I..."

Charles brushes his thumb across Max's cheek, patient.

"If I actually want kids. If I could handle that."

He bends down to kiss the top of Max's head, shutting his eyes for a moment against the well of emotions behind his chest.

"I am not asking you for that, chéri. I promise. We can have that conversation when you are ready– if you ever are. It's okay if you aren't, Max."

Max huffs softly.

"And in the meantime you are going to keep fucking me raw, I assume."

Charles makes a face.

"You like it raw."

"But it is weird now–"