#it's that type of thing that no one SAYS but many people ACT like it

[sleepybugeyes]

I read through all of Elias/Jonah's dialogue (as you do) plus some relistening and mentions of him, so here's a big list of some fun things and behaviors I noted!

I thought he made a lot of eye puns/jokes, but he only does it once in mag161, however he does enjoy making jokes. "Creativity never was their forte." from mag80, "You want my account? My sworn testimony? My statement?" from 82, "If you die, I’m afraid you probably won’t be able to claim your expenses." in 116 and "I only have two eyes, after all." in 120. no one ever laughs at his jokes only he finds them amusing

His last words telling Jon a sarcastic or mocking "good luck" are mirrored earlier as he also tells Basira good luck the last time he sees her, and Martin, as he's getting arrested

He loves gloating. "I forget how new you all are to this." from mag92, "Coffee is not as good for disguising tastes as you might think." in 98, "She’s hoping that even if I see it coming she’ll still be able to overpower me. She’s wrong, of course," in 102, "A masterpiece, isn’t it?" abt his panopticon in 158 and of course his whole monologue in 160

He does his budgeting on tuesdays and his scheduling on wednesdays

He also likes getting lost in work

in mag40 he makes up proper incompetency (said he didnt know how the fire system works, while he later admits he was actively waiting) just that once, but more so he acts like he doesnt get the full picture (doesnt know whats in the tunnels, whats strange about the institute) or acts too late and apologises (not stepping into jon's stalking behaviour). Which makes me think he is quite fine letting people think less of him but unless he has something to hide hes not actively looking to give the impression

in mag92 elias slides the papers for basira across his desk, but you don't hear him take them out before, meaning he prepared and got ready for this before he called the police

in general he's a very preparing man, Lukas steps in when Elias is arrested so has has control over who'd run it. in mag118 he says he prepared something to hurt martin (my speculation is that he likely has some trauma that could hurt you prepared for any person that could cross him, just in case he needs it). When he gets arrested he has something prepared so he doesnt get killed and ofc s1-4 is preparing Jon for his grand ritual

Elias admits the idea for his ritual kinda fell into place after Getrude didnt do anything about the people's church in march 2015. He shot Getrude and appointed Jon shortly after so "when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you." is pure dramatics as Jon was hired 4 years prior

also he got his ritual in 2018 so he managed to acomplish his life's goal in only 3 years, love his grindset 🔥

We never get a number for how many people Elias has killed in his ritual, the real life millbank has held over 1000 people at once, but id imagine his one panopticon held less than a whole complex

its really interesting to me in mag92 that hes SO sure they all know he's talking to them of his own free will. is he just that dead set on being in control or making sure they take no credit for his confession

there is a clock in Elias' office (but it's only heard in mag98)

He has killed people but Elias is very much not a blood thirsty person. Getrude and Peter are both surprised when he results to that. He's very much just ruthless and does not care, if to get his way he has to kill someone. It doesnt seem like he's ever happy to do so, maybe this is a quirk of being eye aligned and getting rid of any type of knowledge is painful (he does for example never want Tim to die at the Unknowing), or he just finds covering those murders up a hassle

for the Unknowing Elias books them all hotel rooms, how thoughtful

something cute to me that Jon was too good at the Eye that Elias couldnt meet him face to face post coma

In mag158 he implies that even Institute employees not in the archives are tied to it, at least enough that they could suffer or die if it burned down

between finding other people just as tools to watch and discard and saying empathy holds you back he was definitely a very very lonely man

He is a very breathy person. He sounds breathy when he talks. He takes deep breaths to ready himself and before he uses his powers. And he often breathes through his nose before speaking or during pauses

He has said Jon's name 62 times, only twice calling him "Jonathan" and called him archivist 25 times (24 in the mag120 statement, 1 in mag138 and 1 in mag161)(he also kinda calls him The Archive in 160)

other fun amount of words: know (65 times), see (42), martin (35), detective (20), eyes (20) and eye (9), afraid (9) and "bullshit" (1)

its still insane to me they added all of those sound effects of Elias' cuffs in prison, thats something fun to appreciate. It also means its canon he gestures quite a bit!

[xoxochb]

Hi!! It’s like my first time requesting so please prepare for the amount of times I type out ‘like’😭 I hope you have/had a good day!!

So percy is kind of like the person that everybody has had a crush on at least once, right?

Basically, percy likes the reader and let’s also say that they’re one of the most nicest people on camp but, today they’re kind of irritated because they had a bad day. To add onto it, percy tries to talk to reader but they’re like so irritated that they accidentally raise their voice at him and reader apologizes to percy. But this leaves percy kind of sad and he’s overthinking, reader—a few days after the incident—goes up to percy and apologizes, they give him like a small gift bag(??). Percy, having feelings for reader, is ecstatic/giddy because of this and is also kind of taken aback from this, he plays it off and acts all nonchalant about it but he somehow makes it so painfully obvious as well. So the whole day, he just kind of sits around and admires the reader.

But turns out that the reader also likes Percy and their siblings kind of tease them about the gift basket. The reader also admires percy whenever he’s not looking at them. (This can just be a little bonus!!)

If you need specifics, can the reader be from cabin 10/Aphrodite’s cabin (but like it’s up to you!!😭) and uhm maybe fem!reader (?)

Anyways, have a nice day!!🫶🫶

⋆·˚ ༘ * looking at you got me thinking nonsense

warnings: none

pairing: percy jackson x daughter of aphrodite

summary: read the request!

you were the camp sweetheart, a pure soul. everyone admired you and your generous demeanor, but today you were in an irritated mood from being packed with camp duties along with a few personal favors

it started this morning when you had gotten up early to the screaming of your siblings (they had been rudely accusing each other of stealing their clothes), then you had to help set up a breakfast double-date, archery practice after, you didn’t have time for lunch because one of your friends needed urgent love advice, then you had offered to wash the dishes after lunch, and now it’s four in the afternoon, you haven’t had any time to relax

even now when you were supposed to be relaxing you couldn’t find your favorite lipgloss so you had to tear up the cabin to find it, which you didn’t, because that’s what your still doing after twenty minutes of searching

but soon enough your search was interrupted by your favorite son of poseidon, percy jackson

you usually would have been happy to see him but today every little thing- even the smallest thing- would add on to your irritation

“I haven’t seen you all day” he states

“yeah, well, I’ve been busy. I don’t always have time to see you, you know?” you open one of your siblings drawers, disappointed to see your lipgloss was not there

percy knows something’s up because you never talk to anyone like that- especially him “are you alright? have you eaten today? I know you’ve been busy”

“I’m fine! If you really knew that I was busy you would leave me alone” you snap

he frowns at the tone of your voice “oh… I’m sorry. I’m gonna go, we’ll talk later?”

“whatever” you mumble

percy leaves cabin ten with a sad demeanor. what had he done to anger you? he lays awake that night wondering what he did so wrong to make you- the nicest girl he knew- out of all people so frustrated with him

little does he know, you lay awake also wondering why you snapped at him. he was only trying to be nice. he was concerned for you, he cared for you more than anyone and you treated him terribly

how could you make him forgive you?

💌

for the next few days you think of how you’re going to make it up to percy, he deserved more than just a simple ‘I’m sorry’

as your skipping rocks on the water you realize what you have to do. you quickly stand up and rush to the edge of the water, where you search for as many tiny seashells as you can find and once you get back to your cabin you begin making your present

when you finish it you put it in a small box with a pink bow on top- your specialty

unfortunately for you, you were caught by silena with the box in your hand

“what’s that?” she smirks

“it’s nothing, I have to go do something, sorry” you try to rush past her but she stops you

“who’s it for?”

“nobody”

“you’re not leaving until you tell me”

you sigh knowing this information was indeed true

“It’s for percy”

she nods with a victory smile knowing she’s got what she wants

“go get him”

you thank her before rushing to cabin three, which you find him exiting

“percy!” you run over to him “can we talk?”

“of course”

“great, uhm, so first I wanted to say that I’m so sorry for the other day, I was so busy and I had nothing to eat, not even a cup of coffee! you know how I get when I don’t have coffee. but anyways I was so irritated with everything, and you came in right when I was in the middle of looking for my lipgloss and I was getting angry because I couldn’t find it and I just took anger out on you, and I swear it had nothing to do with you, I lov- you’re my best friend, I would never mean to hurt you on purpose” you ramble “I made this for you” you hand him the small box

If you were anyone else percy would’ve hated getting a present with a pink bow on top, but since it was you he could never hate it

“as much as I love you giving me a gift… why are you giving me this?”

“I felt bad about the other day, you deserve more than just an apology”

percy was trying to act chill about this but it was you! the most gorgeous girl at camp- but if you asked percy he would’ve said in the universe.

and you were standing in with him in front of his cabin giving him a gift, looking at him with a loving look!! he swore his heart was about to explode out of his chest any moment

but besides his heartbeat, his face was adorned with a bright red hue “thank you” he tries to fight a wide grin, he didn’t want to appear as a lovesick fool (although the was)

“you’re welcome” you smile and plant a kiss on his red cheek “will I see you later?”

“yes! yeah, definitely, of course” he stumbles over his words

“great! you can come to my cabin after dinner, I’ll see you then!” you kiss his other cheek before giggling and skipping your way to the dining pavilion

💌

at dinner percy couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. how could he? that can’t be possible! you looked beautiful laughing with your siblings, and the sound of your laugh oh gods, it was oxygen to him, truly.

and your smile? don’t even get him started because he’ll never finish, he could go on about your smile for eternity

your voice? as soft as a newly washed blanket, he wanted your voice injected in his veins if that was even possible, which he was sure it wasn’t, but if there was a way he would do it

and over at aphrodite cabin you snuck glances over at percy whenever you could (which was whenever your siblings weren’t looking, they would tease you forever)

however every time you looked over his eyes were already on you, then you would both look away quickly trying to pretend you never made eye contact, but you both knew you did

the same way you both knew that tonight you would’ve gave percy the kiss he had been longing for since he first saw you under the twinkling moonlight

[tarjapearce]

Chapter 9: Kindness blooms, but Don't be a Fool as It Also Kills

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Emotional distress, Angst, emotional breakdown, honest talks, mentions of meds, messy situations, sibling tension, more karma, no proofread, tense and Strained relationships, privacy invasion (I do not condone nor encourage toxic relationships ~)

Summary: Miguel reaches his lowest.

A/N: Enjoy :'D. Feedback and reblogs are always welcomed :'). fixing the tags cause tumblr wont let me tag. Ugh.

If Miguel could spit at the skies and they to remain soiled with his anger, he would. And he'd spit the many times he saw it fit for the universe to understand, how little and irrelevant it's influence was on his life.

How disdainful and unimportant it's warnings were, even if everything around him shook and crumbled. Everything had taken a sour turn, and not precisely for improvement or good.

And today's cherry on his Frankenstein of cake his life resumed in, was him being asked to supervise interns, while the rest worked in what he considered the important things, such as going for a new project that would take the Research Department to a whole new level of prestige.

But there he was, acting like a reluctant babysitter of freshly turned adults that played scientists. Irked to no end with their whiny antics and stupid questions a soon to be professional, shouldn't be asking. But his glare was enough to keep their yapping and constant complaining at bay.

Not only was he not considered for such important position within the Alchemax hierarchy, but was now reduced to a mere service worker.

If Aaron thought it was a good idea to start a project today, he was the one assigned to get the documentation ready, and left the rest with the researchs. He was left with the leftovers from others. Scraps of work that barely had anything substantial or worth rescuing.

Miguel could see Aaron Delgado gathering up the team, and instructing them into what he presumed an inevitable failure. Delgado's data was wrong, he could tell by the obvious errors in the numbers.

Mistakes that would never happen under his watch. But since the chairmen had decided to not give him what he yearned for, and had righteously earned, he'd sit back and watch the chaos slowly making a show out of the new manager's idiocy. He'd wait for them to reach for him and fix it all. Like most of the times.

His nose flared with a renewed wave of anger as Aaron closed the curtains of the meeting room, leaving him out completely from whatever happened inside. Reserved for the team's eyes only.

Another perfectly timed laugh from the youngsters at his supervision made his skin awash with anger. He was sure it was the universe laughing at him.

And whether he liked it or no, he'd listen. The universe always made sure those it had in sight to do so. But all he could listen was one of the interns talking sickly sweet to a baby and a cold crawl ran down his spine.

The way the child laughed, giggled, and overall reacted towards the woman's voice made his stomach revolt both in discomfort and uneasiness.

The word baby and everything related to it was a taboo saying within his vocabulary and life. He had no time for a child, and he was sure you neither but there you were, keeping it for whatever reasons he truly couldn't care less about.

However, a little, tiny bit of his brain remembered that he hadn't seen you in your receptionist spot for the past two days. He typed in your name in the computer's data, he could find you in the collaborators sections, a perk only people like him earned to have a more direct access and communication through the company.

And within seconds, your data showed up to him. Alchemax had a strict policy over data transparency, everything for the sake of not repeating a hijack in the servers. A millions of dollars mistake that costed alot of credibility from the company and their echos still resonated through. But it was the perfect chance for Miguel to get your data.

It surely was the way you had also acquired his number.

We're even then

If his eyes could scoff, he would, the name of your neighborhood sounded too fitting for someone your level and income.

982  Emerald Oaks, Brook Row Avenue, Nueva York, NY 0413.

Which led him to another conundrum. How would you keep the baby with a shitty ass salary like that? He didn't know, and again, didn't care. You weren't his problem anymore. Matter of fact, you've never been.

He could do so many things with that information, but all he did was to take a long, good look to then close the tab in the Alchemax's browser and focus on a way to make his current mood less sour while hearing the laughs and praise coming from the meeting room he wasn't invited over.

And when time to clock out arrived, he wasted no time and went home, after doing a stop on a convenience store to get drinks and whiskey to replenish the missing beers he'd been consuming lately.

Drinking wasn't a habit he liked to indulge, but the bitter taste was too good to let go yet. And it felt heavenly as it burned in his throat, specially when he was stressed.  Without knowing, he was retaking those old habits he had to abandon if he wanted to keep Dana by his side.

She didn't like when he drank too often,  sparsely or at all. His lips tasted too bitter to kiss, and back then, he had a bit more of decency to actually care for his partner's needs and demands.

But who would stop him now? Who would tell him no? It had been a good riddance, right?

Dana was no longer pestering him, and one of his most frequent question that showed up uninvited in his mind, after every fight they had, finally got answered.

Was Dana the woman for him?

No. He truly though he could overlook past some things, or get used to her antics eventually, but in truth, he had only managed to tolerate some of it. The cheating fiasco had been a great window to see the true temper on both sides.

Messed up as it was, his heart beat with relief in it. He knew it was incredibly fucked up to get to that boiling point for him to get rid of her. But the petty in him always managed to make it to his head and convince his consciousness, that it was better that way.

That he was fine on his own. Like he's always been. He didn't need anyone, he didn't need people nagging and telling him what was right and what was wrong, and then give him shit after his decisions. He didn't need people acting like the moral compass he was obviously lacking. And now that a bit of peace and quietness returned to him, he'd seize every single moment of it.

And what a better way to do so than having his own personal party at his apartment?

He took his keys and turned the lock, the ever quiet and dark place welcomed him. There was no longer that sweet yet annoying voice of Dana trailing behind him, asking him what's for dinner, or them having a micro argument about what to eat and whose cooking turn was. Just plain old silence he broke with the tinkering of his keys.

Miguel placed the bottle of whiskey and the carefully packed six pack of cold and sweaty Modelos in the counter, but their coldness made the base of the package wet and soiled, and it didn't help he held them by the upper cardboard handle. The base had been soaked, making the thin packaging to break with the bottle's weight.

"No, no, no!" He groaned as one by one slipped through his fingers and crashed on the floor. Sending glass shrapnels and beer all over the wooden floor, under a foamy and yeast, sour-ish smelling puddle.

"Fuck!"

Not a single one was left and his whiskey bottle remained on the counter. He quickly pushed it a bit further in the middle to avoid it slipping and breaking too.

With a disgruntled groan he walked to fetch up the broom, the garbage collector and the mop and cleaned up, as curses flew out of his mouth. 

A glass dared to nick up his skin as he picked up the bigger glass shards.

"Puta madre..." He kicked the glass away and picked everything, carefully this time and put it in the trash. Then washed up the injured finger under the sink's cold water. A little fading red streak slipped into the hole.

Much to his already blazing frustration, when he opened the compartment that served as a first aid kit on the bathroom, it was barren. Nothingness welcomed him with an exception of a blue expired bottle of pain killers.

Not that he needed medication as soon as possible, but his antics at the lab had been too rooted to overlook hygiene and little emergencies like these. He didn't have bandaids, neither alcohol and his beers were soaked up by the musty smelling mop.

A vexed growl rumbled through his chest as he finished washing his finger. The transversal small but deep cut glared mockingly at him, as if daring to bleed all over him again. An angry huff flew out of his nostrils and quickly grabbed the keys to his car.

A thousand fucks flew out of his mouth. If he had a cursing tab, Miguel's would cover it for the next few months.

First the lowering of his relevance on his job, removing him from the protagonism and diligence his work as a scientist demanded, thanks to a man that did nothing but to boast about his position on a daily basis and have nothing truly done. Then, his beers.

The only entertainment he had available since the cable and internet company never reached out to him through the week, and the only thing he truly wanted and needed at the moment, to sate the choking urge to throw a rage fit against Aaron's office.

So he went out again to get to the closest convenient store and once more, to replenish. But they didn't have Modelos. Just the generic brands the citizens of Nueva York consumed and his palate didn't react too well to, except for german  brands.

Traffic had been outrageously terrible due a crash, thanks to the rain, and he had to take a detour through other less privileged areas but nice enough to not be mistaken as slums, but in every turn he made, the waiting stretched over a good hour. Sending his cortisol levels skyrocketing.

It didn't help that by every half hour he waited, he drank a beer.Until they got too warm and disgusting to be consumed. His system buzzed with the slow stupor creeping through his veins, lowering his alert towards his surroundings.

And when he turned into a street full of reinassance revival styled rowhouses, the sudden bump and slippery street made his senses panic as he lost control of the steering wheel for a moment that felt like forever as it all played in slow motion before his eyes.

A naughty and wandering sharp stone had dared to find a home between the rubber stripes of his car's tire. Sinking deep enough to pierce the outer layer and the inner  lining when he turned in the apartment complex's street, sending the tire to let out all the air in loud and rough shaking drift.

If the beers weren't enough, his car being added to the list of unfortunate yet well deserved events, was the cherry ontop.

"Shit!"

He collided against a very familiar looking car with a heavy thunk. A little grey Fiat 500 parked underneath the main stairs, in a reserved spot that read 1C, now squished between the wall and Miguel's car.

"What the fuck, man?!" A neighbor approaching with his car yelled as the other spot awaited for him to be occupied. The commotion and the little car's alarm blaring with all its might, and the neighbors awake.

Some looked through the windows, peeping through the screens to see who and what was the week's idiot and mess.

"Cállate, pendejo! " Miguel half yelled, half slurred as he tried to gain control once again on his senses.

The smell of pines and carne asada wafted through the air, flooding his lungs almost forcefully.

His eyes blinked furiously as he shook his heavy head slowly. His hand reached for the opening, annoyed to not getting it the first few times, to try and pry open the door and step out. He tripped on his own feet clumsily but quickly caught himself in the door's arch.

Some neighbors were bold enough to take a more unabashed look and opened their windows and take a better panoramic of the drama unfolding before their curious and derisive eyes.

Just when Miguel thought the little and dollhouse looking car had stopped wailing, the slam on his own door sent another annoyingly loud wave of alarms, blasting his ears in a messy, acute and horrid symphony, with lights and upset neighbors included.

Each light kept getting brighter and brighter, to the point of revolting his stomach. His eyes blinded with every auriferous and blazing flashes, the little but powerful car dazzled him with. Everything around him spun so fast, his head barely had time to register his falling against the stairs, while he tried to climb them among their unsteadiness.

His gaze reached a final time towards the entrance. The bright and dull golden serif letters etched to the wall with the inscription Emerald Oaks, welcomed him, as darkness swallowed him whole.

The day's events had left you completely quanked, devoid of any energy. All of it had gone into the search of information regarding adoption programs in your local area, errands and to top it off, the landlord had the brightest idea of considering increasing rent to get some renovations done.

Or at least that most recent meeting was about. To your discomfort he kept looking  between you and your swollen baby bump, and gave you little smirks, resembling a pubescent whenever the word penis was brought into the conversation.

The hell he kept looking at? Haven't he seen a pregnant woman before?

Huffing, you had just returned from the little bodega around the block to get yourself a deli. The smell had been too great to ignore and your hunger had skyrocketed in matter of seconds.

And like a bee attracted to the pollen, you followed the smell like a hungry hound, and bought not one but two sandwiches, not proud of the money spent, but happy to get your first ever craving sated. And knowing you could still afford it, filled up your chest with a good and healthy dose of pride and hope.

Pride because you didn't relied on others and MJ to get food, and hope because so far you had done good on your own. The fear of uncertainty still remained, undoubtedly, but these little victories was something not even the past's ghost could ruin with their wretched and unwanted childhood memories.

And so far, the baby hadn't given you any troubles. Just pure hunger and some hot flashes through the day. But right now, all you cared for was the toasty and aluminum foil wrapped, warm goodness between your hands, staring inviting at you, ready to be sacrificed to your appetite, as your legs crossed underneath you in a more comfortable position.

Your mouth salivated and the first bite felt like heaven itself, even if your chin got smeared in the dressing. The second made your taste buds howl in delight, and the third nearly made you cry cause your belly fluttered. The thrill of enjoying something so simple almost made you giggle, and if it wasn't for the sudden commotion outside, you'd finish it all up in other few bites.

A loud knock interrupted your sandwich devouring, with a tired sigh and a quick clean on your chin, you approached the door. Your name being called with that annoying voice you've been hearing for the past couple of hours in such an urgent voice, made your unease to rise.

It didn't help the noise outside, sounded like someone was arguing, after all a bit of everything inhabited your building. If it wasn't the constant sexual noises coming from your neighbors upstairs or next door, it'd be the loud music from the car workshops nearby, or the cute but irking barking from the Pomeranian your front neighbor had.

Waddling through the living room, you opened the door.

"Your car's the Fiat, right?"

Shit.

You didn't even closed the door as you bolted out, the landlord tailing after you, calling your name and telling you to be careful as you came down the little group of stairs.

Goddammit, I just fixed it!

As soon as you opened the door, a cold gust of perfumed wind hit your face, revolting your stomach in a go.

All the thrill from eating and having your cravings sated, we're completely gone as you retched on the trash can. The perfume had been too pungent for your nose to tolerate, and just when you wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your sweater is where you acknowledged the disturbing sight before you.

None other than Miguel, on the stairs, slumped against the pillar, half conscious, mumbling and slurring things in spanish with leaden-lidded eyes. But what sent another wave of stress almost drowning you, was his car, squishing yours against the wall of the parking lot.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me!"

Assessing the damage wasn't easy, not when his bumper squashed your car's tailgate and the hood had protruded in a bump. And when you stepped closer and passed his side of the car, the smell of beers had your stomach churning.

You had to cover your nose before taking a quick peek inside the cabin of his car. Broken beers in the front seats, and a jacket soaked with them. His car was still on.

You didn't know if to be angered, crying or having the landlord giving you a baseball bat so you could beat his car properly to finish what he started. A few tears did escaped your horrified eyes and another neighbor approached while you wiped them.

"You alright? Saw him crash your car and then he got out his car all pissed off."

With a sigh, you turned off his car and took the keys, then slammed his door and approached him.

"Miguel." You called and he grunted

"Do you want me to call the police?" Your neighbor asked but you shook your head.

Although it was the right and the most logic thing thing to do, your head felt spinning and your heart beating awfully fast, pumping adrenaline through your veins, with a chip of anger.

"Wake the fuck up, you pompous drunk jerk! You fucking crashed my car!"

Even in his sleep his disdain took a hold of him, marring his handsome features with a frown. Like if he glared to Morpheus for simply doing his job, but you refused to have it. It had been enough on his intimidation, his sharp words, his constant presence in your life, ruining whatever happy moment you rightfully earned through tears and sweat.

You were no longer hungry, rather crying out of anger as you tried to wake him up.

"Wake up!"

"Como chingas, Dana..." (You're such a pain in the ass) He grumbled as he incorporated properly on the cool concrete little wall, and gazed with annoyance your way, "What?"

If it wasn't for the fact you were already feeling warm out of anger, and your stomach fluttered with even more strenght, you'd definitely slap him for mistaking you with Dana.

"The hell you mean, what?! You. Crashed. My. Car!"

His eyes rolled and his nose huffed. Much to your dismay, some neighbors kept on their windows, watching the free and live entertainment you both gave them.

"I knew it was money you wanted..."

"Jesus christ, you're-" Your voice broke and his eyes tore away from you and your swollen belly.

"You're one of the most awful, self centered, selfish and arrogant person I've ever met. I literally hadmy car fixed two months ago you asshole! What on earth is wrong with you?!"

Even in your broken voice, true anger bloomed through.

You heard some cheering from one of the female neighbors in the second floor, others laughed at Miguel unabashedly. The man that had offered to call the police was gone as soon as you told him no. Cause what would be the use of it? Miguel would probably take matters in his own hands and he'd do something.

You didn't need any of his rotten heart right now, you wanted peace or at least a bit of it since he refused to stop screwing you over.

But a big and important question popped in your mind.

How did he find me?

"You! You're... everything wrong. Everything." he hissed through clenched and dragged words

He standing up with staggering steps made your attention snap at him warily. His eyes set on you in that ever familiar dirty look you've grown to face and return with the same intensity.

But it disappeared as soon as he folded over his car and retched onto his car's hood, emptying the discomfort but it also made you queasy and giddy. The smell too invasive in your nostrils. You turned away with a soured face by disgust, while trying to keep the nauseas at bay. The neighbors had had enough of it as soon as they saw Miguel qualming ontop of his car.

"You've..."He coughed and spat," You've ruined my life." He wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his leather jacket, smearing some of his bile on it.

Your lid twitched and a deep breath had to be taken before the sudden fantasy of kicking him down the stairs came true. You wiped your eyes and crossed your arms. The night's wind always grew colder, like the glare he kept seizing you with. But this had been enough.

"Fuck you. I'm calling the police."

"Everyone!" He mumbled loud enough for you to hear in between hiccups. It had been years since he drank this much, "Everyone is giving me shit whenever they find out I..."

"Hide your fuck ups better next time, then!" Tired of the conversation, you turned around and climbed a few steps, but he quickly took a grab of your wrist, holding you still. But unlike that time at the parking lot, the viciousness lacked.

"Let me go, Miguel." You warned and he frowned lazily.

"No sabes el coraje que me das! Y sólo te me quedas viendo con... " he hiccuped as his steps took a bit more of balance as he slurred while leaning into your personal space, his beer breath still remained on him, clutching his dazed brain, "Esosojotes..."   (You don't know how angry you make me. And you just stare at me with those big eyes of yours)

"I seriously can't believe I'm arguing with a drunkard. You know what?, You've screwed me enough." You broke the hold with a forceful yank but he followed you, even if that meant to half crawl the stairs to get to you.

"I've screwed you enough?!"

The audacity he had to play the victim never ceased to amaze you, and it also terrified you to no end, and still, you baited into his game, tired of the same blaming tango he refused to abandon yet and always kept dragging you in. It kind of surprised you his level of alcohol tolerance. Despite his body escaping his usual and collected control, his mouth was still wired to his brain.

Spilling coherent nonsense your way.

"Not enough apparently! What's gonna be next time, huh? Sneaking into my apartment to menace me to abort your daughter?!"

Daughter.

The word had sobered him up enough to stop with his antics and listen through buzzing ears. Your steps echoing in the distance snapped him out of his stupor.

As steadfast as he could, he tried to get a hold of you once again, but only managed to spook you even further.

Many people around you mistook the fight as another couple quarrel and gave the stumbling six foot, seven inches man, room as he followed you into your apartment. Like a drunk and lost dog.

If it wasn't for his big booted foot stepping through the door, you would've been able to shut the door in his face, your original plan. Yet even if you pushed and slammed the door against him with all his might, it barely ticked him, instead, he pushed through, invading your home with his unrequited presence.

"Get out!" Alarmed you tried to push him back through the door, but the adrenaline and mix of intense emotiones only got you running to your bathroom and retch. Unable to hold back the disgust his perfume and other smells caused in your body.

And this time they hit you full force. Holding your body hostage of the spinning nausea set into making you stop and focus on  the signals of distress you were going through.

Minutes felt like forever, and when the worst happened and calm returned, you washed your mouth and splashed some cool water into your sweaty and paling face.

Hunger had long gone abandoned you, in it's place exhaustion took the spot. Hell, you could even sleep in the bathroom if someone got you a pillow, cause you were too terrified to leave the spot.

You didn't know what was he capable of. And everything he had done so far was worthy of a visit to jail, undoubtedly. But again, the fear of him attempting something was greater than anything else.

Your hands tinkered with his car keys, staring at them like they'd give you the answers you needed.

A solid thud echoed in your living room along a glass shattering. Your hands covered your mouth for a second as panic grew in your head.

Fuck

You slid the keys through your hands, like you had seen so many times in those self defense videos, and stepped out the bathroom only to be yet again, disturbed at the sight displaying before you.

Miguel laid on your couch, snuggling your favorite lumbar support pillow as one of his hands covered his face. Like if he was protecting himself from the world.

If it wasn't for your nerves being on edge and your exhaustion creeping over, you'd definitely kick him out. But he seemed almost too peaceful to be woken up. So not him, like if another persona had taken his shape and slept, because even his trade mark scowl had left his face.

Rebellious dark and wavy locks sprawled all over his face, making a gorgeous mess out of him.

"I seriously can't believe you, out of everyone in this fucking earth, got me knocked up." 

You grumbled and closed the creaking door. Breathing was a wonderful technique to keep your nerves at bay, yet, him crashing on your car, making a scene out your building, nearly sending you into another panic attack and now passing out, wasted, in your couch was never the way you meant to end your day.

And to your already shitty luck, he had squashed your sandwiches. Rubbing your face, a logical thought crossed your mind.

He couldn't stay the night, you couldn't risk it.

And as marcid your body was, you needed to reach out to someone to pick him up. With a couple of wary looks, and inner curses for what you were about to do, you stepped closer.

"Miguel?" You called, but only got a loud breathing and snore in return.

Fucking idiot...

With wary and silent steps you came closer, foraying into the enemy's territory looking for his phone.

Thankfully, you didn't have to look or touch too much as it peeked out of the jacket's pocket.

Your fingers slid inside with the utmost care you could muster to not wake him up, to your surprise it was unlocked. The misconception of him having an alphanumeric password or some complex lock was erased, and within a few taps, you were already in his awfully short contact list.

If you saw twenty people, you'd say it was too much. For a brief of second you paid attention to all the names in them. But Gabriel and Connie O'Hara stood the most for you. And given the picture in the contact, a lot like him yet incredibly different, you assumed it was his brother.

Hopefully he isn't an ass too.

The first few calls went directly into his voice mail, and after the fifth attempt you simply left a voicemail.

"Uhm... Hello? Uh, we don't know eachother, but I thought on letting you know that your brother... I think? Uh, Miguel; passed out in my couch after crashing into my car. Im genuinely terrified, could you please come pick him up before I call the police? Thanks in advance."

A weak laugh echoed through his phone while you left the message with your name in it. And to finish it all, you sent Gabriel a picture of the buffoon he had for an eldest brother, completely passed out and sprawled all over your couch. The seen mark appeared almost right away, but no interaction came your way.

Carefully, you placed the phone in the coffee table and went to your room, locking the doors and placing a couple of hefty things behind it, his car keys still on your hand. And even if your nerves told you to not sleep, today's events and  the hormones in your body demanded rest. So you slept. Or at least, attempted to.

The blazing and golden sunshines seeped through the window cracks and chose his face as the perfect nesting spot.

Conciousness slowly returned to his senses. The first thing he did was to turn around, so the sun could burn his nape instead. The second in coming to life was his smell, tickled by the delicious scent of that vital liquid sometimes Dana and even Peter questioned if it was good to drink that much and the faint smell of dry vomit.

His mouth sour, like he had swallowed a tall glass of ash diluted in water, there wasn't any further noises than the tinkering of pots and spoons scrapping a mug's bottom.

He bolted awake to finally let the rest of his senses to awaken on his own with a powerful and pounding headache.

"Fuck" He rubbed his eyes, removing the gunk from the corner of his eyes and sitting on the couch properly. In a sudden frenzied state, he palmed himself, looking for his keys and phone. His breath almost stopped when seeing only the phone, forgotten on the coffee table along a steamy cup of freshly brewed coffee. His brows knitted together.

His eyes raked over the place, cozy, minimal furnace that accomplished their purpose of filling up spaces, but curiously, no family or childhood pictures. Or anything personal that dictated a young woman lived in the space,  excepting of the plush and purple long 'u' shaped pillow he was holding.

His eyes darted over the counter and met your form. Dressed up in a lavender colored sweater, rolled up to your sleeves as you washed some dirty dishes, too into the task to notice he had awaken.

His eyes once again raked over the space and found a couple of sheets ontop with a known medical hospital logo and by the type of printing, he knew it was a bill shaped format, along some prescriptions he couldn't read properly. Unless he stood and approached.

But that was out of the question. Uncomfortable as it was, he didn't want to aggravate even further his situation. He barely remembered last night and the events that led him to his current predicament.

Carefully, and without tearing his gaze from your back, he took the cup and sipped the much needed energy shot. It didn't help that much his headache, but at least the initial discomfort subsided a bit.

His wandering gaze took in as much as it could from your home. Not a looker, an average place fit for someone like you, yet you had found your way to make it cozy. And when his eyes finally stopped invading, they focused on the little white little pill bottle with the Zoloft name written on it and some vitamins and folic acid.

His brow quirked as he kept sipping from the cup.

He knew some meds helped through, but never dwelled into pregnant women needing them.

Daughter

He blinked as the memory replayed with full force on his brain. Like it was the only one his brain decided to save from the formatting.

It was a girl. He was the father of a girl.

The coffee tasted a bit too sweet for a moment and the tinkering of the cup making contact, alerted you. His gaze collided with yours, but you quickly tore the contact.

You pat dried your hands and put the dishware away. Neither of you dared to break the comfortable silence.

You took a bagel, and smeared it with jam and cream cheese as his eyes drilled holes into your back.

You looked so mundane, so quiet, pretty even until the baby bump peeked out from the sweater. You looked overall healthy, and despite the Zoloft bottle, you didn't look ill. Or deranged. Why did you take them then? More importantly, why weren't you yelling?

He didn't need unnecessary questions popping in his mind, much less now his brain was processing so many things at once.

He made a girl, with you. You took Zoloft. A med he heard a couple of times was for depression, ptsd, panic disorders and many other things, and he was in your couch, rested, yet with a pounding headache.

Sighing he searched his pockets and panic crossed his features again upon not finding his keys, and when you watched him, he froze like a deer caught in the headlights. Heart beat a mile per second.

"If you're looking for the keys, I have them. But I'll give them to your brother. He's on the way."

He didn't know whether he should be alarmed or angry at the implication of your words. And hypocritical as it was, he wasn't fond of  someone snooping around in his things, much less to drag others in his problems.

"Come again?" he rasped and cleared his throat.

"Your brother is coming. I called him." Your tone wasn't kind, but neither filled with malice, you simply were done of it.

"Why would you do that?"

"Why he says..." With a shake of your head you turned to face him completely, still remaining from across the room.

"Let's see, you were drunk and crashed my car, then you made a scene before the whole building, and" You pointed at the soiled sleeve, full of dressing and smeared in sandwich leftovers and he groaned, annoyed while wiping it out, "You ruined my dinner, and crashed in my place, after trespassing private property. Should I keep going?"

His head hung, not because of the shameful list spilling out yout mouth, but the intense dull pain moving to the back of his skull.

"I should call the police on you. Cause I'm done! Like... I'm not even... I can't stress myself and go to the hospital again for another emergency."

Emergency?

His ears perked up and his eyes discreetly returned to the medical bill and then the Zoloft, making two and two until something clicked on his mind.

Shit.

He didn't know what was worse, if him crashing in your place and so many things that undoubtedly increased his negative tab to the top, or you being devoid of all anger and derision, like every time you both buttheaded eachother with.

"Why aren't you yelling?" Stupid as the question was, curiosity on his side couldn't be contained.

"Cause it won't change the shitty person you are, me being pregnant, and it'll only stress me out. I can't get stressed. Not like this, and not again. And again, I'm done."

Your lungs heaved and he listened. Cause what else could he say besides a half assed apology on his end?

His hands rubbed on his face then his arms crossed on his chest, waiting for the other half of the lecture by Gabriel.

" You said it was a girl." He mumbled through careful mumble.

Your stare remained on him, scrutinizing, and surprised he remembered that specific part of the conversation. You tested your next words, instead only a nod came out of your head.

There was something stirring within, not quite pinpointing what exactly, but knowing his mistake took shape of a girl, made it a thousand times even more confusing and scary.

And if it wasn't enough, the realization came crashing in his brain like a violent epiphany.

It was a girl. A little baby girl.

No.

His eyes hardened and you sighed, not really expecting a major reaction or anything anyway. Just wished time flew faster so his brother could take him out and you could finally rest.

"I need my car fixed."

"When did you find out it's a girl?" His mouth sputtered, still not used to having it loose and running on it's own.

"Now you care, because?" You frowned, conflicted he showed a chip of interest, but he had lost all right to her or anything related to his child by choice.

He scoffed and leaned back against the couch, and the door echoed with firm yet polite knocks. Another wave of anxiety washed over as you approached the door.

And if it wasn't for the goggles ontop of his head, his green eyes, a healing black eye, the dash of freckles on his nose and cheeks, his height and dark auburn hair, you'd think you'd be looking to a younger version of Miguel.

His eyes immediately shifted from you to a kicked-dog looking Miguel, sitting on the couch. Unable to hold his stare, and that only made narrow his green eyes with something you could only interpret as silent rage. And to be his younger brother, he surely acted like the eldest.

"Miss... Primrose, right?"

You nodded and opened the door wider for him to enter. He did after excusing himself, a stark contrast from the aggressive clown his brother had been last night, pushing in and trespassing. Simple as that.

His eyes naturally seized you with curiosity and a bit of apprehension as soon as your baby bump came into view. Gabriel looked concerned for a minute.

"I'm deeply sorry for the troubles my..." The words felt too shaming to come out of his mouth, "That asshole has been causing you lately."

You gave Gabriel a polite smile to then fetch Miguel car's keys and surrendered them to him.

"I won't call the police-"

"Although you should, I appreciate it. Him getting you pregnant and acting like he's not gonna be a father is enough to deal with already."

You couldn't help but let out an awkward smile. Gabriel refused to look at Miguel's eyes, cause he knew that if he did, another fight would ensue. And your overall body language was guarded and exhausted.

"A neighbor of mines offered me, but I don't want any further troubles. My doctor said I can't have stressful environments. And in truth, sorry if this sounds too rude, but I don't want anything to do with you. I just need my car fixed and that would be it."

How could Gabriel argue against that? Unlike Miguel, his face was reddening with shame. He could only nod, understanding your dire need of space and zero contact from either. Even if Gabriel seemed the total opposite of his brother.

"Do you know an estimated of expenses?" Gabriel tucked hid hands inside his pants. His jaw clenched for a moment.

"Unfortunately I think I'll have to ask. The tailgate is squished and the hood is lifted, so... I truly don't know."

"Let's do something, I'll leave you my number and a personal reference of my mechanic. Take your car there and I'll handle it."

"That's perfect, thanks."

"Right. Again, I'm sorry. And I apologize cause I know he won't do it , or won't mean it. And unlike him, I'm terribly embarrassed it had to come to this. He didn't injured you, right?"

"Not physically."

Gabriel rubbed his face, trying to hold it together and not let his Irish temper win again. But all of this, Miguel's actions, the way he still refused to do something, was all too maddening and infuriating to control his words.

"Hey asshole. Move it." Gabriel nearly barked, as he came to the door. Miguel stood as he took the nearly empty cup and placed it on your counter. They could argue all they wanted, but right now Gabriel's priorities were to leave you be. Your voicemail had disturbed him completely.

Humiliated, like a teenager found out on drugs by overly strict and protective parents, he followed Gabriel before giving you a last look your way, eyes remaining for a bit too long on your belly and finally, he closed the door, reluctant and a tad unsure of approaching the mayhem he always left in his wake.

Taglist:

@death-moth-art @miss-taura @xylianasblog @serpentstarr @randomnobody187  @xylianasblog  @aockskcw @lauraolar14 @what-is-your-wish @oharasfilipinawife @jellyboob @aockskcw @innyxp @smartyren @creepyronix @serpentstarr @randomnobody187   @8xbygirl   @del-ightfulling @iytatsworld @moonzuzuu @huehuehuehuehehe @ryk-mt @deputy-videogamer @sizeablysized @kate-ohara @stealyourblorbos @beingdeluluisthesolulu @death-moth-art @obsessedwithromance @crybabiixo @spiderpapi2099 @tremendouswolfsaladranch @cherrycosmos392 @sbrn0905 @xylianasblog   @elgatofx @eepiebeepie @vonev @tatatida @freehentai @scaryplanetdestroyer @minalovesyoubabes @emeloyy @migueloharastruelove @jdbxws @m4dyy @nyxzoldyck6 @fruitychae @francesca-the-1st @siidmm @ana-paulinathe-arts @artyanimi @frompeach @innyxp @miss-canon-event @plumplum2099 @iwannagutyou

[otaku553]

omg pjsk fan?? whats your fav song (chart-wise) and fav character??? maybe fav band if you have one?

Piano forte scandal is the only one of these that I’ve full combo’d and I specifically enjoy it a lot because it’s a lot of very consistent tapping with minimal sliders and flicks I think. Honestly feel like it should be a 29 for now nice it is

Jinsei is just fun for some reason? The slow portion is almost always a combo killer but the fast tapping portions have some very nice satisfying patterns. Closest I’ve come to FCing is 2 misses I think

Invisible is difficult but it’s also a song I used to listen to a lot so some of the patterns just come intuitively with that lmao. Also the beginning part is fun.

I have sooooo many more favorites I’ve been a vocaloid fan since like,, middle school so I know a lot of the songs. But these are the ones I’m most actively trying to clear rn probably

Past this point I’m just going to be rambling so here we go:

I’m very bad at picking favorites but if I had to say favorite character, probably Rui? I can probably write an essay on it but I enjoy how his dynamic with the group has developed and how despite how he comes across at first as a crazy genius type he’s actually incredibly considerate of safety and his group’s wellbeing. He strikes an excellent middle ground between characters in excitement and the creativity born from that as well as rationality and knowing when to tone things down

And then for favorite band, I honestly Cannot Choose between wondershow and n25. Wondershow is excellently well-balanced and I can see clear dynamics and foils in pretty much every possible pairing or trio in the group, as well as in the group as a whole. They’re very good also at balancing humor and angst along with plenty of character development— I’ve heard people cite emu as a weak point in the group but honestly emu holds quite strong as her own character with the dreamers event and her ambitions/motivations and traumas!

And nightcord, though focusing really strongly on Mafuyu, is also pretty excellently written imo. It doesn’t seem like it at first I think with the main storyline and the sort of “oh no she’s going off to produce her own music because she wants to be alone” sort of thing and they sort of are a bit cheesy about their depiction of mafuyu’s depression at time but the events have really fleshed out her conflict very well. I think what gets me about nightcord is that their later depiction of the relationship between mafuyu and her mother is scarily realistic, all the way down to the manipulation tactics her mother uses against her to make her decisions seem like her own choice and not something her mother has railroaded her into. It’s the way that mafuyu’s mother seems to never do anything out of malice, but out of a genuine desire for her daughter to grow up successful and satisfied with her life, while her daughter never pushes back because she’s been conditioned to never do so since childhood, so her mother never gets that crucial feedback to stop pushing, eventually breaking mafuyu in the process.

Idk I wasn’t a big fan of their early writing for mafuyu but they’ve built her up to the point that she is scarily relatable in how she’s grown up to become lost and directionless and you just can’t help but root for their friend group and hope that the support system they’re building for mafuyu works out. I think that really is what project sekai’s writing excels in: making friend groups that have realistic dynamics and that act as strong support systems. It’s kind of therapeutic to watch them interact with each other and help each other out

[saintmaryoliver]

"suffering doesn't make people good, it just makes them suffer"

[snekdood]

im not gonna act like its as severe as hindutvas make it out to be but if you deny hinduphobia exists you're just a dumbass i think

[ultimategirldad]

[ID: screenshot from the spamton sweepstakes page, featuring a caption from the engraved wristwatch prize. It says "NEED PROOF? THERE LIES THE NAME OF THE [angel with the tattered wings]!". End ID]

So I think regarding this page. It's interesting to contextualise it with the text preceding it - especially the angel with the tattered wings part. 

I don’t think we’ve ever seen Noelle Holiday described like this before and it’s absolutely fascinating to me.

[mantisgodsdomain]

"oh, yeah," we think, "we could probably cross this over into Li nked Uni verse if we actually draw out the canon for long enough, smacking different versions of the same character into each other is always fun especially when it has the potential for massive cultural differences and shit like running into things where the thing that has been forgotten has significance beyond the things that are remembered. Hey, we should probably check the comic in order to comply with the six-month rule, we don't think we ever finished-"

We return from the reference images. We have remembered why we didn't finish looking into the base comic.

[britneyshakespeare]

Another Thing Wrong With The Former Gifted Kid Discourse, Since I Can't Stop Thinking About It:

people have such an unhelpful tendency to universalize their own experience when talking about the plights and struggles about Gifted Kids™—and what they are talking about is not necessarily invalid, but they're more often talking about their individual responses to their particular schools' policies. This Is Not A Systemic Analysis. it's helpful; i sympathize with you. But You Are Not Dismantling The Inequities by saying this or that happened At Your School when you were a child, and it affected you this or that way because of Who You Are.

example. i always see people talking about neurodivergence in this conversation, which is actually helpful in spotlighting how the Gifted Kid discourse often glosses over such complex intersectional issues. you can talk about how you were Gifted & Neurodivergent and how those experiences lead you to future disappointment. this is, i must stress, valid. but your analysis of your own life Is Not A Systemic Analysis. your experience alone will never speak for how the educational system and trends in policy among schools across the united states affect ALL neurodivergent people negatively because there are neurodivergent people who are Different From You. not to mention that when people point out that very often "Gifted Kid" usually correlates with some degrees of privilege, people push back and go nooooo I'm neurodivergent. people across all other marginalized identities who are systemically disadvantaged by the educational system can be neurodivergent. this does not make you, initially, when you were as a young Kid determined to be Gifted, NOT also in fact privileged.

if you are not ready to discuss experiences that were different from your own growing up, you aren't really engaging in the discourse of how to improve public education in the united states. it's a diiii-verse country we live in. not only in the ways we traditionally think of. when we think of "marginalized" or "oppressed" people, some specific and historically significant groups come to mind. when it comes to advantages that set up a child for future educational success, these broad categories often leave gaps because they lead people to generalizations, and ultimately, fatalism.

but there's really so much hope in early childhood education if we were to make things more equitable, ie like i always say UNIVERSAL PRE-K. these kids who are determined as "gifted" more often than not were just from more enriched home environments that prepared them for learning how to read, write, and do math. it's often not special innate abilities that leads to differences in outcomes for different students, but That's How The Kids Interpret It When Some of Them Are Called "Gifted." they're more often than not, not doing something that's truly exceptional or precocious for their age. they're displaying signs of age-appropriate development, when often, the kids who may be lagging behind them skill-wise just Haven't Practiced Those Skills As Much.

so yes, that's why there's a correlation in things like upper- and middle-class white kids being seemingly more successful in school (and more commonly deemed "gifted") at a young age. it's from privilege. it's not even just the implicit biases of their educators already working in their favor for their race and class. it's the fact that being more privileged, generally, means their family and parents had all of their basic needs provided for. they had more time to read with you. they could buy more development-promoting toys. they probably had better mental health to cope with the demands of child-rearing. if they suffered chronic or sudden physical health issues, they were insured. privileged children are usually less exposed at a younger age to the harshnesses of this world, as every child should be. ALL of these little advantages build up, in terms of what a child can be provided with before they go to school. anything that's going wrong in a child's family system can negatively impact them without them even being old enough to understand it.

you may not think of yourself as Privileged. you might prefer to think of yourself as Gifted. Gifted is so nice, even if it's demoted to Former Gifted. at one point you were told you were superior and it felt really good. and You, reader, i do not know You. i'm not calling You privileged, even if you are! hell, everyone's privileged in some way. i am at the point in the post where for transparency's sake i think i should say I Could Be What Some People Call "Former Gifted". i was called smart as a kid and given special homework sometimes etc. i'm not calling any Former Gifted people stupid for not realizing this either. what i mean is that this kids Are Not Usually Actually Gifted. this is a compliment given overwhelmingly to children who were just simply not deprived. when people say they were once Gifted, they're more often than not saying I Had The Early Opportunities To Learn Everyone Should Have, But Doesn't. this doesn't make you an outlier. It Might Just Be A Sign of Privilege.

[mgs3dickeater]

ohh

[garbagequeer]

too many people being mad about whatever downfall of the human spirit or whatever and im always like man forget that shit it happened on twitter it's literally not real

[jakeperalta]

people on this website put too much emphasis on being the eldest/middle/youngest child

[emeryleewho]

I used to work for a trade book reviewer where I got paid to review people's books, and one of the rules of that review company is one that I think is just super useful to media analysis as a whole, and that is, we were told never to critique media for what it didn't do but only for what it did.

So, for instance, I couldn't say "this book didn't give its characters strong agency or goals". I instead had to say, "the characters in this book acted in ways that often felt misaligned with their characterization as if they were being pulled by the plot."

I think this is really important because a lot of "critiques" people give, if subverted to address what the book does instead of what it doesn't do, actually read pretty nonsensical. For instance, "none of the characters were unique" becomes "all of the characters read like other characters that exist in other media", which like... okay? That's not really a critique. It's just how fiction works. Or "none of the characters were likeable" becomes "all of the characters, at some point or another, did things that I found disagreeable or annoying" which is literally how every book works?

It also keeps you from holding a book to a standard it never sought to meet. "The world building in this book simply wasn't complex enough" becomes "The world building in this book was very simple", which, yes, good, that can actually be a good thing. Many books aspire to this. It's not actually a negative critique. Or "The stakes weren't very high and the climax didn't really offer any major plot twists or turns" becomes "The stakes were low and and the ending was quite predictable", which, if this is a cute romcom is exactly what I'm looking for.

Not to mention, I think this really helps to deconstruct a lot of the biases we carry into fiction. Characters not having strong agency isn't inherently bad. Characters who react to their surroundings can make a good story, so saying "the characters didn't have enough agency" is kind of weak, but when you flip it to say "the characters acted misaligned from their characterization" we can now see that the *real* problem here isn't that they lacked agency but that this lack of agency is inconsistent with the type of character that they are. a character this strong-willed *should* have more agency even if a weak-willed character might not.

So it's just a really simple way of framing the way I critique books that I think has really helped to show the difference between "this book is bad" and "this book didn't meet my personal preferences", but also, as someone talking about books, I think it helps give other people a clearer idea of what the book actually looks like so they can decide for themselves if it's worth their time.

Update: This is literally just a thought exercise to help you be more intentional with how you critique media. I'm not enforcing this as some divine rule that must be followed any time you have an opinion on fiction, and I'm definitely not saying that you have to structure every single sentence in a review to contain zero negative phrases. I'm just saying that I repurposed a rule we had at that specific reviewer to be a helpful tool to check myself when writing critiques now. If you don't want to use the tool, literally no one (especially not me) can or wants to force you to use it. As with all advice, it is a totally reasonable and normal thing to not have use for every piece of it that exists from random strangers on the internet. Use it to whatever extent it helps you or not at all.

[amandabe11man]

had the most insane dream about how Saw XI would go and it was so spectacularly bad that it reminded me of reading SNK's last chapter 😭 there was one cool part, but it was made pointless a couple minutes later

[foxxsong]

I get not understanding neopronouns. I totally understand if people with developmental or intellectual disorders need to avoid people that use them because they can't wrap their brain around them enough to use them right or find having to think about them long enough to use the right one, when they very literally are incapable of understanding, distressing. Competing access needs are a morally neutral thing that I will never judge anyone for.

But to go on to talk about how despite this you respect neopronouns EXCEPT (plain text: except) it/its? If you feel the need to clarify that you don't have an issue with most of them, but want to single people like me out specifically? Trauma is understandable, and I know people with those disorders are in particular susceptible to being referred to that way cruelly, but you can just... not mention us.

Literally everything they shared was FINE (plain: fine) up to that point. But singling us out and saying you'll never respect our pronouns specifically - when you could've just not mentioned us at all - does in fact make you an asshole. Having trauma and saying that people that identify with something that was used to hurt you means you don't have to respect them makes you an asshole. Just don't fucking mention us and avoid us like you JUST (plain: just) said you can do fine with every other neopronoun user. You do not have to sit there and list off all the reasons you will never respect us specifically!!

I/DD people have so many limitations that most people just refuse to try to understand and take seriously. If someone struggles to not talk badly about things they find upsetting or confusing because of having an I/DD then that's one thing. People upset by it can block and move on because harassing someone who cannot change is cruel. But you don't get to demonstrate and self-proclaim that you CAN (plain: can) respect and avoid and move on for other people and then turn around and go out of your way to single a specific group out and talk about how horrible their identity is and act like that's somehow acceptable.

Literally, just shut up and do not talk about us. We KNOW (plain: know) people hate our pronouns. We KNOW (plain: know) there are people who do not respect our choice to use them. We KNOW (plain: know) there are people who will just never call us by them no matter what. We don't need people fucking going out of their way to single us out while defending how they respect everyone else like us. That makes you an asshole.

[incognit0slut]

MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening���You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening. 

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.