#implicit necklace

[misserabella]

sick love

spencer reid x fem! reader

pt2!!

synopsis;;

you catch your best friend spencer touching himself and far from being embarrassed, it only turns him on even more. if only you knew he had been dreaming about this moment for his entire fucking life and that he has even planned for it to happen…

cw;; (let’s act as if spencer and reader are the same age (consensual 18) in high school

really perv!spencer, dark themes, spencer uses readers body without implicit consent (i don’t know if it counts as cnc since later we find out she doesn’t mind), somnophilia (if you squint), INDECENT use of cum, stalker behavior, use of masculine sex toys, breeding kink, mommy and daddy kink, praise kink, praising, degradation, multiple orgasms, oral sex (f receiving), sub and dom spencer, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cum eating, cream pie, masturbation (m), voyeurism (?), dacryphilia, violence (not towards reader), dirty talking, hair pulling, blood… MINORS DNI OR I’LL COME FOR YOU!

@cafekitsune ‘s separators

Spencer was obsessed with you. Not in a lovely kind of obsessed —that too— but in a really perverted way. His sick infatuation commenced a warm summer, when you and him, best friends since freshman year, had ended up staying up late in your house for a movie night. Your parents were no where to be seen, and being scared of spending the night alone, you invited Spencer for a sleep over.

Everything was perfect. Little snacks, the newest film in D.C in tape and a cozy sofa in which the two of you silently rested as you stared at the tv. That was until you had fallen sleep on the other end of the sofa, loose and extremely short pijama pants letting your lace panties show and nipples erect due to the coldness of the night underneath your tight and white tank top. He found himself stating for far too long, instead of bringing up on your body the blanket that you both had been shared, his eyes taking in just how beautifully exposed you were.

Full honesty? He didn’t even remember how his dick had gotten that hard nor how it had ended on one of his hands, palm slick in precum as he thrusted in it, bottom lip in between his teeth and soft moans and groans scaping his lips. But he didn’t care. He came so hard that night that he swore he saw stars on your living room’s ceiling.

After that, he of course felt awkward and embarrassed of himself around you. Masturbating to his sleeping best friend, and just mere inches away from you? Jesus Christ. Though that remorse quickly went away when he found himself sinking deeper in that sickness under your name.

He relished in that pretty tears of yours when you cried about another stupid boy being mean to you and dumping you against his neck, your tits fully pressed to his chest and whimpers making his cock push against his jeans, even more when that same guys were the ones crying and begging for him to stop as he beat the shit out of them.

He liked to see you cry, but if it wasn’t because of him, he wouldn’t have it. He sent a couple of them to the ER, but they were too scared to get a couple more bones broken if they ever spoke up,— and also, who would believe them if they said that the slender nerd of their class was the one that beat them up— so he always got away with it. In no time, the guys were fucking terrified of even glancing at you, leaving you all to himself. Like it had to be. You were his, or you’ll be.

You were always complaining about things of yours disappearing, “Fuck! I cant found my chapstick.” him shrugging even when he knew that he was, in fact, the thug. Then, he’d go back to his house and open the last drawer of his desk — which he had under key— and take the same chapstick out of his pocket to push it inside along with the other things he had stolen from you: lipgloss, necklaces, bracelets… Panties.

He loved them. He almost had a collection of them, of all types; cotton, lace, thongs… He loved the ones that he stole from the dirty laundry the most, which’s crotch he could push against his nose and lick as he fucked his fist. Getting to taste and smell your slick always drove him crazy.

Another thing Spencer loved to do was take photos of you. He had albums and albums of polaroids for the two of you, being both on the pictures or just you. He loved to watch them from time to time: you smiling, you singing, you dancing, you blowing a kiss to the camera, jumping in the pool, petting a stray cat… Being simply you.

But he also had some photos that were exceptionally and just for him. Some of them were flashes of your body in those little and pretty bikinis you always wore in the warm summers, some other of your naked body —facing away from the door of your bathroom— when you changed, you eating ice cream with cheeks, lips and tongue stained in the vanilla treat, some of you sleeping, some others of the panties and little skirts that you’d wear. He even had one of you resting asleep on his lap, lips parted and against his hard cock. He saved some of them on his wallet in case he ever had to take care of a boner when he hung out with you.

He was in love with you. Sickly in love. Sickly enough to take some of those photos of yours and cut out your face just to tape them to his porn magazines. Some of the pages had even stuck together due to his cum.

And you were just so unbelievably oblivious of his infatuation that you always left the window to your room unlocked in case he ever wanted to sneak in in the middle of the night to stay with you if he ever felt lonely in his empty house. At first, before his infatuation appeared, he would sneak in from time to time when the loneliness became too strong for him to handle, cuddling with you and leaving first hour in the morning. Now? Now he snuck in almost every goddamn night. To cuddle, to watch you sleep, to be able to hold you close and even to take advantage of your heavy slumber. He had licked his cum out of your fingers when he had used your hand to masturbate, having to hold in his moans and whimpers. Other nights, he would get under your covers and part your thighs just to push his head in between them, face against your clothed cunt as his hips buckled against the duvet, tongue flattening against your heat and moaning when your thighs would unconsciously squish his head.

He loved it when you played with his hair, groaning when you’d pull from it when he’d tickle you, and laughing when you’d scream at him for using your good conditioner after a pool day. He was obsessed with your little lotions and expensive shampoos, using them as lube to fuck his hand while he showered in your house, using then his cum to fill the tubes, evening out the difference.

He would steal food from you in the cafeteria, using your own fork or spoons just to be able to have your spit in his mouth. You’d always whine about it, but he never stopped, so you eventually stopped caring, giving him full access to it when you were full.

Spencer considered himself to be a man with clear tastes when it came to sexual preferences. He would love to fuck you to his liking, to sink you into submission and to get you to call him daddy. He thought of himself as a dominant kind of person rather than a submissive one, but that changed when in one of his numerous wet dreams it was you the one who choked him and fucked him, using him like you’d use a fucking toy. He had woke up with a raging orgasm as from his lips fell the word ‘mommy’.

Was he a pervert? Absolutely. Would he ever speak up about his feelings for you? Absolutely not.

He’d prefer to die with a boner than ever telling you he loved you. He was just terrified of the thought of you pushing him away or ever hurting your friendship.

So after a day full of what he thought of ‘teasing’, since it always involved you dressing in one of those incredibly short skirts or staring at him for too long as you sucked on one of the lollipops that he always bought you, he would come to his house and enter his room with a full tent in between his thighs. He would pull out of the back of his closet his fleshlight and spray one of his pillows with those little bottles of your perfume that came as gifts with the bigger version just to bend his other one and push the fleshlight in it, fully lubed and ready for his cock to fuck into, just like that pretty pussy of yours. And that’s what he’d do, fuck his stupid little toy with his face fully buried on the perfumed one as he imagined you under him, ass up and chest pushed against his bedsheets. His pace was needy, harsh and deep, from his mouth, dirty talking spilling. ‘Yeah, take my cock you slut, fucking take it.’ ‘That’s a good girl for daddy.’ Those were always the best orgasms, making him fill the toy to the brim when he couldn’t found himself to stop. Too pussy drunk even when it wasn’t your pussy what he fucked in between whimpers.

He sometimes would leave his house’s and bedroom door open with the dream of you someday catching him red handed.

But they were all just dreams, they weren’t supposed to fucking happen in real life. Yet, there he was, and so were you.

That day he had come with a really painful bonner in between his thighs. You’d been sitting on his lap for a whole goddamn hour since your classmates from class B had borrowed most of your chairs to hang prom signals, leaving you without a place to sit and using your best friend as a chair. The problem was not only that, it was the fact that you’d be adjusting every five minutes and the fact that he had found himself being completely ignored by you as you talked with your best friends, laughing with them and jumping on his lap when the jokes were too good. Well, he was not being completely ignored, since one of your hands, had found his hair and slowly massaged his scalp, every now and then pulling at his hair when you played with his locks, his hands trembling on your thighs —which spread sideways across from his — thumbs circling your soft skin.

The fact that you were using him. The fact that he felt used by you and only you, was what had him gritting his teeth and fighting the urge to buckle against your ass. But Spencer was a good boy, so he just stood sit and went through that delirious torture with not a word coming out of his mouth. He felt like breathing once again when you got up from his lap when the bell rang, notifying the students that the day had ended, but still choking when he no longer could smell your cologne or felt you flush against him.

“Fuck…” he whimpered when he plopped on his bed, his palm pushing hardly against his pulsing and leaking cock, precum staining his jeans and underwear. He had pulled out from his closet his fleshlight, since he felt that his hand would not be enough today. He had to fuck himself. “Please, fuck me, please…” he was a babbling mess when his tip pushed inside the lubed toy. “Use my cock, baby… Use me…” he found himself whimpering at his mind scenario, in which you would ride him relentlessly, his dick reaching deep enough to hit that sweet spot that you’d torture to make yourself cum all over his cock. “Fuck, mommy, fuck, feels so good… Ah, faster.” he was a babbling mess, his hips rutting upwards against his hand movements to fuck his cock deeper in his toy.

“Spence!!!” you had called from downstairs as you opened his unlocked front door. Spencer always left it that way for you to come and go as you pleased. You were smiling, in between your hands a copy of a book he had been dying to read for months and for which he had cried after finding out that it had been sold out. After seeing just how badly he wanted it, you had been fighting with sharp nails to get a hold on one of the limited edition copies that had gone on sale in the city’s center, where you had rushed just as classes finished and where you had killed your savings in the dib. “I have a surprise for you!!” you chanted, locking the door behind you and jumping excitedly, frowning when you didn’t hear and answer from him. “Spencer?” you called out again, the soft sound of his voice reaching you from upstairs. You took off your shoes, a smirk growing on your lips when the idea of giving him a scare came to mind. Up the staircase, you were like a ghost, slowly approaching his room and mumbling, though you froze when a moan got to your ears. Your skin went pale and your cheeks heated up when needy whimpers followed up right after, as if all the blood under your skin had ended up pooling there.

“Fuck, just like that. Faster, please…” was he with someone? Your chest heaved at the thought of Spencer fucking with some random girl that wasn’t you. You’ve liked him for years on end, since the first time that he held you as you cried your heart out after your first breakup. But he never seemed to look at you in any other way that wasn’t friendly, so, at the end, —being too scared to speak up about your feelings in fear that it would break your friendship— you had decided to bury them as deep as you could inside you, believing that he had to be just what he was; your best friend.

Even though you knew it was wrong, you slowly approached his slightly open door, peeking in in need to see who was he fucking, promising yourself that you’d leave once you’ve taken a glance. But all that went to hell when you found out he was not fucking anyone but himself, back against the mattress, bare chest rising and lowering slowly as his hips fucked upwards, inside his clear flesh light. Your eyes widened and your legs trembled when from his lips new groans and moans fell. Spencer was fucking touching himself. Fuck, fuck, fuck… You needed to get away from there. Yeah, that’s what you’d do. You’d go back to your house and forget all about it… Or that’s what you thought, instead finding your feet glued to the floor as you watched.

He looked so hot and pretty all needy… Eyes closed shut and mouth agape in gasps, glasses crooked, eyebrows pushed together as his head fell back against his pillow, hair messy all over it. His hand was slow, pushing the toy down on his cock in deep and harsh strokes. You could almost perfectly see his long and thick dick, his thrusts making the lube’s wet sounds fill the room. “Ah, fuck…” his voice was low and so broken you felt your panties damp in your slick, you were so turned on that your free hand cupped your cunt, making you almost moan if you hadn’t bit down on your bottom lip.

Your fingers had started to push against the lace of your panties underneath your plaid skirt, freezing on your clit when a new babble came from inside the room and your best friend’s lips. “Fuck, y/n…, mommy…, please, fuck, fuck, fuck…” your eyes widened, not only because…, fuck, Spencer was fucking that goddamn fleshlight with you in mind doing so, but because he had called you mommy too. Surprisingly enough that only turned you on even more, a needy moan tearing your throat before you could push it down to your chest. Spencer’s movements stopped, his gaze moving to his opening door just to see you standing there, flushed cheeks, heavy breathing and book in hand.

He quickly pushed away the toy, cursing under his breath when he sat up, a pillow hiding his hard and leaking cock, which was twitching at the sight of your trembling legs. “Fuck, y/n, I…” he didn’t even know what to say. You had caught him, caught him fucking himself with his goddamn fleshlight, and even worse, caught him moaning your name. He felt sick to the stomach, but at the same, so turned on too. You had caught him… Finally. And who knows how much time you had been listening and peeking at him while he pleasured himself. He had to hold back a whimper at the thought of it. “How much did you hear?” he cursed when you didn’t answer, cheeks reddening and cock twitching under the pillow, leaking against his thigh.

“Mommy.” you said, making his head snap back to you, a frown on his face, eyes widening when you let the book fall from your hands as you stepped in, closer to his bed.

“W…What?” fuck.

“ ‘Mommy’. That’s what you called me.” you smirked, eyes falling to his lap when he pushed the pillow further down. “Who would think that Spencer, the Genius Spencer Reid, would be so goddamn dirty to even leave the door unlocked for anyone to see as he fucks himself. And even worse, have a mommy kink.” he stuttered as he shook his head.

“It’s not what it seems like, I…”

“You what?” you pushed, thumb and index gripping his chin so his eyes would find yours. “Are you gonna deny that you were touching yourself while thinking about me? That you were calling me mommy and whimpering for me to fuck you faster?” he moaned at your words, half-lidded eyes full of lust staring at your full and rosy lips. “Mmh? Answer me.” you ordered and he whimpered, your pussy clenching when he shook his head and cried out a ‘no’. “ ‘No’ what?” your lips brushed against his, teasing him to get out of him what you wanted.

“No, mommy.” you pulled his hair when he tried to kiss you, making him groan against your lips as you clicked your tongue. “Please…” he pleaded, hands rocking the pillow on his lap.

“Only good boys get a kiss, Spence.”

“I’m a good boy…” he was so gone that you almost laughed, so needy for pussy…

“Oh yeah?” he nodded, his tongue dampening his lips, hips thrusting upwards towards the pillow that covered his naked body. “The why don’t you show me?” he shivered when your lips latched to his neck, your tongue pressing against his skin in open mouth kisses that led to his ear. “Why don’t you show me how good you are and let me watch you fuck that pretty toy of yours, hm?” he moaned, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he nodded, making you smirk. “Then go ahead, baby, let me see.” you pulled away as he pushed the pillow off his lap, dick twitching below a pool of precum that dripped from his tip.

In the state he was… He would do anything for you. He would even fuck himself stupid if you said the word. Anything you asked, anything you wanted. Anything for you.

He moaned when you sat down on his desk’s chair, skirt rolling up and letting more of your soft and beautiful thighs show. His hands were shaking when his fingers gripped around the clear silicone or his toy, whimpering when he noticed your eyes on his twitching dick.

You had seen dicks before, but none of them was as beautiful as Spencer’s. It was big, with a great large and just the perfect girth, large and thick enough to have you limping for a few days after a good fuck. And you knew he could give it to you, that he would fuck your hard and needy, deep enough to have you drooling over yourself as you came over and over again. You would love to drool and choke on it too, outline the veins on his shaft with your tongue and take him so deep on your throat you’d need to swallow when he came in your mouth. “Aw, poor Spence…” you cooed at his twitching cock, red tip and tight balls. “Caught about to cum. It must really hurt, doesn’t it baby?” he nodded, tears on his eyes due to your teasing, chest rising in heavy breaths. “Are you gonna cum on that cup for me to drink, hm? Want me to drink your cum, Spencer?” he moaned a breathy gasp, and you smirked to his reaction. He liked that.

Dirty talking. Mommy kink. Praise kink. Notes taken.

“Yes, yes, yes…” he muttered, almost begging for it. The thought of you swallowing his cum making him go crazy. He whined when his leaking tip brushed against the artificial hole, his lip being tortured by his teeth when you parted your thighs, panties exposed and damped lace for him to see. “Fuck…” he cursed, bottoming out into the wetness of the fleshlight in a deep and large stroke, almost cumming at the sight. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” your hands came down your body, your left resting on your breasts— hard nipples pushing against your shirt, which you pulled and pinched in between your fingers— and your right sneaking in between your thighs and below your underwear, whining when you felt just how wet you were. “Shit, y/n.”

His dick was twitching like crazy with every new and fast thrust of his hips, pleads falling of his lips. ‘I need you. Need you so bad…’ ‘Please mommy…’ ‘I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum…’

“Oh yeah? You gonna cum?” You clicked your tongue when he nodded, chuckling at his behavior. “Look at how pathetic you look.” he whimpered when you had made your way back to his side, standing in front of him and making his head fall backwards when you harshly pulled on his hair, making his hips stutter and breathy whines rip his throat. “Hold it. I haven’t even told you where to cum yet.” he cried when you pushed down your thighs your panties. “Fuck, you are too fucking loud.” you said and he had to squeeze his dick to not come when you pushed your damped panties into his mouth, slicked crotch flat against his tongue. His muffled begging only made your pussy wetter, his eyes full of tears that seemed about to fall when he could take a taste on just how sweet you were. He choked on the lace when you startled his legs. His eyes fell just as your free hand did, straight to your core, where your fingers dug on your wet folds and parted them for him to see thin strips of slick connect them and just how swollen your little pink bud was, hidden under its hood. “Here. Cum on my pussy.” you said, leaning on the skin of his neck to suck a hard hickey on his flesh.

You didn’t even had to say it twice, his hand quickly throwing away the fleshlight to cum all over your folds and clit, muffled groans and moans filling the room when his white and heavy gropes painted your core in white, his mind all foggy and pussy drunk just by the simple contact of your cunt on his tip. You hummed as you stroked his hair, open mouth kisses being splattered across his chest. He was still fucking hard. “Good boy…” you cooed, loving just how fucked out he seemed, moaning when you sat on his cock, his length in between your wet folds and his tip bumping against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck….” he cried out with your panties on his mouth when you rocked your hips against his. That’s all it took for him to cum for a second time, right after his first orgasm.

You moaned, feeling his dick twitch and nails dig on your ass, your pussy sliding too easy due to the amount of his cum that coated it. “You came again, baby?” he nodded, his cock quickly getting hard again to your humping. “Fuck, Spencer…” you pulled your panties away from his mouth, wanting to hear his groans. “Look at you, making a mess of my cunt.”

“Fuck, y/n…” your name sounded so wonderful falling from his lips… “Please, can I… Can I clean it for you? Let me clean it for you, pleasepleaseplease. I’ll make you feel good, I promise, I’ll be good…” you pulled his bottom lip with your thumb, warm skin under your fingertips. “I promise. I promise mommy…” your thumb brushed your own lips when he leaned in, pupils blown and need on his hazel thin irises. He looked high. And he was, high on his favorite drug: you.

You nodded, giving in, and gasped when he had your back pressed against the mattress in just a matter of seconds, lips all over the skin of your neck and exposed collarbones, his hands leaving your hips to bump against the bottom of your tank top, fingers so desperate to see your tits that dug too hard on the piece of clothing enough to tear it up. You moaned when you felt the fabric give out, his hands cupping your exposed breast and biting hickeys on its flesh in between groans, muttering a ‘The prettiest tits I’ve ever seen, fuck.’. You were tugging on his hair as he played with your tits, biting your nipples and teasing you for a couple of minutes before slowly lowering his lips further down on your stomach, bumping with your skirt, which he quickly discarded it away on his bedroom floor. He pulled away to look to your fully naked body, hair messily spread on his pillow —the same he had fucked multiple times while thinking about you—, lips swollen due to constant biting, half-lidded eyes and flushed skin. He moaned, dick twitching, ‘cause you were so goddamn perfect. Perfect for him.

He didn’t waste time in parting your thighs —which he took his time with, and of course he would, he had been dreaming about making them bleed for years now—, leaving open mouth kisses and sucking hard on the skin, making you whimper and tug on his hair. “Spencer…” you whined when he bit down on your flesh, making your back arch at the incredible pleasure the pain inflicted made you feel. He was so drunk on your skin… He could spend his whole life kissing it that he would never get fucking tired of it. But his teasing was making your pussy clench and tingle. You needed his mouth on it now. And he seemed to get it when you pushed him further against it, his hands taking your now fully marked thighs to pull them above his shoulders as he sunk on the mattress, stomach flat against it and fingers gripping at your flesh. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his tongue pushed in between your covered in cum folds, flattening in a long strip and bumping against your clit. Both of you moaned, him due to just how much he had dreamed about the taste of your pussy —which he had tasted before, but only clothed— and you to how many times you had touched yourself with his mouth in mind. His name falling off your lips on a whimper had his hips rocking against the duvet as he ate you out sweet and slow.

It was only when his fingers found their way to your entrance that he started to eat you just like you needed and he always dreamed of: rough, needy and hungry. You were screaming his name when his fingers pushed inside you, quickly fucking the shit out of you and curving to hit your g spot as his tongue circled your clit. Spencer knew how to use it, really well. So well that he had you tipping the edge in less than ten minutes. He was like a starved man, burying his face in between your thighs unable to get enough of you and your sweet taste, of the mix of the two of you in his tongue. “Fuck, Spencer, I…” you babbled, thighs twitching as you pulled harder on his hair. He knew you were close by how moans fell of those pretty lips of yours over and over again. “I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…” you cried out, Spencer crushing your sweet spot with every harsh thrust of his fingers.

He moaned, begging for it. “Please cum on my mouth, mommy. Please, let me have it, please mommy, please…” you whined when his tongue gave just one last stroke to your clit, dissolving in the hardest orgasm you’ve ever had, whimpers against your cunt as Spencer drank every last drop of it all, helping you ride out your orgasm as your sweet moans filled his bedroom.

You mewled when once you’ve come down from your high, his tongue licking you clean as hips rutted on his wet sheets, seconds away from coming when you called from him. He whimpered when you tugged on his hair, pulling him away from your pussy as you sat up. He looked completely gone. Half-lidded eyes unfocused, messy hair due to your tugging, swollen lips and wet chin. “Please, just a little bit more, mommy…” he begged, needing to go back in between your thighs. Needing to taste you and make you cum again on his mouth. “Please, I need it…” your eyes fell to his twitching and leaking cock, and then, to the dampness of the sheets where he had been rocking against. You clicked your tongue as you took him in your hand, making him gasp.

“I’ll let you choose where to cum next, Spencer.” you said, your other hand coming to his cheek to rub the flush on his skin. “I could let you eat me out again and let you cum all over the sheets all by yourself…” his balls tightened to the thought of it, feeling cold when the hand that cupped his face left him to fall in between your thighs, spreading you open for him to see. “Or you could cum inside of me.” his eyes rolled to the back of his head, hips thrusting into your hand in anticipation. “What do you say, Spence? Where do you want to cum, baby?” he was almost hyperventilating, whimpers falling of his lips as he leaned on you, eyes on your own.

“Inside.” he found himself to mutter, unable to think, not when you were offering him the chance to fuck you raw and fill you up. Just the thought of it had him reeling.

“Oh yeah?” you whispered against his lips, him nodding slightly, bewitched by your minty breath connecting with his own. “You wanna cum inside, hm? Gonna let me use your cock too?” you gave him a sweet smile when he moaned, furiously nodding. Leaving a little peck on the corner of his mouth, you fell backwards on your back once again. “Then come here, Spence.” he was fast to top you, your thighs parting to receive him there, hands on his neck when he leaned in, eyes asking for permission to kiss you, which he didn’t even need since you were now entering your tongue in his mouth, making him groan. Fuck, he could come just with that. With your tongue on his mouth, your body against him and the thought that you were only letting him fuck you to seek your own release. He moaned on your open mouth when you took his dick to align it with your entrance, which twitched at the feeling of his tip. You needed him, and you needed him now. “Fuck, baby, please fuck me Spencer, please, please…” you whimpered, and he didn’t wait to push inside in a deep and fast stroke. You both moaned, foreheads against the other’s as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, so tight, mommy, so tight… Shit. I’m gonna cum.” your head had fallen backwards in gasps, giving him full access to your neck, which he kissed and sucked, leaving new marks. He was so big you felt like splitting in half, but not in a painful way. His stretch had you delirious, his tip brushing against that sweet spot that would make you come in a matter of seconds. Your nails dug on the skin of his back, making him groan. The two of you were taking your time, him getting used to the feeling of your tight and warm walls trying to milk his twitching dick and you to the feeling of his heavy and big cock sitting inside your wet cunt, spreading you to edges you’d only dreamed of getting to. He groaned against your neck when you started to unconsciously rock against him. “Please y/n, can I fuck you now? Let me fuck you mommy, please? I need to… I need to…”

“Go ahead, baby. Be a good boy for me and let me use your cock, alright?” he whimpered at your words, and in less than one second he had you gripping to his back for dear life and losing yourself in between moans. “Oh fuck, yeah Spencer, just like that baby, shit, fuck me, fuck me…”

He was just feral. Thrusting in you with just cumming in mind. His hips were pushing against yours in a hurry, hitting that spot inside of you that had you whimpering as you thrusted yourself on his cock, just as desperate as him. He was too pussy drunk to even kiss you straight, spit dripping down your chin at the messy made out. “Fuck, y/n, mommy, shit, so good, feels so good, fuck, I love it, love your pussy, ah shit, love you mommy, loveyouloveyouloveyou…” he was a mess. Both of you were. His thrusts had you drooling on the pillow, back arched and eyes squeezed shut, too lost in the pleasure, in him. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to your release with every new deep and harsh thrust, making your nails dig up on his back, probably leaving marks.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck, I’m close, shit, I’m gonna cum…” you whimpered on his ear, making him fuck you harder.

“Cum on my cock, mommy, please, please… Use me. Use me…” he begged, and then you could only feel yourself cumming over and over again. It was all too much, but too good at the same time. So good that had your soaked cunt gushing all over his dick as he fucked you dumb, his hands pulling on your nipples and teeth digging so hard on your neck that draw blood. You were seeing fucking stars in the ceiling.

The only thing that you seemed able to coherently form was his name, which you chanted like you sang your favorite summer song. “Spencer, Spencer, Spencer…”

“Shit, Imma cum, I’m cumming so fucking hard… Gonna fill your pussy mommy, gonna…, fuck!” his thrusts became sloppier. “Im gonna cum, i’mcummingi’mcummingi’mcumming.”hips thrusted one, two, three more times before his dick twitched inside of you, filling you so full you choked on air, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when some of it spilled out. He was whimpering ‘mommy’ over and over again in between cries against your neck, thick gropes of cum painting your insides in the purest white.

“Shit, fuck, Spencer. So good…” you moaned, rolling your hips at the feeling of fullness. You were fucked out, brain dead on the cock that had just gave the best sex of your life. You were trying really hard to come down from your high and calm down your breathing. “Spencer!” Though you really couldn’t even do that, since you found your head being hardly pushed against his pillows and back arched with your chest against the duvet when he pulled you up from your ass, his newly hard cock ramming inside of your full of cum pussy. You cried out when his hand came down on one of your cheeks in a hard spank that had you whimpering.

“You didn’t think I was done with you, were you, ‘mommy’?” you could hear the teasing in his voice. “I’m sure you really enjoyed having your way with me, didn’t you?” you couldn’t really comprehend how his mentality had switched so drastically fast, but you were no one to whine about it. If a submissive Spencer had you cumming so hard on his cock, how would a dominant fuck you out? You felt your pussy clench around his dick in anticipation. “Well, I hope you did, ‘cause now is my fucking turn.”

-

i needed to.

[prettyboykatsuki]

based on this post. i flipped a coin and it landed on dan heng. it was going to be dragon!dh but i thought this was better. top + gn!reader. major spoilers for the hsr main storyline. implicit nsfw 18+

wc ; 1.8k

There is no place for you in the Xianzhou Luofu.

You are a prisoner of war. A long life species. Once, long ago, you'd been taken in by Imbibitor Lunae for your unwavering strength. From a planet long destroyed, with no family nor honor - you'd pressed your forehead to the floor and begged for your life.

Your Master had laughed at the time. Head tilted and smiling, shining and brilliant. You can recall the image so well even now, so many years later.

In the prisons of the Xianzhou, a new lifeform was birthed. The splitting image of your master, but no more than their ghost. The reanimated being Imbibitor Lunae took the punishment of your Master - banished from the Xianzhou. And you, a soul with no ties, took it upon yourself to follow.

For starters, Dan Heng does not like when you call him with any honorifics like he is above you. Dan Heng prefers his name. If you are to speak to him at all, it must be with his name. He likes names, it seems. He gave you yours when you'd followed him far enough and realized you didn't have one.

Next, Dan Heng does not seem to like you very much. You don't think it's personal. As far as ghosts go, you are little more than a poltergeist of his past. The people on the Express regard you fondly, but Dan Heng always looks like he is in pain when his gaze touches you too long.

And last, Dan Heng is beautiful even when he is not in his other forms. Even when he is the Dan Heng of the Astral Express. Dan Heng without name or origin. When he is a little more like you, somehow - you think he is beautiful.

And despite the similarities, Dan Heng is nothing like your master. There are many ghosts in the Xianzhou, but the ghost of Dan Feng does not linger in Dan Heng. Dan Heng is colder. Smoother. At times gentler, too. You know little of reincarnation, but of this much you can be sure. And though your Master saved your life, by now you've spent more time with Dan Heng than you ever did with them.

You do not know much of love. There was someone once. Long, long ago.

And yet, this much you know - you think your heart flutters whenever you think of Dan Heng.

Often, you are forced to reconcile with the differences between your master and Dan Heng. Their tastes, from food to clothing, always stand out to you. It is their taste in adornments that you usually pay most attention to. It's not that Dan Feng was particular.

But Dan Heng often wears jewelry so thin you can hardly see it. It's hard to describe how much it effects you, other than saying that it does. Other than saying you're always the first to notice the changes. He wears the connected tassel and ribbon only when he's leaving the ship. If someone is to gift him jewelry for any reason, he will always wear at least once.

You are forced to recognize the little details of Dan Heng when you notice these adornments. Forced to picture them in your fantasies in which you are able to put him to bed. Often on the floor of the archives, you wonder about the thin swishes of silver.

He wears a necklace underneath the high collar of his shirt. It's a gift from March 7th. A blue moon on a thin silver chain that sits perfectly in the middle of his sternum, trapped against his chest. Sometimes, when he puts on the clothes he has for sleep - you catch a glimpse of it. The starlight pouring through the windows make it shine.

His neck is thin, you think. Something about it is fragile. What would happen to such a material if you were to reach out and touch it.

(What would happen to Dan Heng if your hand tightened around it. Would his skin finally feel flush? Warm to your fingers, contrasting to the cool tones? )

There are bracelets too. Several. Some less formal, more gifts from March. One from Mr. Yang - this time it is gold. Gold, a braided chain - but delicate all the same. This one he takes off often. Only for special events. The curve of his wrist bewitches you. You think the bend of it must be pretty as a picture.

(You think of the indentation it might leave on your spine, had he let you have his way with him, The sound of his voice in your ear, pitchy and high - enough that the pain of being imprinted wouldn't faze you at all.

How good he would feel with his arms around your shoulders and your hands on his hips, bracing for dear life.)

Dan Heng says he doesn't wear rings often.

"They'll tear the pages in the archives if I'm not careful."

But he does own them. He buys them for himself usually, at the market. They're all of the same type. Bands of fine metals that are practical. Silver with aquamarine and amethyst. Gold with quartz and opal. He's not the type to spend so heavily on excess - so there are few. Accumulated after years and years, but untouched by time.

You wonder, if there's any particular reason he keeps them. You aren't sure there is. But he likes them, all the same. Rings are important in your culture. Different ones for different occasion. You think it is too much of a pipedream to hope he thinks of you as he buys them.

(You think of him wearing rings more often than not. It fills you with homesickness. The slender of his fingers with the jewels you've given him. A tradition from your homeland. Something about Dan Heng incites the desire to spoil, adoration bloomed from something much more potent than subservience.

He's beautiful always, but how beautiful would he be underneath you? Black hair and thin features. Delicate and ethereal, otherworldly. His hands covering his expression, painted in pink. Pink cheeks and hot pink mouth, bitten and swollen to hell.

The shine of the things you've given him, all over. You are dying to know lately, if it's possible to make a perfect thing more beautiful)

Last, there is your favorite thing to gift him. Anklets. From the beginning, you're unsure of where the compulsion came from. Even before you ended up in this state - you thought it would suit him. A chain around the ankle, with trinkets. Something more playful than elegant, but suited to Dan Heng all the same.

Recently, Dan Heng parades around the express in his dragon form often enough. The secret is out, so it's pointless in more ways than one to always maintain it. Though he prefers his other form, it is less energy to maintain this one. So he does.

Imbibitor Lunae is seated on the edge of your bed wearing your anklet, and you think the part of you that tries not to get too close might die soon.

You blink once, then again to assure you've not got mad.

"You're wearing it,"

Dan Heng gives you a momentary blank stare before flushing down to his neck.

"You noticed." Comes his reply, curt and deflective. Normally, you'd meet him tit for tat. Match his sarcasm to yours, but the words die as you inch closer to the edge of the bed. He doesn't back away.

"You're...wearing it. Why?"

He doesn't say anything to this. Just flushes and sighs like he's somehow above answering. You think it's endearing. You stand, sit on the edge of the bed and stare. You feel something in you start to crack.

Yes, lately - it is harder and harder to pretend that you do not look at Dan Heng and long.

"Dan Heng," You say, slowly and clearly "I want to touch you."

This makes him look like he'll keel over. There's some words forming in his mouth, something meant to scold you. When your eyes meet the words seem to die. Maybe he can tell you're serious. They're blue and wide and ethereal, stunned into shocked silence.

Your hand rests on his ankle. He doesn't move as you turn to look at it, pressing it against your thumb. You think a single hand around the bend of it, from thumb to ring finger could fit it. A being so powerful not much thicker than grass blades. Pale like milk pouring over honey.

"Since when?" Is his next question. He looks troubled.

"Since as long as we've been aboard the express."

You move towards the end of the bed and Dan Heng makes room for where you sit. You place your hand against clothed calf, planing up until his knee and resting there. He frowns.

"Did you not long for your Master?"

"No," You say firm, getting on your knees and leaning up. Dan Heng stumbles back against the pillows that hold him up. He falls to them as you hover over them and suddenly you're so close. "Only you,"

You take a piece of his hair, long and silky, kissing it as tenderly as you can. From this angle he flushes. Adorned and beautiful, with the same necklace and dainty hooped earrings. The little details that make up all of his idiosyncrasies.

"Only me." He repeats, soft and low and cute. Yes, there is only Dan Heng. You're sure your master could never make a face like this. He looks up at you a little stunned, into quiet silence that doesn't reach you.

"Why did you wear it?" You lean in his. His breath is warm with mint.

"I'm sure you're clever enough to figure that out."

You put your hands on his waist, inching up against the fabric. Your noses touch.

"I want to hear you say it," You reply to him, a little closer - brushing against his lips. He makes a face at you "Or else it will feel too much like a dream."

Your knee presses against the place between his legs but Dan Heng makes no moves to stop you.

"I wore it for you to notice. I didn't think you really would."

You laugh softly.

"I always notice. I'm always looking at you. Just you. It has been that way for a long time now."

He closes his eyes and laughs with you.

"I suppose it has."

You kiss him like this. Slow and tender and gentle, a soft sensation that builds itself to one of lust. You try not to devour Dan Heng, but it grows impossible. How could you turn away from him like this? Ripe like something waiting to be plucked, eaten whole even when taken apart slowly. You dip your tongue into Dan Hengs mouth, licking the fangs but never cutting yourself on their sharp edges.

Something stirs in you, something hard pressed against your stomach. You laugh a little.

"Dan Heng," You say again, teeth scrapping his jaw "I want to look at you a little closer."

He breathes you in. His hand reaches for yours, feeling for your ring finger.

"Nothing is stopping you."

[rifari2037]

To me, no, they're not.

It's not like Zuko wanted or needed an ideal little sister in his main arc. Whether he had an ideal sister figure or not in his journey, it wouldn't change his storyline at all.

Did Zuko sad or hurt toward Azula after she lied to him and made him a fugitive?

No, he didn't.

Did Zuko sad or hurt toward Azula after she said, "I'm about to celebrate becoming an only child!"??

No, he didn't.

Whatever bad things Azula did to Zuko didn't make him sad or hurt, meaning that the ideal little sister wasn't something Zuko had in mind.

So, having another character to be the ideal little sister for him would be pointless.

And unless you denying what's on the show...

These 👇🏽 scenes not at all siblings would do, or it would be so cringe. You can't imagine Sokka put a betrothal necklace to his sister, or Azula touch his brother's face with thumb on his lips.

These 👇🏽scenes also didn't show how siblings would do (at least on the show), since Sokka and Suki, the canon couple, did the same thing.

Just like this scene 👇🏽didn't show how siblings would do or see each other (at least to me), as it depicts couple in other show.

Beside, how could Katara possibly be the ideal little sister for Zuko, if they couldn't avoid the boyfriend/girlfriend allegations?

- and they always denied it like teenagers hide their feelings.

And I don't think Toph is an ideal little sister for Zuko since they weren't that close to each other. I don't even think Zuko knew her name!

Okay, I know Zuko and Toph had a deep conversation in this scene 👇🏽, but they were talking about Iroh and not his sister.

Isn't that enough to show that he always thought about 'ideal father', not 'ideal little sister'? After all, when Toph tried to open up to Zuko, he ended up shutting her down.

Zuko never showed implicit nor explicit something like, "if only I had a little sister like her...", or "if only my little sister act like her...", or acted brotherly towards them.

It was so different from the way he wanted love from his father. His father figure affected his story a lot. It was the reason he obsessed catching the avatar, it was the reason he betrayed Katara, and it also the reason Zuko realised that his destiny was to help the avatar.

Zuko's needed and wanted an ideal father, he found that from Iroh, showed explicit and implicit on the show.

Zuko : After I leave here today, I'm gonna free Uncle Iroh from his prison and I'm gonna beg for his forgiveness. [Cuts to shot of Ozai.] He's the one who's been a real father to me.

Iroh : [Close-up.] I was never angry with you. I was sad because I was afraid you had lost your way. Zuko : [Side-view of the two.] I did lose my way. Iroh : [Releases him.] But you found it again. [Frontal view.] And you did it by yourself. [Frontal view of Zuko over Iroh's shoulder.] And I am so happy you found your way here. [Side-view. Hugs him again.]

Iroh acted like a father to Zuko, as if he was making amends to his dead son. And Zuko needed a father figure like Iroh to guide him on the right path.

I don't think there's any need to force other characters to be an ideal sister that Zuko didn't want or need for his arc.

[in-g-major]

ATLA Unpacked: Kataang is Reactive, not Constructive (Part 1)

In my last rewatch of ATLA, I came to a conclusion about something that's bothered me since I first watched the finale in 2008. After *the kiss* which closes out the entire show, I've been of the opinion that Kataang was an absolute failure, on multiple levels. Over the years I've held that position through multiple rewatches and the perspectives of many other intelligent, passionate fans. However, why it fails is something I've thought more deeply about over the years. There are the implications of a romance with a very lopsided balance of emotional labor, and issues of one party's consent (Katara's) being violated without an apology. Those are serious problems and valid criticisms, but here I'm going to be examining how Kataang fails because of its position within ATLA's story. As a disclaimer, I am not invoking Zutara in this analysis. For most of my time as an ATLA fan I abstained from the shipping wars beyond an occasional comment, and I only became pro-Zutara within the last year after taking on the responsibility of writing about these characters again. Alright, here goes! Reactive vs Constructive? When I say Kataang is a reactive force, I mean that it disturbs the flow and direction of the narrative (the implicit and explicit messages a story is projecting to the audience) by contradicting and clashing with other things we're presented with. A constructive force, on the other hand, is something which shapes the narrative towards an internally sound and satisfying conclusion. To explain what I mean, I'll be going through the show in episode order. No Kataang in sight yet (B1:E1 - B1:E13) A commonly cited argument in favor of Kataang is that it was part of ATLA from the beginning and the show was building towards it all along. This argument doesn't hold up simply because of how many episodes go by before there are any implications of romantic interest between Aang and Katara. The closest thing to romantic subtext is the way Katara appears to Aang after she frees him from the iceberg. (B1:E1)

By itself this doesn't suggest anything particularly romantic, especially since Katara is the first person Aang sees after a very traumatic experience. Later on he tells Appa "I liked her too" (B1:E2), but that's pretty nonspecific. After this we get exactly zero text or subtext until we're over two-thirds of the way into Book 1. Now a romance between two characters doesn't have to be developed from the very beginning of the story to make sense. However, things get messier for Kataang from here, so hold on tight. The Dashing, Dark-Haired Boys in Katara's life (B1:E6 - B1:E10) In my last rewatch I really took notice of how we see Katara's dynamics with no less than THREE dark-haired boys her age or older in the span of five episodes. First, there's Haru (B1:E6), with whom she builds a very sweet friendship that has some romantic possibilities. They bond over the struggles of losing their parents to the Fire Nation, and he's the first person who empathizes with her feelings about the death of her mother.

Katara: I lost my mother in a Fire Nation raid. This necklace is all I have left of her. Haru: It's not enough, is it? Katara: No. (Disclaimer: Harutara was my OG ATLA ship) Next, there's Zuko (B1:E9), at this point her enemy and the one who finds her mother's necklace after she loses it at the end of B1:E6. Their parallels so far have revolved around the longing they project onto Aang and learning to master their elements. Here, in their first one-on-one interaction, a further connection is established through Katara's mother's necklace. Exactly why this is significant for Zuko isn't clear yet, but it pays off wonderfully later on.

Zuko: Tell me where [Aang] is, and I won't hurt you or your brother. Katara: Go jump in the river! Zuko: Try to understand. I need to capture him to restore something I've lost: my honor. Perhaps in exchange, I can restore something you've lost. (That first image is the perfect snapshot of how hilariously awkward this exchange actually is. Zuko's only cool when he's not trying to be) Finally, there's Jet (B1:E10), Katara's first crush. She's wooed by his good looks and guerilla tactics against the Fire Nation, then spends most of the episode smitten with him. Jet empathizes with her mother's death when she brings it up, but he also tricks her into doing something she would never have agreed to with full knowledge of his plans. When she confronts him about it, he tries manipulating her with what she told him about her mother, and she truly turns on him when she thinks he's killed Sokka. It's the first time Katara has had her trust violated, and it's a painful experience.

Katara: Jet, why? Jet: Katara, you would too if you just stopped to think. Think about what the Fire Nation did to your mother. We can't let them do that to anyone else ever again. Katara: This isn't the answer! Jet: I want you to understand me, Katara. I thought your brother would understand, but... Katara: Where's Sokka?... I can't believe I trusted you. You lied to me! You're sick, and I trusted you!

(Just putting those images together had me slightly teary. Poor Katara.) What these character dynamics have in common is that they're all constructive. They contribute to Katara's story without contradicting each other. Her feelings and agency are clearly emphasized, and all three boys exist as their own independent characters while simultaneously being part of her journey. Keep that in mind as we venture into our first real Kataang episode. Related Meta & Additional Reading - Katara's Romantic Agency by starlight-bread-blog

[sillylotrpolls]

A lot of people miss the implicit theme in Tolkien's works that quantity is better than quality.

[aphroditelovesu]

Hi can I please request a yandere Eros with the female reader who has a crush on Apollo (imagine pls!)

❝━♡ Summary: Eros is desperately in love with you, the goddess of rationality, but unfortunately for him you are in love with another god and Eros will not accept that. Especially this god being his biggest rival.

❝━♡ TW: yandere themes, obsessive and possessive behavior, dub-con, implicit non-con, forced kiss, implied kidnapping, mention of physical violence, manipulation, breeding kink (?) and forced love.

❝━♡ Word Count: +1,5k

❝━♡ Written by: ~ Lady L 🌸

The goddess of rationality sighed. It wasn't a sigh of anger or disappointment, but of sadness and weariness. She was so tired of it, she was tired of it all. And more importantly, she was tired of him. Nothing she did was enough to appease the god who was so obsessed with her.

"Maybe the problem is with me after all." She thought, a sad look on her beautiful face. ''Maybe I wasn't clear enough.''

''(Y/N)!'' The goddess turned when she heard her name being called and she faced the god who had been chasing her for days.

''Eros…'' (Y/N) muttered, displeased. ''What do you do in my temple? You know you shouldn't enter a temple without asking permission from the goddess or the god it is dedicated to.''

''I know that, (Y/N). But I was so looking forward to seeing you! I couldn't just wait for more.'' The god of love and erotica gave you a seductive smile that could bring anyone to their knees but not you. Eros never had that effect on you, for you were in love with another god. A god that the god of love deeply hated, his greatest rival for millennia and now his rival for your love.

''But even so, you have to respect the traditions.'' (Y/N) muttered weakly, she knew it was no use talking, it never did. ''What you want? I am a little busy.''

Eros smirked, quickly approaching you who stiffened when he realized how close the god had gotten to you. ''Turn around…'' He whispered, ''I have a gift for the fairest of goddesses.''

''Eros… You mustn't say that. Aphrodite, your mother, won't like it.'' (Y/N) was a primordial goddess, she was born shortly after Aphrodite's birth, so she was quite revered and respected among the gods. Aphrodite and she got along well, but (Y/N) knew that the goddess of love and beauty would not tolerate any insult to her, not even a single comparison. ''I don't want to make Aphrodite angry and you shouldn't want the same.''

''She won't do anything to me or you.'' Eros chuckled, placing his hands gently on the goddess's bare shoulders. ''My mom knows how in love with you I am and she, well, she just wants to see me happy. She would never dare hurt someone I love so much.''

(Y/N) didn't say anything, but just turned around as Eros had asked. She wasn't stupid, she knew the quickest way out of this uncomfortable situation was to just do the god's will that he would go away. Or at least that's what she hoped.

''What do you want to give me?'' She asked, taking a deep breath. (Y/N) felt anxious, she didn't feel comfortable in that kind of situation and knew she never would. She had been trapped at various times like this, with Eros presenting her with expensive and absurd gifts, which she tried to deny but Eros wouldn't accept.

Eros didn't answer, but (Y/N) shivered as he felt the god's large and soft hands on her neck, gently pulling back her hair. Eros delicately put on a necklace he had convinced Hephaestus to make for him. It was the most beautiful and pompous necklace you could see, full of diamonds and an emerald in the middle. It was heavy and made exclusively for one goddess to use. For his goddess to use.

''For you.'' He pulled away from her a little, just enough for (Y/N) to turn around to face him. ''I made Hephaestus do it just for you. No mortal or goddess has that same necklace, because you alone are worthy of it. Do you liked it?''

''Eros, it's beautiful but I can't accept it.''

''What?''

''I cannot accept it. It's too much.''

''You can and you will.'' Eros growled, getting irritated. This wasn't the first time he'd had to deal with your arrogance and he had had enough of it. He loved you, simple as that, why can't you accept his love? How can you not see that you were made for each other?

(Y/N) sighed angrily this time. She couldn't take this whole fucked up situation anymore, everything was so wrong and nothing seemed to work with this god of love. He knew she loved another god. but she never told him who he was. She feared Eros' reaction but knew the only way he could leave her alone was to tell her the truth and that's what she would do. ''Eros... I love another person.''

The god of love stood still for a while, just staring into the goddess's face in disbelief. ''Who?'' He finally managed to ask furiously, the words barely leaving his lips.

''You know who. I know you've known who is it for a long time.''

''Who?!'' He asked again, even more angry.

''Apollo.'' (Y/N) replied. The goddess knew she had entered a path that had no turning back, but she decided it didn't matter. She just wanted to get rid of Eros.

''Apollo…'' To the surprise of (Y/N) Eros started laughing crazily. He just couldn't believe, Apollo his biggest rival. This was all a joke, it had to be a joke.

''Why are you laughing?''

''I didn't know you preferred guys like him, my love.'' Eros finally stopped laughing, smiling slightly. That smile alarmed (Y/N), she definitely didn't expect this reaction. ''I didn't know you preferred men who would just fuck you for one night and then never send news for you again.''

''Apollo is not like that!'' (Y/N) tried to defend the god in vain.

''Oh, he is and you know it. His romantic past speaks for itself.'' Eros spoke, holding the goddess's face with both hands, affectionately. ''You deserve so much more than being fucked and dumped after sex. You deserve a god who loves you unconditionally, a god who would always be loyal and faithful to you. You deserve me.'' And finally, Eros sealed their lips with a hard kiss. (Y/N) widened her eyes and tried to pull away from the god, but he was stronger and hugged her tightly, keeping her attached to her body. Eros continued to try to force his tongue into (Y/N)'s mouth but she resisted and didn't give him permission, that is, until he grabbed her waist so hard that it made her open her mouth to scream and he took the opportunity to stick his own tongue in your obsession. ''Hmm…'' Eros muttered, after they parted. ''I didn't know you kissed so good! I'm looking forward to finding out what else that mouth of yours can do.''

''Stay away from me!'' (Y/N) shouted and, after much effort, managed to free herself from the god's grip. She tried to run away, but Eros was faster and threw her to the ground, getting on top of the desperate goddess.

''Now, don't be rude, baby.'' Eros smirked. ''We still haven't finished what we started.'' Eros' hands started to roam around (Y/N's) hips, squeezing him tightly.

(Y/N) whimpered. This was not supposed to be happening. She kept trying to fight Eros, but it was in vain. He was a thousand times stronger than she was and if he wanted to force her there he would. Nothing and no one would stop him.

''Stop trying to run away from me!'' Eros roared, furious. He summoned his bow and some arrows, which he aimed straight at (Y/N's) heart. ''You want me to force you to love me?! Huh? Is this is what you want?! Because I'm trying to be patient with you and you know that very well, but my patience has limits!''

''Let me go…'' The goddess muttered, trying to free her wrists from the brute force of the god of love.

Eros sighed, trying to calm down, as he internally debated whether he should become (Y/N) his puppet or not. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want something to control, a doll for him to play with however he wanted. He just wants to be loved by (Y/N) back. Why was this so difficult to do? It was all that motherfucker Apollo's fault.

(Y/N) took advantage of Eros being distracted by his thoughts and kicked him in the groin, which immediately destabilized the god who fell beside him groaning in pain. She got up and started to run out of time, but to her innocence, it wasn't fast enough as Eros finally shot one of his arrows at the goddess, leaving her stunned for a moment and, after he called out to her, she turned around. automatically turned to Eros and felt his heart fill with love. An empty and forced love.

''That's right, that's mine (Y/N).'' Eros smiled passionately and pulled her into another kiss more ardently, this time the goddess responded, but without any emotion or passion. Just like a puppet made to obey and love Eros. This wasn't what the god of love and eroticism wanted but if that was the only way to have her, then so be it. She would be his perfect goddess.

[1800duckhotline]

glance, motion & formal for any oc of yours 🤍

oc asks: character design edition

I'm gonna talk about Madonna for this one!! Since I think she is more than deserving of more spotlight !!

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC’s appearance? What’s their distinguishing feature?

Setting aside that Madonna's primary objective at all times is to stand out among the crowd with her make-up and fashion, I think her actual most distinguishing feature is just how tall she is? You would not think it but Madonna is at least 180cm tall, and with heels she's even taller sometimes. She is a big woman and she herself takes a lot of pride in this - her size becomes only more blatantly obvious when she isn't wearing big coats (which she is a huge fan of, and is rarely seen without).

She'd always had custom clothes made for her even before her embrace, so I would imagine this is still a thing in her new unlife...

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

Though Madonna often wears fabrics that don't offer the largest range of movement, such as leather and stiff cottons, it is not that much of a hindrance as her range of motion generally stays within the lane of shooting firearms and performing Thaumaturgy - which doesn't require flexibility to perform it properly.

Madonna is fat, which means she's had to make a lot of adjustments to how her clothes fit and how to move around without overexterting herself - she never went to the gym and obviously isn't going to start as Kindred, but vampiric nature offers her an additional athletic streak she is still getting used to; she's not as stationary as her sire Desmond, but she never goes out of her way to put herself too much at risk like, say, Ranx would, preferring to assume the role of a sniper most of the time during combat. When she does do special stunts, though, she has a naturally coordinated way of doing things - they just click correctly. It might be sort of implicit with her having Tremere blood, one would assume.

Out of combat, Madonna has always had a very charming way of moving and gesturing as well. She gesticulates and is very emotive when she talks, which means she will often pace around with panache. To give a better example of what I mean think of a mix between Morticia and Gomez Addams?

formal: What’s your OC’s formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Madonna has an incredible variety of choices when it comes to looks. Her passion has always been dressing up in ways to both amaze and confuse others. She obscillates often from masculine and feminine and androgynous and everything inbetween; it's a bit like putting on stage make-up for a play for her, except she does it for the joy of doing it rather than for a character per se. So she does indeed like dressing up, though not probably in the ways you'd think of as "formal".

When human though, she did dress the typical office-formal kind of look. Sometimes with skirts, mostly with suits, however, as they felt more comfortable (and they still do) for her. Typically if she wants to give the impression that she's polished herself for an occasion, she'll be extremely particular about accessories like tinted sunglasses or necklaces, watches, tie pins, and so on and so forth. She has especially an eye for color coordination.

This didn't change much as Tremere, though she dresses much more in red (it seems natural for her now) and enjoys more often than not getting all painted in her trad goth look when she's out and about, but not always.

[alovelyburn]

Random Berserk thought moment:

I was thinking about the answer to that Ask I did earlier, and the symbolism of the child with the broken soldier doll as regards Griffith's innocence, and then I thought...

If that child is symbolically Griffith's innocence, his purity of spirit, etc, then that moment in the Eclipse mindscape sequence where he tells the child he can't bring [the child] with him because the child is already dead has... even more bite. It tells us what he's given up to get as far as he did, and also foreshadows what he's about to give up in order to keep going, and....

The thing is I think a lot about the way the Eclipse/Sacrifices in general are framed. Because the direct rule is that you sacrifice the person or people you most love - people like to debate this because they have a hard time with it I guess, but this seems implicit because when the Count states he could kill anyone except his daughter, they’re straight up like yeah that’s why it has to be her.

It must be "someone important to you, part of your soul... someone so close to you that it’s almost like giving up a part of you.”

This is backed up by say...

 the way Slug Count's wife is referred to as half of himself.

So the rule is, Someone or someones so important to you that they are part of your soul, and losing them is almost like losing part of yourself.

But if you juxtapose that with the mythos of the crimson behelit:

"Whoever possesses this is destined to obtain the world in exchange for (their) own flesh and blood.”

So that contextualizes what is going on there right like you're cutting parts of yourself out, that’s the sacrifice on a metaphorical level - you carve your heart out and so it is replaced by yada yada.

But really, the rules of the sacrifice are almost certainly designed specifically to support Griffith’s character and provide the context for Guts and Griffith’s connection to the reader.

So bearing that in mind, when you contextualize it in Griffith's character specifically, we can see that this is just the most extreme form of what he’s always done: he cuts pieces of himself out and trades them for the tools he needs to keep going. And as a result of that he loses more and more of himself until we arrive at the Eclipse, where he just has nothing left to give. That’s why it happens at that time (or, well, more specifically, that’s why this point is reached at the time when the Eclipse was predestined to occur).

Because he's out of options (including just retiring in relative contentment since the one thing he needs to do that is leaving him again) and he's out of things to trade away from his own body or his own spirit and so he trades out his heart - his metaphorical heart, the people who mean so much to him that losing them is like losing a part of himself, and most significantly the man to whom he is explicitly the other half.

It's like the third night in Rumpelstiltskin - this miller’s daughter ends up in an impossible situation where she has to keep giving away the things she values in order to survive. Then she arrives at the third night, when she’s already given away her ring and her necklace - now all she has left is her child. It’s that kind of moment because like the girl in the story, all he can do is give up that last thing, the one thing he has left, the people who are part of his soul - “his own flesh and blood” - because if he doesn't then everything was for nothing and all the sacrifices he’s already made are meaningless.

...even if his current self is completely empty and evil, which I don’t think he is but lets suppose for a moment... even if he is, the fact that he exists because of all this - because this strong, brilliant, determined and well-intentioned person just gave away more and more pieces of himself until he had nothing left, and then he broke -- makes him tragic anyway.

And the thing is, even though he obtains all this power, he ultimately loses what made him such a magnetic and beloved person in his human life to begin with. He loses that spark that made him the White Hawk. Because yeah, Griffith as he is now has supernatural charisma but its....supernatural.

As a living human, Grifith had the same impact just because of who he was.

[fatecolossal]

TWIN PEAKS: THE MISSING PIECES (2014, Lynch) x PERSONA (1966, Bergman) - near the end of both films

A nurse, in a distinctive nursing cap, cares for a largely mute patient in bed, & at some point is seen to take on some element of her identity...

Though the scene at the end of THE MISSING PIECES is short, it also parallels 3 other distinctive moments or elements from PERSONA: One, the nurse waves her right hand in front of Annie's face, just like the boy in the prologue to PERSONA waves his right hand in front of our face.

Two, we see Annie and the nurse reflected together in a mirror, just as in PERSONA we see Alma and Elisabet together in a mirror, in one of the most iconic sequences of that film. Notice also in the TP:TMP image above that there is a crucifix conspicuously hanging over Annie.

This crucifix brings out a third parallel, its Christian iconography echoing the Christ-like elements of PERSONA's symbolism, from that film's repeated imagery of a nail driven through a hand, to its moment of blood-drinking, to its mention of eternal life, & more...

The distinctive nursing caps/uniforms worn in each film further draw out these Christian parallels by arguably evoking those of nuns' habits, a comparison underscored both in PERSONA by its nurse being referred to as "Sister Alma," & in TP by Annie's past life in a convent.

In addition to the world of religious symbols opened up by each work's implicit or explicit monastic references, the nun allusions also tie in themes of sisterhood, silence, and renunciation that are relevant to both works.

Indeed, Annie's situation at the end of MISSING PIECES seems to intentionally be suggestive of a type of return to this monastic state of silence, seclusion, and an absence of men, one steeped in Christian symbolism.

While neither Lynch nor Frost are practicing Christians (both seem more drawn to Dharmic religions), Annie's Christian faith is strongly emphasized in the series, carrying on a streak in TP's symbolism stretching back to MIKE's "face of God" soliloquy & forward to FWWM's angels.

While the Nurse-Annie scenes in TP:TMP may arguably be viewed as somehow less important to TP canon, given that they were originally deleted, it's important to note the very strong ways that scene parallels Laura's critical, Annie-featuring dream sequence in FWWM:

Consider the ways the Nurse-Annie scene mirrors the Laura-Annie scene. In each: 1). Annie recites the same statement. 2). The jade ring is then passed on to a new person 3). The ring-bearer then sees a reflection, looking back over their right shoulder into a room with a bed

Indeed, as regards the "mirroring" moment, the construction is remarkably similar: we see a rectangular frame with a ring-bearing blonde looking over her right shoulder into a room with a bed. In the case of Laura, her outstretched right hand touches her shadow's hand; in the case of the nurse, her outstretched right hand (as seen in the mirror image) touches her left hand.

(Like the Annie-Nurse scene in TP:TMP, the Annie-Laura scene in FWWM arguably evokes moments of PERSONA as well, albeit here the parallels are more tenuous...)

(It's also perhaps worth noting a connection between Laura & a nurse made in the pilot episode, where a nurse stuffed-animal (a sockpuppet monkey?) can be seen in her bedroom.)

Other minor observations:

-In one of the few other notable elements of mise en scène in the TP:TMP scene, a painting of a lake in a forest can be seen behind the Nurse as she stares down at the ring (just before looking in the mirror), arguably evoking another iconic PERSONA image

-The design on Laura's lamp post seen in several shots of Annie distinctly resembles a divided heart (much like the wreath on the Palmer House door, both suggesting Laura's "divided heart" necklace).

-Note also the 3D "flower" scrunch-flourish on Annie's dress evoking a blue rose.

Much more could be said about all of the topics herein, including especially the links between PERSONA & TP/Lynch generally, as well as the links between the Annie-Laura scene and the Annie-Nurse scene, each of which is deceptively deep.

To end, here's a 2018 quote from Lynch on what motivated his choice to return to TWIN PEAKS: “For a long time, no itch. But at the same time, there’s a thing in FWWM where Laura is in her bed and she's visited by Annie. Annie says, ‘I’m in the Black Lodge with the good Dale. Write that in your diary’. That little bit right there held a string of dreams"

[notthesomefather]

Heimdall: Guardian, Liberator, Other

Heimdall is one of the more enigmatic figures in the Norse pantheon, despite there being a fair amount of material regarding the god. I've spent time researching Heimdall's role in the myths, the Norse cosmology, and modern heathenry. This is primarily a buffet of thoughts I'm offering up, so I hope it's helpful in some way!

So let's start with what we do know. We know Heimdall:

guards the Bifrost with unmatched eyesight and hearing;

was born of nine mothers (most frequently understood to be the nine daughters of Aegir and Ran);

has golden teeth, a mighty sword, and a horn which he will blow to signal Ragnarok;

is a watchman for all the Aesir and Vanir, but is particularly protective of Freyja/Frigg;

fights with Loki twice: once to win back Frigga's necklace, and another time, a mutually-lethal battle with Loki again at Ragnarok;

fathered the basic social classes in Rígsþula (or Rígsmál). This is the item I want to explore most, in a bit.

Concerning his classification, it is tricky to define what Heimdall is precisely. H.R. Ellis Davidson writes: "We have a good deal of material about this god, and the figure which emerges from Snorri's description of him and from references in the poems is that of a mysterious, impressive power, with a strong personality of his own. He does not however fit into any recognized category among the divinities."

He is called the "White As," so he would be a member of the Aesir, right? Well his mothers are elemental spirits of the ocean, born of the Jotuns Aegir and Ran, so he'd be part Jotun, right? But what of his reproduction/fertility ties with the Rig myth and his connection to Freyja--would he be part of the Vanir? There is also an additional categorization that may fit best but offers more questions than answers:

"Interestingly, Heimdall is referred to as "muddy-backed,"" writes Patricia Lafayllve. "Since he has the mud of Yggdrasil and Wyrd on him, he may be more akin to the Norns themselves, and part of the larger cosmology..."

Regardless of how Heimdall fits into the divine org-chart, his involvement with (and impact on) humanity and Midgard is matched only by Odin and Thor. This brings me to the last point I want to touch on: Heimdall and the creation of social classes. It's not a comfortable fact that many cultures operating during the "Viking era" had strict social classes, including thralldom and slavery. How, then, can we, as modern heathens, interpret the myth of Rig, and what can we take away from it?

"The idea of physically distinct classes of humanity, seemingly destined by nature to servitude farming, and rulership, is problematic for modern readers," Diana Paxton writes. "[This myth] has been called a repellent poem, with clear intimations of a kind of racism implicit in the description of the various social classes. Yet on closer examination, it does not support the idea of fixed social classes in a divinely ordained hierarchy. The human parents are named great-grandfather and great-grandmother, grandfather and grandmother, and father and mother. Heimdall is clearly watching over a lineage through the generations. One could read this myth as an account of the evolution of human culture… In this reading, humans liberate themselves, and at times, Heimdall provides sparks of divinity to move this process along. In short…Heimdall could be seen as a bringer of liberation."

That interpretation was beneficial to me. I'd never known what to do with this myth, and it seemed too big to ignore, but reading it through this lens helped immensely. Heimdall could inspire our society to create equity across different professions. He could be someone to ask when we pray for our world's societal advancement toward empathy, dignity, and justice.

Sources under the cut.

Everyman Edda. Snorri Sturluson, translated by Anthony Faulkes. Pages 25, 75-76.

Myths of the Norsemen. Helene A. Guerber. Page 156.

A Practical Heathen's Guide to Asatru. Patricia Lafayllve. Page 44.

Gods and Myths of the Viking Age. H.R. Ellis Davidson. Pages 172 and page 176.

Our Troth, Volume 2: Heathen Gods. Ben Waggoner and Diana Paxton. Page 387.

[2offayyo-kzt]

I'm going to explain why 'Brain Scramblies' is my favorite episode of wwdits and a genius TV episode :

Simply because this episode is funny as hell and there are a lot of subtle references, I decided to list the ones I noticed from the most explicit to the most implicit :

Charmaine's name origin ¦

So her name is obviously taken from the movie Ocean's Eleven.

It's the name of a prostitute who helped the protagonists of the movie to get a badge from a technician who works in the casino.

She stole it from one of the technicians 'Edward' by using her charms (him being drunk and crazy in love with her)

In the same way that Sean fell madly in love with Charmaine in the show.

_____

'Inferno' by Dan Brown ¦

In one of the rooms that Nadja ruins to find the Jade necklace that belonged to her mother, we see on a bedside table a book "Inferno" by Dan Brown.

This is the beginning of the Wikipedia summary : "Robert Langdon wakes up in the middle of the night in the hospital, almost amnesiac and having suffered a concussion. Nevertheless, all his other intellectual and psychic functions remain intact. Disoriented, with a head injury, he has no memory of the last 36 hours. He does not know why he is in Florence and where the object that the doctors discovered in his belongings came from. A dream torments his mind, that of an old veiled woman wearing an amulet around her neck..."

_____

'The Golden Lily' by Richelle Mead ¦

After Sean has his brain in a pudding state and falls back in love with Charmaine again, this is one of the sentences he says to her :

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen."

It is the exact beginning of a quote from the book "The Golden Lily" written by Richelle Mead, which talks about vampires.

"You are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen walking this earth. You have no clue of how beautiful you are or how brightly you shine"

Brief summary of the book :

"Sydney Sage is an Alchemist, one of a group of humans who dabble in magic and serve to bridge the worlds of humans and vampires. They protect vampire secrets-and human lives."

This may have been the only way Sean could explain to his wife, in a fucked-up state, that the neighbors are vampires.

(The idea that Sean reads teenage romance vampire fiction is killing me 😭🤣)

_____

'The Vampire Diaries' ¦

Sean's declaration of love is full of references, here is a new one :

He pronounced this while offering the Jade necklace : "It's a token of my undying love", an almost similar phrase was uttered in episode 2 of season 8 of the Vampires Diaries.

"[...]will you do me the honor of wearing this engagement ring, as a token of my love"

It's a proposal from Stephan, a vampire, and then the couple kiss in the same way that Charmaine and Sean kissed after he offered the necklace.

_____

One of my favorite references, probably the most speculative :

'Mama Lucha' ¦

When he 'first' sees Charmaine, he exclaims this :

I found no meaning for this word, we could say that it's a compliment he invented thanks to his fried brain.

However, I think he exclaimed "Mama Lucha !", because after some research, it wouldn't surprise me if Sean, a hugefan of heist movies, is actually referring to this woman : "Luz María Endara Altamirano" better known by the alias 'Mama Lucha'

There is little information about this woman but in short she was "an Ecuadorian extortionist, who was prosecuted for the crimes of tax evasion and treason."

After her death it is said that : "In the San Roque market, where one of her houses is located and where she used to live, there is an atmosphere of amnesia. Most of the shopkeepers say they do not know her, they do not know who she is."

Might be a reference that in this episode Sean became amnesiac.

Even funnier, it is just possible that Sean just noticed that his wife shares a slight resemblance with the emblem of the supermarket Bodega Aurrerá also called "Mama Lucha" :

_____

Btw a lot of the lines Sean says are similar to phrases from the 1999 series ' The Sopranos' like "get the fuck out of here" or "who's that piece of ass"

Synopsis : "Tony Soprano, a gangster living in New Jersey, suffers from panic attacks and must secretly see a psychologist, Dr. Jennifer Melfi. Tony has problems with his family: he is in conflict with his wife Carmela, his two children, Meadow and Anthony Junior, his mother Livia and his uncle "Junior"

Well I know nothing about the show and I'm going into bullshit, but from the synopsis, Carmela could be Charmaine, Livia could be Joan (Sean's mother) and once Sean mentioned his uncle "Fulvio"

Tony & Carmela :

_____

Finally ! the post is over, all this to conclude that the writers of wwdits are geniuses 🙌

Please feel free to reblog this post, to make discover to the greatest number the fucking pure genius of wwdits 😌

[headcanonrepository]

The Ravenwatch has a lot of rules, mostly to help them manage their condition. They're all rules Verandis found worked for himself and something he insists upon, something which the family has upheld. Some are adhered to a little more strictly than others, however.

Only feed from the willing. Or a villain. Obvious, though even this introduces grey areas - can someone truly be willing if they're being coerced with money? (This is partly why the servants at Castle Ravenwatch are treated so well - fairness in face of that power imbalance was a concern, if an unvoiced one, of Verandis, and he cares deeply for their wellbeing) And what precisely constitutes a villain? Being both the judge of someone's actions and their executioner is a difficult moral quandary to grapple with, and there is an obvious implicit bias involved when finding someone innocent means forgoing dinner.

Feed at the dinner table. The reason is simple - it helps keep everyone accountable to each other, and minimises the risk of serious harm if someone's control slips. It's an act that is out in the open, so they can ensure no one takes too much. It also helps minimise shame around their condition - while the source of food might be different, they can still be civilised and eat in a similar manor as they would have done as mortals.

Thank whoever feeds you. It's only polite to show gratitude for a favour, and thanking even the servants every single time you feed cements that it is a continuous ongoing negotiation of consent, which they are free to withdraw at any time, should they wish.

Not so much a rule as an agreement: there are occasions where the servants are unable to be fed from (such as illness or already having fed another recently) and in order to communicate this, they wear a necklace. It helps to reduce the amount of times a servant may need to refuse to be fed from, something which they of course can choose to do (consent isn't consent if they can't retract it) but most feel uncomfortable doing directly (despite the unconventionally good treatment of the servants, they are still servants and getting a wage for their service - directly refusing a request would be harshly punished in any other household and some of them have prior experience of this).

[charcubed]

Some thoughts on The Winchesters after episode 5, and on self-reflection, and what it may tell us about Dean’s situation:

This was originally written as a thread on Twitter, which is (unfortunately) where I have historically done most of my meta writing. (Here is a collection of my Twitter posts about this show, including a few long meta threads.) I’m trying to get better about crossposting to tumblr ASAP when it's manageable.

All this to say that if this reads like it’s written in bite-sized chunks… that’s why. Also, I am writing this at midnight from an iPad lol.

So… This “Dean all the way down” show, if you will. In every episode of this show, its main characters highlight important things about Dean’s life and his relationships with others, as well as the unfinished parts of his story. Here’s a handy refresher, courtesy of my friend Matt.

I am compelled by the consistency of this (to the point of hypothesizing that Lata will be the main Dean mirror of the week in ep6).

I am also compelled by what is shaping up to be one of many consistencies in not only the themes but also the PLOTS of these episodes:

In every episode so far other than the pilot (I think?), someone is taken and trapped physically and/or mentally. Their freedom requires examining who they are as a person and what’s important to them, and/or examining who they are in relation to who they care about, mostly via reflective versions.

2: John, taken by La Tunda who punishes disobedient children & masquerades as Millie

3: Mary, taken by Bori Baba who lures you in with what you want most

4: John & Carlos, taken by a god of “destiny” who wants John to be like him

5: Mary, trapped in her mind by the Akrida

They’re all different situations, but at their core the key to freedom in the plot is always some form of self-reflection.

It’s making me wonder, because… well, we’re explicitly dealing with a narrative that’s cyclical, yes? We know that already, and the show’s not shy about it…

Cycles of violence + parents & children, on a micro level (Winchester family) and macro level (forces wanting to mold you into something you don’t want to be, or control you; Chuck/God as Father, destiny, and now Akrida).

But is it also a cycle in regards to this self-reflection?

Metaphorically, yes. This is what Dean is doing here and it’s why the characters are continuously acting as rotating mirrors for him. But what I’m beginning to wonder is if we’re meant to start taking it as hints to being literal for Dean, the way it is for the characters.

The characters repeatedly participate in self-reflection to free themselves from literal traps, and that self-reflections acts as reflection of Dean. What does this maybe tell us about what’s LITERALLY happening to Dean? Can we start piecing together that he’s trapped somewhere and uncovering/telling this story is key to his freedom?

🎶 Like a circle in a spiral

Like a wheel within a wheel

Never ending or beginning

On an ever spinning reel 🎶

They keep being trapped in places where they have to face aspects of who they are, who they love, and what haunts them. Maybe that’s the literal situation Dean could be in (fake Heaven trap?) and is part of the reason for the story he’s telling. Examining himself to break free.

I don’t know how front-facing in terms of the plot this may be. It could remain metaphorical. or be an extra-narrative reference about the prequel being its own thing but also a quasi stepping stone to a sequel.

But Dean being Trapped is, at this point, feeling pretty implicit.

Combine this with how mirror and reflective imagery is starting to visually pop up a little bit more.

And also combine it with all of the ways Tony’s story parallels Jack’s, and what that could imply about a “Chuck won” through-line… but I’m not getting into that tonight lol.

I am very intrigued. Everything about this is circular, and talking about one aspect kind of tips you into talking about another, which is FASCINATING story construction. So I’m sorry if I repeated myself here!

It’s reminiscent of a triskelion, naturally, a la the necklace in ep2.

Calling it quits for tonight because I am TIRED. Bottom line:

The repeated implication is that Dean is Trapped and doing self-reflection to try to break free. How literal that may or may not in terms of where/when he is remains to be seen, but… it’s feeling more and more pointed.

And I know I’m one of the foremost Chuck won preachers, okay, but I do try not to let it color my view of this show too strongly. I can’t help it that the material feeds me at every turn ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[margridarnauds]

What would you recommend to an aspiring Celticist for a tattoo? My sister wants to get matching Celtic tattoos, and while I’ve started to study Celtic mythology, I’m definitely no expert lol. I know a lot of symbols you’d find on the internet are bullshit, and a lot of the real ones have a ton of baggage associated with them (literally the first thing I told my sis when she brought this up was that we had to be careful & do our research when picking these out bcs the nazis looove that shit). But what would you recommend? Is there anything we should definitely steer clear of? Thanks!!

I'm going to either be really helpful or really non-helpful: A lot of this will depend on you and your sister.

Like, for me, when I've thought of Celtic-inspired tattoos, they're always things that are very personal to me. Like, for example, Bres' name in Ogham on my wrist, since it's always been him and me surviving this together, the Children of Lir, because that's a personal good luck symbol (yes, the most notoriously UNLUCKY story in the Mythological Cycle -- I have a Children of Lir necklace that I wore when I was giving my Capstone Presentation in my undergrad, and I've worn it to every talk I've ever given, even to my interview with my current program), an image of an owl (for Blodeuedd) or something like the Pictish Beast, since I love marine animals and waterhorses in the folkloric tradition. So, I'd look at what appeals to you and your sister, your relationship, shared interests, etc.

There's only one Celtic image that's formally been designated as being a potential white supremacist symbol by the anti-defamation league, and that is the Celtic Cross.

This is the image that most white supremacists will use, you'll notice that it has very short ends.

This is the more traditional Celtic cross -- you'll see these in just about every single tourist shop in Ireland, as well as in cemeteries. I'd be lying if I said that I don't still feel a bit of a jolt whenever I see the regular one in a tattoo; it shouldn't, because it's an image that is emblematic of Irishness and Irish heritage. And I don't feel that way about, say, a necklace, but a tattoo is much more different to me. It's permanent, it's...intimate. So I would suggest staying away from either version, even though the one at the bottom is NOT the one that has been appropriated by white supremacists.

I also tend to be distrustful of people who have like....mixed Celtic and Nordic symbols. Like, the Vikings did settle in Ireland, some Irish words are based in Norse terms, Cork, Dublin, and Waterford are Viking cities originally, there are a lot of folktales in common between Ireland and Norway, there are historic links there. That being said, anyone who treats them as being interchangeable (the term "Nordic-Celtic" makes me shudder whenever I see it in an organization's name and, no, I do not give a single fuck if you say that you aren't THAT kind of Nordic Celtic) raises my fight or flight response. Like, they're both part of this implicit idea of White Warrior Male Culture. But that's not a problem unless you're getting multiple tattoos. (Tbh, if I see a random Celtic knot on someone...I might think 'white supremacist' or I might think 'Irish American', it depends on everything else.)

...also a Celtic knot world tree symbol. Not because they're white supremacist, but because it isn't really based strongly in the Irish tradition.

Quite a few people in the field will get ogham tattoos, especially in Modern or Old Irish, possibly using a word or phrase that's important to them. One friend of mine has one that is a phrase that is related to their health problems and reflects their fortitude. You might get an image based on a particular story (I might actually choose the Children of Lir, just because, everything else about it aside...it does contain a really strong sibling relationship.)

Basically: Why do you want a Celtic-inspired tattoo (from any of the various Celtic cultures?) What are you interested in? What speaks to you as people?

[tuiyla]

i'm always torn on how many of quinn's issues are her mental health vs her religious guilt. or maybe they go hand in hand? I mean, arguably, her entire S1 arc has its foundations in her religion...from the value attached to her chastity, her not being on birth control, her fear of telling her parents, abortion not even being an option...a whole lot of things play out differently for Quinn if she isn't basically convinced she's gonna be "burned like a witch" no matter what she does. I mean, she's made literally homeless essentially because she displeased God, in the eyes of her father. Then I think it's interesting how a couple of her frankly most unsympathetic moments (Grilled Cheesus and On My Way) are directly tied to her extremely severe take on God and forgiveness.

(I also have thoughts about how we NEVER see her cross necklace again from the moment she's decided to have sex with Santana, js)

Ooh this is the good stuff, love me some Quinn thoughts.

I would say they go hand in hand but I find what you're saying fascinating. Maybe mental health is more pertinent post-Beth because I do believe she has a case of the post-partum. But the way in which religion is so integral to Quinn's and her struggles and especially in season 1 is morbidly fascinating. The irony of her being president of the Celibacy Club and all, and Quinn's family not only being religious but being so Extra WASP-y.

There's this implicit exaggerated shame on Quinn for the pregnancy because she's religious. Or, at least, her family is, and I gather she grows to have some complicated feelings. (FASCINATING that she's never seen with a cross again after The Incident, gotta love the costume department. Granted, she doesn't appear much after that but still. Talk to me about that some more.) Quinn would still be pregnant even without religion but the actual problem of her not being accepted and kicked out of home and I'd argue even that she becomes an outcast at school is the result of religion. And I think she continues practicing her faith out of denial, but that's just imo. Because she can't bear to examine and potentially lose that, too, even though if she thought about it so many of her issues are because of the way her family viewed religion. And all that repression couldn't have helped the depression, either. So yeah, hand in hand.

I do have to point out with the likes of Grilled Cheesus and On My Way, some of my least fav Quinn moments, that she was essentially used as mouthpiece for views the writers wanted to represent and out of the two main Christian chs, she was the more opinionated and judgy. So I just like to keep that in mind while trying to take a Watsonian look. But I think the in-universe reasoning of, like you say, her severe views on "matters of the Bible" is valid. And I would explain that by what I've mentioned, that she refuses to scrutinize this harsh binary black and white of religion and her own relationship with it for a long while. A) because it's solace and one of the only kinds she has and b) because critically examining everything she believes about religion would lead her down the road of really considering just how fucked up her family was and is. Particularly re: pregnancy but beyond that, too. Because there's a reason she knew she'd be burned at the stake and why she had that Christian girl image in the first place, and it ain't inherent. So while I don't fully embrace these two eps and moments as part of my Quinn canon, I do think it makes sense in the context of her rationalizing things. The Bible must be right and correct because if it isn't and if maybe we shouldn't be so harsh, then what had happened to her was just another layer of fucked up. And it was. But how can a teenager even begin to process that? (Cue repression and depression.)

Religion is a fascinating layer of Quinn's ch that, like all aspects, wasn't explored properly but that's why we love to talk about it. Talk religious guilt Quinn to me, Anon 😌 AND that's not to even mention that Glee basically never ever touches on Quinn's feelings on and attitude towards any sort of queer sexuality. Not explicitly. Which becomes suspicious when you're a queer Quinn truther like this blog is. That's just a whole other rabbit hole of rationalizing and guilt and trying to negotiate her upbringing with what she actually feels and thinks and knows. Even if we don't consider her to be queer (lies), her two best friends are in love and married, and she doesn't say a word against homosexuality even in the cringe epic fail God Squad scene in Heart. She's all for it, very unlike her attitudes in Grilled Cheesus and On My Way.

[muined]

Osip & Ioseb

I tried my hand at translating Osip Mandelshtam's 1936 poem "Within a mountain, dormant, dwells an idol..." after seeing an excerpt of it translated by Donald Rayfield. Though less obviously about Stalin than the "Stalin Epigram" ("We live, deaf to the land beneath us"), I do think this one is also, well, about Stalin. Disclaimer: I am a rank amateur.

Within a mountain, dormant, dwells an idol In chambers spacious, practical, and bright And from his neck drip amulets like beads of oil That guard him from the dream-tides of the night.

As a lad, he had a peacock playmate He was fed on rainbows straight from India They gave him milk of rosy clay to wash them down And never spared him beetle-red cochineal.

His sleepy bones he gathers in a bundle now The knees, the arms, the shoulders humanize, He smiles with his serenest of all mouths as His bones begin to think, his brow to feel, And he attempts to recollect his human guise.

Notes below the cut.

I tried to preserve as many rhymes as I could, but I fudged the syllable count a whole hell of a lot to make it scan better in English (to my ear).

Here is the Russian original with the rhyme scheme (as I figure it) and syllable count, so you can try it for yourself:

[A, -ir ending] Внутри горы бездействует кумир [10 syllables] [B, -ikh] В покоях бережных, безбрежных и счастливых, [13 syllables] [A, -ir] А с шеи каплет ожерелий жир, [9 syllables] [C, -ii] Оберегая сна приливы и отливы. [13 syllables]

[D, -in] Когда он мальчик был и с ним играл павлин, [12 syllables] [C, -ii] Его индийской радугой кормили, [11 syllables] [D, -in] Давали молока из розоватых глин [12 syllables] [C, -ii] И не жалели кошенили. [9 syllables]

[E, -om] Кость усыпленная завязана узлом, [12 syllables] [C, -ii] Очеловечены колени, руки, плечи, [14 syllables] [E, -om] Он улыбается своим тишайшим ртом, [12 syllables] [E, -om] Он мыслит костию и чувствует челом [11 syllables] [C, -ii] И вспомнить силится свой облик человечий. [13 syllables]

Here's Rayfield's partial translation, from Stalin & His Hangmen:

Inert, inside a mountain lies an idol In thrifty, boundless, happy rooms, And from his neck drips the fat of necklaces, Guarding the ebb and flow of dreams […]

The scattered bones are tied into a bundle, The knees, the hands, the shoulders humanized. He smiles with his most serene mouth, He thinks in bone and feels with his brow And tries to recollect his human guise.

I used the same "humanize"/"human guise" pair as Rayfield, because I just can't think of a better way to translate очеловечены and make it rhyme with облик человечий in English.

At first I thought "А с шеи каплет ожерелий жир / Оберегая сна приливы и отливы" referred to buoyant double chins that would keep our idol afloat on the ebb and flow/high and low tides of sleep...but I believe the protection offered by his jewelry is more like that of a fairy-circle of stones placed around a sandcastle to protect it from encroaching surf.

Re: Stalin: the word for mountain used here, гори, is a homophone for ol' Joey D's hometown, Gori (გორი), from the Georgian word gora (გორა), also meaning mountain. Peacocks and the red dye cochineal are also popularly associated with the Caucasus, in Russia. This poem was written while Mandelshtam was exiled in Voronezh, almost exactly two years before his death in a GULAG system transit camp.

I would welcome input from native Russian speakers, but the most compelling thing about this poem to me is that it seems to be about the alchemical process of deliberately turning a human being into a god. There's an implicit "they" in the middle stanza who are feeding this boy various brightly pigmented inedible objects in order to turn him into an idol/god, кумир.

Here are some other published English translations:

Ilya Bernstein, 2014:

In idleness inside a mountain an idol dwells In protective, boundless, idyllic chambers, While necklaces fall from his neck like drops of fat, Protecting the ebb and flow of his slumber.

A peacock played with him when he was a boy And he was fed on an Indian rainbow And given milk out of rose-colored clay And had no lack of cochineal.

Somnolent bone has been tied in a knot. Hands, knees, and shoulders have been made human. He smiles with his extremely quiet mouth. He thinks it in his bones, and feels it in his head, And struggles to recall his human figure.

Andrew Davis, 2016:

Deep in the mountain the idol rests In sweet repose, infinite and blest, The fat of necklaces dripping from his neck Protects his dreams of flood tide and of slack.

As a boy, he buddied with a peacock, They gave him rainbow of India to eat And milk in a pink clay dish, And didn’t stint the cochineal.

Bone put to bed, locked in a knot, Shoulders, arms, and knees made flesh, He smiles with his own dead-silent lips, Thinks with his bone, feels with his brow, And struggles to recall his human countenance.

I have liked W.S. Merwin's translations of Mandelshtam in the past, but I can't seem to find his translation of this poem online. Waiting on some library holds.