#rough without depth perception

[themortaldraw]

failgirl maid that winks at you and pours tea all over the place

[reiderwriter]

Rumours

A/N: I'm back! I started this one literally in February and then got so distracted by my job I couldn't finish it. Employment is a curse.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Spencer is displeased about some rumours he hears about you around the office. Only the way he goes about confronting them is clumsy and downright maddening.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, misogyny, misunderstanding, Spencer is a dick for a while, violence (breaking glass etc.), penetrative sex, oral (F receiving), slapping, choking, anal fingering, general BDSM content, Dom!Spencer, sub!reader, breeding kink (tee hee), cock warming, almost exhibitionism?

Masterlist

It wasn't as if you'd made it your life's mission to be the most rumoured about person on your team at the FBI, but you weren't exactly doing anything to correct people's perception of you. Spencer may have been to jail, Emily may have faked her own death, and Luke's past was a big, fat question mark, but nothing caught the attention of the pencil pushers in the office than the string of broken hearts you'd ostensibly left behind you at Quantico.

At one point in time, you'd even promised yourself you wouldn't date anymore law enforcement officers, lawyers, detention officers or anyone even remotely adjacent, but life was short, and you had a decent appetite for a men with guns and badges. It was very convenient to say the least.

Convenient for everyone apart from Spencer Reid.

The FBI was a boys club, sure, but with all the women on your team, the most ridicule you got after a drunken escapade with a distant coworker was a few teasing remarks. The first few months on the team, you'd been able to date, fuck, and play freely without any judgement. And then Spencer Reid had come back from leave, and you suddenly began to doubt your bachelorette lifestyle.

Because fuck was he frustratingly territorial.

It wasn't as though he was interested in you. He was 13 years your senior, fresh from an FBI mandated leave of absence and false imprisonment, and absolutely used to being coddled by every member of the team. If the BAU was a family, he was absolutely the youngest child who'd returned home to find his parents had adopted a dog while he'd been gone to replace him with.

You were the dog.

Spencer took issue with your attitude, your work ethic, your professionally, and with the sheer amount of times he'd been approached by men asking for your number, home address, or if the rumors were true.

He was used to casual oversharing, of course, he'd worked with Penelope long enough to not be phased by much sexual talk. But everytime he stepped into the office - or specifically the offices male bathrooms - he'd end up stuck in the same conversational loop.

“I heard she can do this thing with her tongue…”

“... definitely likes it rough…”

“I could show her a good time…”

“....I'm definitely hitting that by the end of the year…”

He stewed in it for a few weeks before the cracks fully formed in his exterior professionalism. When he heard about how you'd definitely fucked every male member of your team, though, that's when he lost it.

“You need to be more careful,” he said one day, pulling you aside between cases in a rare private conversation.

“Oh, yeah, in the field I can definitely rush in-”

“No. You need to be more careful with men.”

The look on his face sent a flare of shame through your chest, as you found yourself suddenly out of your depth. You didn't know this man well enough for him to be giving you advice. Your body set to full alert, and your fight or flight was in full go, as he cornered you and continued.

“They talk about you in the bathrooms, and I would not like to repeat what they say, but-”

“I don't care what they say.”

“You should.”

You frowned again, as he continued, completely oblivious to your growing anger.

“You should, because now it's reflecting badly on the team, and-”

“The team? I'm sorry what had the team got to do with this?”

To his credit, Spencer at least managed to look uncomfortable after that. He was set on reprimanding you, fine, but you'd make sure he wouldn't try to get so personal again.

“They're saying that you've slept with a number of coworkers-”

“Why should I care if-”

“Including me.”

You managed a half laugh in his face as his frown deepened.

“Oh so this isn't about my reputation, it's about yours. I should be safer with men because I'm reflecting poorly on our golden boy?”

“That's not what I'm-”

“Don't worry, Spencer. I'm safe enough.”

You made sure to push past him as you walked away, and he'd not been quiet about his dislike of you ever since.

Every man on a case you interacted with got you a disapproving glare, a slight turned down lip, a questioning glance. It was like you were being watched constantly, and it felt horrendous.

It was almost worse when the knowing looks he sent you were spot on in their assumptions. If you spoke to a man you had been with, hooked up with, been on a date with, even simply flirted with for a while, you felt his eyes pricking you.

His gaze knew everything it needed to know, almost as if he'd been in the room watching you submit your body for pleasure.

You thought it would be better on cases, that he'd be focused on other things and not worry as much, but when your first case post-argument landed, it landed you uncomfortably close to your childhood home, and included a face from your past you'd hoped not to see again.

Having an ex boyfriend in the police department in the middle of nowhere Washington was helpful for the case, but on a personal level it sucked.

You managed five minutes of personal conversation before you felt his eyes on you.

“Beautiful, you're not paying attention to me anymore. And here I thought fate had sent you back into my life as a little gift for a job well done,” your ex had said, ducking in close to you at your makeshift desk but locking eyes with an approaching Spencer as he spoke.

“Y/N, can I have a word?” he asked, though his jaw was set, and his tone insistent.

“Professionally or privately?”

“Y/N,” he warned, his tone a bit lower as you rolled your eyes and stood, following him to a quiet interrogation room quickly.

“What's wrong with you this time?” you demand as soon as he has the door closed. “Panties in a twist?”

“We are on a case, Y/N. Please at least pretend to be a professional.”

“What? What am I doing that is so wrong?”

He fisted a hand in his hair quickly, closing his eyes as if it would drown out your arrogant tone.

“You can't be serious, Y/N, he was practically fucking you with his eyes in the middle of the precinct-”

“And that's a behaviour he needs to change, not me. What. Did. I. Do. Wrong?”

“What? What, you expect me to sit around here and wait for him to ask you if you can still do that thing with your tongue that makes him cum instantly? Want me to wait around for him to ask you if you're still as flexible as you were give years ago, while we have work to do?” He demanded, stepping so close you had to back up against the wall to avoid colliding with his incoming body.

“I bet you'd love to hear just about everything I can do Spencer, but if you're going to act like a jealous ass, maybe you should take a breather.”

“Jealous? You think I'm jealous?” he chuckled slightly, raising a hand slowly and pushing against the wall as he stepped, somehow, closet to you again.

“You're so obsessed with my personal life that-”

“Your personal life is not so personal when I have people asking me if I've also fucked you on a weekly basis-”

“You're being cruel. My sex life is none of your business, Spencer.”

“That's exactly what I'm trying to tell you. I'm glad we finally agree.”

He was so close you could practically taste his breath, and while your mind raged at his thoughtless words, your body wanted his to press his against it and say all of that one more time with his hand wrapped around your throat this time.

“Jackass,” you said, pushing against his chest and storming out of the room quickly, before you could make any other mistakes.

Part of you wanted to stick it to Spencer after that. Part of you wanted to do something to start an even bigger rumor, something to piss him off more, something that would get him angry and bring him closer to you somehow.

Another part aggravatingly agreed with him. Your behaviour, while nowhere near as promiscuous as half of the male staff, was judged twice as hard as anyone else's. You enjoyed sex, and you wanted to unashamedly keep enjoying sex, but every man you ran into recently had that look about them. Half judgement, half possession, like they were looking at goods to consume rather than a coworker. You weren't obtuse, but you'd allowed yourself to ignore it until Spencer made you face it, which only made you resent him more.

You stopped going on dates, stopped entertaining the men in the office when they flirted with you. You put your head down, and you worked, and it frustrated you to no end.

You ended up snappy in the office, short with every single coworker and not just Reid, who was also (inexplicably) short with you. You'd done what he'd asked, and he was still not satisfied.

Emily, sensing the tension, tried to ease the situation slightly, with a mandatory team dinner, volunteering Rossi for dinner duty.

“Welcome to Casa Del Rossi, keep your hands off the pasta until I serve it, and please do not ask about the wine unless you want to be talking about it all night.”

You felt slightly uncomfortable being forced to play happy families under the watchful eye of 5 profilers and an incredibly perceptive tech support girl, but you tried to be civil over dinner.

Until you couldn't be.

“So, Y/N, any dates recently?” Emily laughed over a sip of wine, genuinely curious about your sudden lack of suitors.

“No,” you said, locking eyes with Spencer, who rolled his eyes as he looked away.

“What, not even a single hinge match?” JJ added, and you suddenly regretted not telling any of your other coworkers the root of your tension with Reid, because they were happily digging your grave.

“Come on, we all love your stories, Y/N,” Penelope laughed, prodding you with a finger as you smiled feebly.

“No, not all of us do,” Spencer mumbled under his breath, still loud enough that the room fell silent.

“Relax, Doctor Reid, I'm not going to regale you with tales of my conquests.”

“Good, I get enough of that in the male bathrooms,” he said, standing up from the table and excusing himself.

You stared slack jawed at him as he walked away, simmering anger getting ready to explode. You stood as well, and followed him, aware of every set of eyes watching you intently as you searched for Spencer.

You found him in a spare room, following him in and closing the door behind you with a thud so he would know you were there.

“What the fuck is your problem, Spencer?”

“Oh, it was Doctor Reid earlier, but now we're friends, huh?” he said, not bothering to look at you as he picked up a book and sat in a chair at the edge of the room.

“You can't just disrespect me in front of the team like that, and… and what? Slink away to read?”

He looked up at you with an annoyed glance, and you almost lunged at him. You'd probably be able to gouge out an eye before he could react if you wanted.

“You know, when we first talked about this, I was seriously worried for you. The way those men talk about you-”

“How do they talk about me? What do they say about me specifically that's any worse than usual misogynistic bathroom talk, huh?”

You stepped closer, leaning over him and poking his chest. You wanted him to react, wanted him to get angry. You wanted a fight, not for him to walk away shaking his head in resignment.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes. I'm a big girl, tell me what's so bad that has you acting like such a spoiled brat.”

“Okay. Okay, fine.” Putting down the book, he looked up at you, locking eyes with you as he started.

“They talk about how well you take it. How much you love cock, and how if they got the chance they'd fill you up with so much cum you'd be leaking for days. Some of them even talk about using you as a human toilet.”

“They mostly talk about your body, about how flexible you are, about how flexible they'd force you to be, how-” he had to stop to look away, clear his throat and start again.

“Mostly they talk about your lips,” he said, finally risking a look down at them before dragging his eyes back up to your own.

“My lips?” you asked, mentally scolding yourself when you hear the breathy whisper you let out.

“They talk about your lips a lot. I'm sure you can imagine.”

You take a second to think about it, reeling at how close he was, how open he was being, how….

How turned on you were hearing these words fall from his mouth. Every sentence from his mouth felt like a confession.

“I don't believe them though,” he said finally.

“What?”

“I don't believe them. I don't believe you're as good as they say you are, as they're fantasising about you being.

Your mouth opened in shock, and the indignity of the accusation had your heart beating out of your chest.

“Say that again,” you demanded, forcing him to meet your eyes again.

“You're not that good, Y/N. I'm sure of it.”

Quickly, you snaked your arm up and around his neck, grabbing him and pulling him down to meet your lips. You'd hoped to take him by surprise, to enter his mouth as he lost himself in the feel of you pressed against him. You'd hoped for the upper hand, until you realized you'd played right into his.

He kissed back immediately, hotly, insistently. His hands roamed your body for any hold of you they could find, settling on your waist and your ass as he pushed you back into the wall you stood in front of.

Frustrated by his attitude, you pushed back, twisting your bodies around until you'd switched positions, nails digging into the tender skin at his collarbone. You wanted to grab him hard enough to draw blood, you wanted to permanently scar him to remind him how good this felt.

He growled into the kiss, and you momentarily lost focus. He swung you around again, hands pushing your shirt up and roughly grabbing your boobs as he bit down on your lower lip.

With a moan, you hiked a leg up around his hips, rolling into him as he pinned you to the wall.

Your final act of defiance was pushing him away with all your strength.

Taken aback, he stumbled once or twice before hitting a dresser behind him. It shook, and with the tremors, the lamp that had been sat on it fell to the floor with a crash.

You stared at him panting as your coworkers ran to you both, opening the door with a loud bang as they assessed the situation.

You kept your eyes on him as Emily scolded you both, putting the two of you on BAU time out.

You quickly left the party after that, apologising to Rossi and tucking your tail firmly between your legs as you retreated.

Desk duty for the next two weeks was exactly the punishment you were expecting from Emily. Honestly it was what you deserved. If you couldn't play nice together, you weren't allowed to play at all.

You sat at your desk, and Spencer sat at his, and you were happy and content to ignore him for as long as physically possible.

Unfortunately, your sudden voluntary celibacy must have been driving you insane, because you couldn't stop picturing his hands on your waist, his hot lips tracing down your neck, your hips pushed so close you could practically feel his cock begging to be inside you.

Imagining.

You were sure your staring was making the man uncomfortable, or at the very least frustrated. You saw the vein in his neck jump out when he noticed you looking at him, but it didn't help too much to dispel the sudden and aggravating attraction you felt towards him.

You wanted to be angrier. Every interaction you entered needing to be angry.

Instead you found yourself somewhat softening based purely on lust, and it was eating you up.

You were not a pushover, and contrary to popular office belief, neither were you desperate or easy. One kiss with a coworker shouldn't have you trailing after him like a forlorn love struck child.

Spencer was definitely avoiding you though.

At first, he justified it to himself as giving you space, an apology of sorts after you'd been so brash before.

Then he came clean to his own conscious and realized he was afraid of another confrontation. Afraid was perhaps the wrong word, eagerly anticipating might be better, though when he tried to explain it to Penelope it didn't come out right at all.

“It's like- Okay, so we're like water and potassium, right?”

“You've lost me lover boy, I do computers not sciency science.”

“Potassium and water are both stable enough on their own. They do their job well, they work nicely.”

“Potassium is in potatoes, ergo they are in French fries. They work superbly.”

“Yes, but when you put potassium in water it has a tendency to catch on fire and explode.”

Penelope still looked at him confused, unsure what kind of avoidance excuse he was crafting in his mind.

“I'm potassium. She's water,” he said again to no avail.

“I need to avoid her so I don't explode.”

“What makes you think you're going to explode? Just talk to her nicely. Avoid topics you think are going to be more… reactive?”

Spencer just solemnly nodded and went back to avoidance.

He realized quickly that the only thing he'd ever talked to you about outside of working hours was your sex life, and that made him feel like both a creep and a pervert and also like he needed to take a long cold shower before quitting his job and moving into a cabin somewhere in the woods. But he wasn't Gideon, so he just suffered through it, leaving rooms you entered and ending work related conversations as quickly as possible, before his mouth could move quicker than his brain.

After a week of being swiftly dodged, you had the chance finally to corner him and you took it.

Watching as Spencer stood to get himself another coffee from the break room, you stood, grabbed your own mug and quietly followed him. You prayed to God that the room would be empty, but were quickly forsaken by the door when you heard two make voices inside.

“So Y/N, huh?” an unfamiliar voice asked, tone polite but playful.

“I've heard some stories about that one,” he chuckled, and even the sound of it set your hair on edge.

“She's a very hard worker,” Spencer simply answered, as you heard him preparing his own coffee.

“She certainly makes working hard,” the man slapped his back, taking a sip of coffee.

“I heard you two have been going at it in the office. Strange foreplay, but she must be into rough stuff like that, isn't that right?”

You'd heard enough men talking about you in your life to be used to it, but a flush of anger still ran through you at the man's insinuations. You almost walked in to embarrass the man when Spencer spoke up.

“I don't like your tone,” he said calmly, and continued quickly when the man tried to joke again. “I have been to prison, you work in white collar, let's see which of us comes out of the kitchen in better shape when you're done speaking.”

“You're fucking insane.”

“You're what, 35? From the looks of it, your marriage is over because you keep playing with your ring uncomfortably, probably because you're cheating, but you feel just guilty enough about it to worry about your kids. They lied by the way, your not the world's no. 1 dad. Even if such metrics could be determined, you'd rank low on the list. Is it their babysitter or their teacher you're sleeping with? Or your wife's sister, perhaps?”

“You're crossing a line, Dr Reid, I don't know how-”

“Well, I'm glad you seem to understand boundaries well enough. There are lines you cross, and ones you respect, and if I hear anything at all unprofessional from you about my coworker again, I will use the last six months of my experiences to make life difficult for you.”

You walked in quickly, hearing the change in Spencer's tone from casual to something more threatening, more desperate. The other man had two fistfuls of Spencer's shirt, though you didn't doubt Spencer would easily be able to floor the man.

“Good afternoon,” you said quickly, just loud enough to be heard above the thick tension filling the room. “I believe you were just leaving, right?”

You looked to the unfamiliar man, and the shame burned his face as you forced him out of the room. As soon as he was gone, you walked over to Spencer, finished making his coffee as he stood silently next to you, eyes refusing to meet yours.

You put the hot drink in his hand, smoothed his shirt out and whispered a quick thank you before retreating back to your desk.

After that, you didn't get closer.

You thought you would. You tried to follow him to the kitchen to actually have the talk you wanted in the days that followed, but you never quite managed it.

You'd just stand together in equitable silence making your coffees. Sometimes you'd talk about the weather. About the case. About things your coworkers did that you both found funny. About shows and books you both liked. About whatever random fact Spencer became enthusiastic about that day, or whatever noir movie he'd seen the previous day.

You didn't become closer, but you grew used to one another.

When the team finally came back, Emily patted herself on the back for a job well done for keeping the two of you grounded. You begrudgingly admitted to yourself that while Spencer lacked tact, you should've been more patient with him when he was asking you to be careful.

You'd heard him similarly chastising a handful of men since, always careful just to listen until he was done, and then clean up afterwards.

Spencer found his anger closer to the surface after prison than it had been before prison. Instead of sympathy or words, his fists always tightened into balls when anything displeased him. He wanted desperately to hit colleagues sometimes, and kept his breathing steady enough to reply with violent words rather than violent actions.

He couldn't blame his experiences in prison for everything, of course. Part of the blame was yours.

As much as he knew potassium and water weren't a safe combination, he found himself wanting to be dropped back into that pool once again. Looking at you was like setting himself on fire, remembering your bodies twinned together was like a little explosion.

He didn't know what brought him to your door, but he knew it was an inevitable reaction, one in a long chain.

“Spencer?” you asked, meeting him at your door, wrapped only in a loose robe and the too small, too flimsy sleep set you'd taken to sleeping in in the summer months.

“Hi,” he said, a little awkwardly, as if gaining the courage to knock on your door was the end of his plan, and he didn't know what the next steps were.

“Hey. Why are you…?” Here. Standing at your door looking so hot after you'd stayed obsessed with him for the last week.

“Why are you holding a bottle of wine?”

“Oh. Oh this. This is for you. To drink. Its for us to drink together, really, I… I wanted to apologise.”

You welcomed him in silently and quickly. Quickly still, you made your way to the kitchen, grabbed two glasses and a bottle opener and made your way back to your sofa where Spencer was standing awkwardly still.

“Please sit down,” you said, craning your neck to look up at him as he gently handed you the bottle. He nodded and sat down next to you, both too close and too far away at once. You'd thought of Spencer as more of a silent apologiser. You'd expected him to just be happy and friendly with you from here on out instead of directly acknowledging anything had happened. You'd seen him bottle up so many emotions, what was a little more shame and sympathy?

Now that he was in front of you, you didn't know what to do.

“So, um. I'm sorry.”

“Yes. Yes, I know.”

The tension in the air was thick as you turned to pour two glasses of wine, waiting for him to continue.

“Thank you,” he said taking the glass you offered him in two hands before glancing at it quickly and then downing it.

“When I got out of prison, I was in a bad shape, and that isn't an excuse, it's just a fact. My brain was in overdrive, and I was on guard around all… all men specifically. The things I heard in prison weren't good, nothing nice as said about women in prison, and when I got out, and I still heard those things…” He stopped and looked away, taking another deep breath.

“I was overstepping. I was being overprotective, and overfamiliar, and jealous-”

“Spencer, stop,” you said, putting your glass down, and smiling at him reassuringly.

“I appreciate your apology, but really it's fine. I came in while you were gone and getting back to schedule when your entire team dynamic is off is hard, so of course you were going to be on edge around me and a little bit jealous of my bond with the team but-”

“The team?” Spencer stammered quickly, cutting you off as you tried to reassure him.

“You were… jealous of my place in the group. I was an outsider who took your place and then you were just a little shorter with me than you would've been if we were introduced in normal circumstances.”

“No, Y/N… I- Did you think this whole time I was jealous of you?”

He said it in his softest voice which almost hurt a little bit more.

“Yes. That's how you were behaving, you were always annoyed and-”

“Jealous. Yes. Not of you, because of you.”

You felt every single place on your body where the material of your clothes were touching your body. The distance between the two of you, already small, felt smaller still, like you were tipping over an edge towards one another when in reality you were as solid as a statue in your seats.

“Y/N, I want you,” Spencer whispered, almost little bit ashamed, a little bit scared of his confession. It was the kind of voice criminals used when confessing, a voice that seemed ashamed of its own actions. “I listened to every single word men said about you, and I wanted to rip their tongues out and feed them back to them so they wouldn't have the chance to taste you again. So they couldn't torture me with their knowledge of you.”

He stood up abruptly and took a step back, placing his wine glass down on the table and pacing a few more steps away.

“Y/N, why did you have to kiss me?” He said, almost defeated. “Why did you have to kiss me and then push me away?”

You stared at him for a second, unsure whether he wanted a real answer or not, his eyes round with desperation, but face turned away slightly, as if he couldn't bare the answer.

“To shut you up,” you whispered. He nodded at your answer and took a deep breath.

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist-”

“Spencer? What-”

“I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do?”

“Spencer, what are you doing, why are you- are you quoting something at me.

“If you want me to stop, you know an effective solution,” he said, kneeling to the floor and looking up at you, continuing after a moments pause.

Quickly sinking to your knees as well, you grabbed the man by the collar and brought your lips to his.

As quietly desperate Spencer had been moments before, he took your kiss as an act of submission and countered quickly. You'd come to him, you'd listened to his request, and now he wasn't going to let you get the upper hand anymore.

Pulling you into his lap, his to guess pushed into your mouth as he wrapped your legs around him, guiding your cunt over his bulge as he kept up his attack against your tongue.

You fought back, trying to push him down to no luck. He caught your hands quickly, and standing up on his knees with one hand holding your ass in place, pinned you to the floor, arms held above your head in one large, strong, nearly painful grip.

Your body shook at the sudden motion, robe falling open and satin spilling over your body, revealing a single pink, perked up nipple that he eagerly latched onto.

You moaned at the contact of his hot tongue, the cold air hitting you at the exact moment his tongue dipped, as you held in a moan.

You couldn't hold in the second or third. By four you were practically humping up into the air to chase the sensations of his body pressed against your cunt.

“Spencer-” you moaned, cut off by a choke from your own throat as he roughly ripped down the other side of your shirt, harshly tugging at your other nipple with his fingers.

“If I had more time, I'd make you cum just from this. I'll spend hours edging your sore little nipples, just to make you happy,” he whispered, and you moaned as if it were your job, as if you were some cheap whore he was paying to abuse for the night.

“Good girl,” he said, tugging your underwear to the side and rubbing you slowly, coating his digits with your juices before pushing two fingers fully inside you quickly.

“No complaints. Take everything nicely.” he said, changing the angle of his hand as he began fucking you hard with just his hands.

“Fuck, Spencer, fuck- no, no, no, you have to stop! Fuck, I'll-”

He stopped just as instructed quickly, and you grabbed his hands to still his fingers, still inside of you.

“I need… shit I need hard nos's quickly Y/N. Tell me what I can and can't do.”

You gathered your breath enough to speak, but it was breathy, your breath still uneven, your legs still twitching as you lay on your back, cunt exposed to Spencer's greedy eyes. He drew small, gently circles on your clit with his thumb as you recovered.

“W-Why?” You managed to squeak out, cunt twitching at every accidental contact between you both.

“Because I'm either going to slap you to shut you up, or fuck your face, and I do believe in letting the lady decide.”

You couldn't help the scoff that came from your mouth, even though it was followed by another hitched breath and moan as you melted beneath him.

“You wouldn't do that, you're not the type.”

“What? What type am I not?”

“Slapping, spitting, demeaning. You're too… Spencer to do any of that,” you said, slowly raising your hips to fuck his fingers once again, pracitically begging him to keep us all his hard work.

Until he withdraws his hand and pulls you back into his lap, arms locking you in place on either sides of your waist.

“If I was anyone else,” he said slowly and deliberately, “Or if I was me and I possessed the ability to do any of that, would you consent to it?”

His words were a whisper, his fingers wet and hot on your nipples as he pulled, prodded, and played with them quietly.

“Well… you wouldn't-” you moaned at a sudden hard pinch, your hips jolting as he continued abusing your nipples.

“Everyone else has. Why can't I?”

“Spencer-” Another sharp pinch cut you off, forcing your eyes down to where he had a hand gently brushing against your chest, before sharply pinching it again.

“Hmm? What was that?”

“Spencer, p-please-”

You moan again as his other hand hooks around you to slide into your panties.

Pulls you fully onto his lap as he starts playing with your clit while tugging on your nipples, and he's waiting for you to give him permission to fuck you rougher.

“Can I do those things, Y/N?”

“Spencer….”

“Use your words to answer me, not your cunt. I know you're enjoying this.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Thank you,” he said, letting a hand trail up to your neck before kissing you gently on your lips again. The softness didn't last long as he picked up the pace with his other hand again, looming over you like a monster bent to its prey. His hand moved quickly, pushing in and out of you as you writhed on the floor, breaths shallow as he controlled where you went, where you looked, how you moved, and even how you breathed.

“S-Spencer,” you choked out, hands wrapping around his between your thighs, already twitching as your first orgasm hit you, twitching as he didn't slow down, moaning as you felt wetness seeping out of you in waves.

“Good girl. Good girl, you're doing so good for me. You want me to stop?” He asked.

“Yes, I can't- I can't do it anymore- nghhhh.”

“You can. Yes, you can, baby, you can. My little whore,” his voice was soft where his hands were hot, gripping your neck tighter as you focused only on breathing, legs shaking and twitching, squirming to get away even as you wished yourself to stay put.

“Good girl,” he said again, kissing you once again as his hand on your neck eased up. “One more time? One more right, baby?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself not to scream. With an open hand he slapped your face, just hard enough to draw a moan from your lips.

“Use your words, Y/N.”

“Y-Yes, I can do one more,” Ayou moaned, unsure if the stars you were seeing were from the harshness of the slap or the overstimulation. “Please.”

“Good manners,” he said, fingers slipping out of your cunt as you started to grind into him again, as soon as you said yes to another orgasm. “But I don't think I want you to cum yet.”

Lifting your hips, he urged you to turn over, pulling a pillow under your hips to help you lift them, still trembling as you were. A soft blanket was put under your head as he pushed your hips up, your shorts and panties pulled down and not just to the side now as he took all of you in.

“So drippy and wet, just for me…” he mused, probing a finger at your pussy again, laughing when you twitched at the contact.

“They say it tastes better than it feels you know,” he said pulling his phone out of his pocket before snapping a photo of your pussy, dripping and ready for him. “Look at it, what do you think?”

He thrusts the photo in your face as he pulled his dick out, letting it rub against the folds of your pussy as you moaned into defeat.

“Y/N, come on, what do you think? Do you taste better, or feel better?”

He propped up the phone in front of you and opened the camera, clicking record quickly as he slapped your ass.

“Answer me,” he insisted, cock head rubbing furiously against your clit now, fingers clamped down on a nipple, nails digging into your waist.

“Should I fuck you or eat that little cunt?”

“I- I don't know, Spencer, I don't know please-”

“Yes, you do. What should I do?”

You cried out in pleasure as you came again, the pressure on your clit too much too soon.

“F-fuck me,” you said, exhausted but still excited.

“Good girl,” he said again, withdrawing his touch before laying down under you and bringing your cunt to his mouth.

You tried to hold yourself up, but you couldn't as he licked and sucked and nudged at your clit with his nose. He'd ignored you, prolonged your torture, and decided he needed to decide for himself.

“Spencer…” you moaned, but it was weak. He chuckled into your cunt and you clamped your thighs around his face as far as you could, but he didn't relent.

Running a finger through your pussy to pick up your cum, he pushed a single digit into your asshole as you moaned slowly and weakly, face completely squished into the floor.

He pushed in and out slowly at first stretching your ass as you began riding his face, fucking against his to gue as you got closer and closer to release. The sooner you came now, the sooner he would release you.

But Spencer stilled your hips, and slowed his own movements to a few kisses here and there, letting one finger become two as he fucked your asshole. Eventually, all contact stopped with your cunt as you hungrily fucked his fingers, the stretch uncomfortable but good.

“Good girl, you like that? You like being my little anal slut? Good girl.”

The words hit hard, as you came on his face. He pulled his hands away and pushed you onto your back again, rising up to your fsve again.

“Open,” he said, and you obeyed letting him spit your own cum back into your mouth. His tongue connected with your own as you tasted yourself, hot and heavy on his lips.

As you kissed, he pushed your legs up, knees spread and with a single, hard, rough push, filled you with his cock.

You screamed in pleasure as he cooed into your ear. “I'm sorry baby, I couldn't help it. Your cunt looked too delicious, it was begging for my dick.”

Another slow pull out, and again he pushed in hard, stealing the breath from your lungs without even needing a hand on your neck.

Grabbing his phone, Spencer angled it towards where you were hungrily taking him in.

“This cunt is mine now, okay?”

You nodded, and he slapped you again.

“Words, Y/N, I need words. Tell me whose cunt this is.”

“Its yours, Spencer, all yours,” you moaned as he picked up his pace, lifting to his knees so he could drop it all into you.

“Shit, say more. Tell me what I can do to this pussy?”

“Abuse my pussy, Spencer. Stretch me out, slap me, keep me full, fuck I don't care, breed me,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your chest up to his, thighs wrapped around his waist, ankles locked together behind him.

“You want me to cum in you? Want me to claim you so everyone can see?” He asked, nails digging into your thighs almost hard enough to draw blood.

“Yes!”

“Good…. fucking… slut,” he saif, and with a final thrust, he emptied his balls inside you.

You didn't move for a long time, catching your breath on the floor, a pile of limbs coated in sprsys of wetness and cum.

You started rubbing your cunt again first, as he joined in again with shallow thrusts, wincing and seething as he overstimulated himself.

You came quietly that last time and waited for him to pull out and clean you up.

He didn't. Keeping himself sheathed inside you, he awkwardly lifted the two of you to the couch and pulled your head down into his chest, letting you cockwarm him as your cum soaked into the material of the couch.

“Sleep for an hour or two. You'll wake up when it's time to go again.”

When you woke, it wasn't to Spencer starting again, but instead the ring of your phone. You tried to reach for it, to silence whatever alarm had decided to disturb you at that point, but Spencer was faster.

“Hello?” he said down the line, forgetting where he was for a second before you nestled into the crook of his neck again, fingers gently tracing his collarbone.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, confused and voice tired.

“Emily?” He asked. “We have a case?” He sat you up with him crasling you in his arms as you fully woke, your muscles objecting at this sudden movement. His cock stayed buried within you as you reoriented yourself.

“Uh, yeah. We've got an hour to get to the office and debrief, then were flying out- Spencer. This is Spencer?” she asked again, voice a muddle with confusion, tone rising by the second.

“Yes, Spencer. I'll be there.”

“And Y/N?” Emily asked. “I didn't dial the wrong number, Spencer, I have you all on speed dial. You're with Y/N?”

You sat bolt upright and took the phone from Spencer quickly, the shrill ringing of Emily's voice echoing down the line.

“We’ll be there,” you practically shouted. “We just drank together and-” you pulled the hair out of your face as you felt Spencer go rigid inside you again.

“A-and that's it. See you in an hour.”

Speedily you hung up, grabbed Spencer and pressed your lips to his again, pushing him down into the couch.

[mechncheese]

Rest in peace Percy’s depth perception 

Not to worry, with the monocle his vision is mostly corrected so he'll be okay, he's not completely blind in that eye ! Though after his injury and without the monocle, the next few years for him were a little rough

(idk how accurate being visually impaired in one eye and having that corrected is, I'm simply very visually impaired in both eyes </3)

Now, how the hell did this guy become an incredible sniper and the number one I Spy champion? Here's a little secret he doesn't want you to know. He can see out of that scope on his back, that's like his third mega optic.

[penultimate-step]

Lately, I've been thinking about the effect of real-world time on perception of media. Or, wait, let me start from the beginning.

When I was 11, I read the book Ender's Game for some school assignment or another. I don't remember ever considering Ender a relatable character, but certainly my understanding of the events was shaped by being of an age to see the protagonist not so much as a young child but as someone of my peer group, someone who could have been slotted amongst my classmates without anybody batting an eye.

Over a decade later, I read the sequel, Speaker for the Dead; it takes place many years later, when Ender is in his thirties, and my feelings about the in-universe time skip were undeniably shaped by the real life time gap between my reading of the novels. Reading the first book back then and then the second book now created a feeling where it's almost like, I'm browsing the facebook page of someone I had known in middle school but lost contact with, checking up on how they're doing today. The real-time factor caused me to perceive it less like a timeskip, and more like a reunion - the feelings were closer to "oh wow, that's my boy! I haven't seen him in years! Wonder what he's up to?" Which in turn gave me a better position to appreciate the parts of the narrative about him struggling to find a place in his adulthood than I would have been had I perceived it more strictly as a quick skip from 11 to 20 to 36.

While musing about this, I considered a VN I played a few years back, which took place over three in-game days - except at the end of one in-game day, the game would lock you out from progressing for 24 hours real time. So that as the in-game investigator protagonist was ruminating on the information that had been discovered that day, the player would be forced to do the same. In this example, by forcing the player to experience the same timeframe as the in-game characters, the sense of it being an in-depth and extensive investigation increases, even though without the forced pauses the game would be short enough to blow through in a handful of hours real-time.

Which brings to mind how time effects things in long-running serial works. It's well known that an audience which watches an episode or reads a chapter week by week has a very different experience than one binging through whole seasons or volumes at a time, but I wonder if the real time relative to the in-universe time makes that effect stand out more? Fight scenes, for instance, have been known to take up several chapters in certain manga or webnovels. What does it do to the reader's perception, if from their point a view a fight takes a whole month, while for the characters they read about it's only been a couple hours? Readers might feel that the situation is more stressful, since the pressure of the fight has been ongoing for a long time for them, while in-universe it was a rough afternoon but no more than that. Contrastingly, when a series skips ahead or otherwise has long periods of time for characters that feel short for readers, it can feel like no time has passed and everything is still the same, unless the author really stresses the differences in world-state that occurred offscreen. Because the reader hasn't changed at all.

No conclusion here exactly, I just think it's interesting how often an audience's response to a work, the emotions felt, are more closely tied to their real-life timescale, something almost completely out of the author's control, as opposed to in-universe time, which can be intentionally shifted or played with for the sake of the narrative.

[joelsmochi]

hiii my request is for the dilf neighbor series. joel and the reader try waxplay?

la petit mort - joel m.

rating: E 18+ pairing: dilf neighbor!joel x pornstar!reader summary: part five ; after asking joel an unexpected question that distorts his perception of your relationship, he decides the only way to forgiveness is through punishment. warnings: porn with plot, slightly proofread (expect errors), waxplay, rough + unprotected sex (wrap it up this valentine's season, streets are saying no more scorpios), anxiety, angst, taunting, creampie, joel's competitiveness and possessiveness gets the better of him, m + f receiving oral, smacking/slapping/spanking, recording, joel expressing affection and emotions!!!!!, i love you's wc: 5k my thoughts: happy valentine's day and also happy one year anniversary to this series! i wanted to go more in depth with character dialouge/development so i hope you guys enjoy! xoxo

series masterlist | main masterlist

You could feel your pulse thumping inside of your neck, a bead of sweat forming at your temple that you desperately wanted to wipe away but were unable to.

While Joel paced around the room doing any and everything but touch or even look at you. You were unable to move, to reach out to him. All you could do was lie there and watch his anger slowly boil into a simmering lust that had his dick already stirring in his jeans as he prepared for what was to come next.

Your mind dwelled on the conversation that got you here…

“I wanna ask you something…” You said nervously, biting your already chewed up lip as he looked up from his book to see you standing at the door.

“Okay.”

“Just a simple yes or no, then we proceed. Deal?”

He chuckled softly and sat up in his bed, book leaving his hand to rest upon his worn nightstand.

“Go on,” he spoke once he realized it was a serious matter.

“I…” You huffed after a brief silence, itching your forehead. “I was wondering… If we could— or if I could shoot a scene with Tommy again…”

You figured the worst he could do was say no, but as his blank stare burned into your soul you knew that a no would have been much better.

And you felt stupid for even thinking it was an appropriate question to ask, but you figured Joel was more understanding of how free spirited you were or at least the simple fact that the relationship wasn’t labeled official or at the very least exclusive.

He was still silent and that was enough of an answer.

“Never—… Never mind.”

He called you back as quickly as you’d turned around, and it felt like your heart had completely given up on beating. Your throat was tight, and the attempt to clear it went unnoticed.

“Sit down.”

“Joel, can you just forget I asked—“

“Sit down.”

Joel was gutted, or at least it felt that way to him.

“Am I doing something wrong?” He asked, somehow finding enough courage to look into your eyes as he asked.

“No! No, God no. Ah shit.”

“Then what?”

“I want to? I don’t— I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“The truth.”

You grimaced, not because there was anything wrong with Joel, but because you knew your answer wouldn’t be good enough.

“I liked having sex with Tommy, and I wanna do it again with or without you.”

You found yourself regretting the words as soon as they came out and Joel’s shocked expression did nothing to ease your embarrassment.

“Fu- Joel. I didn’t mean—“

Your sentence was cut short by the door slamming behind him after he stomped away.

And that’s how you wound up tied to the bed like a fucking frog: wrists knotted to your shoulders, feet pressing against the backs of your trembling thighs.

Somehow, Joel convinced you to try this; maybe it was the guilt that boiled over from your chest to your tummy that made you eagerly agree. The sudden assumption that you weren’t exclusive seeming even more silly now.

You’d realized somewhere in the seven days of him being distant and disengaged that you’d do almost anything to make Joel happy, as he would you. No one else was worth jeopardizing what you two had, and while it may have come without a label you’d realized it wasn’t necessary. Not anymore.

Even though bondage was one of the last things that you’d ever think to put on your bucket list, it was spontaneous and a fantasy you were more than willing to fulfill for him.

“Joel,” you could just barely whisper.

He’d pretended not to hear you knowing you’d speak up if it was dire.

Your eyes bounced from the new crack on the ceiling to the dresser in the corner of his room to the back of his head. The room was beginning to smell like cheap candle wax and thick smoke. The severity of the situation suddenly becoming real for you.

You knew the nervousness simply came from a lack of interest and even bigger lack of understanding, not from not wanting to do it at all.

“Joel,” you said much more affirmatively.

“Yes, baby?” He asked once he was standing above you. He frowned when you didn’t answer as a tear dropped from your eye. “Hey, hey, we don’t have to do this,” he assured honestly.

“It’s not that.” You shook your head firmly. “I— I just need my left leg loosened up a bit.”

You could feel the nerves beginning to peak, feeling smothered by your own flesh and suffocated by your own lungs.

Joel wasted no more than half a second before he began to readjust the tough rope.

“That better?”

“Mhm.”

“You promise?”

You wanted to smile at his concerned tone but you just couldn’t.

“I know you said I had to wait but… I need a kiss. Just a quick one then I’ll be okay.”

His lips curled into a soft smile as they pressed against yours. The kiss was anything but quick. It was gentle, slow, passionate. He even slipped you a little bit of his tongue as a courtesy.

Even when the air went cold from his warm body moving away you were still comforted by his presence.

“You ready?” He asked.

He was finally standing behind the camera ready to press the little red button, waiting for your cue to do so.

“Remember what I said?”

“Yes,” you dryly said. “Be quiet unless you are speaking to me or let me make noise, use the safe word if I need to stop for any reason… Um… I think that it’s it?”

“Good.”

Beep.

He took a few more steps around the room before standing by your left leg.

You didn’t mean to gasp so loud or twitch so hard at the feeling of oil dripping onto your skin, and you’re unsure why you did it at all.

“Shh, I got you, princess,” Joel cooed as he began to massage your calf and foot.

Your nipples hardened and you could feel the cool slick that dribbled out of your pussy as you clenched around nothing.

Almost instantly your body ran hot, the lame touch of Joel’s hands rubbing into the least lucrative parts of your body somehow got you going. The wet spot on the sheets indicating just how depraved you felt after a week of no touching.

Then his hands went up your thigh, and you hummed against your lips in an attempt to keep quiet just like he asked you to. If you imagined long enough you could almost pretend his fingers were rubbing your throbbing clit instead, but as his hands maneuvered the hills and valleys of your body you realized he was willing to rub everywhere but there.

You felt like you were floating by the time he stepped away, high off of an orgasm you never had.

Your hips were aching from the position but you’d wanted to show Joel you could handle it. You figured the more you complied the easier he’d go on you, or at least the faster he’d get to being inside of you.

“Look at you… All tied up and spread open for me,” Joel said mostly to himself whilst taunting the hot candle above your navel.

His finger dragged from your belly button down to your weeping little hole and he pressed against it gently, as if he was about to insert it but teasingly chose not to.

“Who’d you make this mess for, angel?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Y-you, Joel.”

“Oh? S’that so?”

“Yes sir.”

He snickered as if he didn’t believe the pathetic pout you wore on your face.

“I promise,” you said.

He leaned his face down to yours and tilted the candle slowly, watching your pupils dilate as you watched the small bead of wax that threatened to fall.

“I think you made that mess for somebody else, hmm?” He whispered, breath blowing onto your flushed cheek.

“No, daddy, no. I promise. I promise it’s all for you.”

And yet, the glimmer in his eyes told you he would still drag it out.

He didn’t want to overwhelm you so soon, so he only let a single drop fall just below your breast.

You hissed, flexing your fingers and rolling your eyes back. The first droplet would be the worst, you assumed, but it only fueled the raging fire that was already burning in the pit of your stomach.

You needed him to touch you, to relieve the tension. To retract his promise of torture.

“Awe, I’m sorry baby. Did that hurt?” He teased. “Here, what if I did this?”

He let the hot liquid that was pooling inside of the melting candle splatter all over your abdomen with a big smile on his face.

“That help?”

You fought like hell to not cry out, huffing between your lips and using your body to release the energy instead.

Joel watched the candle paint pretty red lines and dots all over you, noticing a tear or two shed from your eyes. But you were being a good girl, not whining or screaming. You were taking it and it was the sexiest thing on Earth to him.

He put the hot candle back in its spot and cradled your head, shushing you and kissing your sweaty forehead.

“You’re doing such a good job for me, baby,” he said. “You reckon I should have manners and say thank you?”

You wondered, for just a few seconds, if it was a trick question. If you said yes would he further punish you for thinking you deserved a reward? If you said no then would he give it to you ten times harder?

Joel waited patiently for a response from you, biting back a smile when you nodded your dizzy head, moaning at the idea of finally being touched.

“You want it… Here?”

Your body shuddered when his tongue found your stiff nipple.

“Wherever you want.”

He softly moaned at your gentle voice, eyes fluttering shut as he took the rest of it into his warm mouth, tongue occasionally brushing against the coarse rope.

He began swirling his tongue round and round, using his free hand to fondle the other one and pinch the nipple gently. You hissed, neck arching off of the bed.

As moans filled your throat you tried to stop them from spilling over your lips; Joel took notice of it and began flicking his tongue just to try and break you.

You fought the noises you desperately wanted to make while your body futility writhed against the restraints. You wanted to whine and say his name, but you kept reminding yourself of his rules even though you were beginning to lose your already fickle grip on reality.

Joel pulled away just before your body got another opportunity to betray you. You could feel the twinge in your joints from being bent too long, the rope started to break skin. He was wearing you down, seeing how long it’d take you to break those “rules” of his.

Meanwhile Joel felt a bit defeated; he was certain you’d break much sooner than that at least once. But it just took one long look into your disorientated eyes for him to see how close you were to giving in.

With a smirk he then grabbed the yellow candle that had collapsed well within itself. It was a pool of torture waiting to pour all over you and drown you into submission.

He traced a finger down from your sternum to your clit massaging the sides of it gently to gain your attention.

Once he heard you happily exhale he asked, “You needed that baby? Needed daddy to touch you right here?”

“Y-yeah, ohh.”

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He pouted, almost feeling sorry for making you wait.

“You poor thing. Lemme see that pretty pussy, hmm?”

Using his index finger and thumb he spread your lips apart, watching your hole clench and squeeze — begging to be filled.

He cursed beneath his breath and took his middle finger into his mouth, swiping it across his tongue lazily before slipping it into you.

He waited for you to moan, to reveal your delight, and when you didn’t he curled his finger upwards relishing in the slight little hiss he got from you.

Joel spit right where his knuckle came flesh with your entrance before shoving a second finger into you and quickening his pace. You bit your lip hard enough to draw blood, certain he was close to allotting you the privilege to moan.

Once he heard your juices squelch around his thick fingers he couldn’t help but moan himself, and he was ready to throw his rules out of the window much sooner than he expected.

But as far as being punished he was no where near done with you.

He let out a guttural moan, watching the frown on your face deepen and your chest rise and fall harder with every breath you took.

“Go’on, ngh- make some noise for me baby… Let daddy hear you—tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Just as you took in a breath to finally let out every noise you’d forced your body to silence Joel spilled every last drop of yellow wax onto your chest and stomach.

Your nails dug crescent moons into your shoulders while your throat burned from the groan you finally let out.

As the stinging from the hot liquid subsided you were finally able to open your eyes and allow your jaw to relax.

“Fuck, fuck- deeperdeeperdeeper— ye-esss! That feels so fucking good, daddy!”

Joel could feel the sweat building up on his forehead from how sexy you looked to him in this moment. He blew the candle in his hand out before discarding it lazily; his hand reached for your breast, squeezing it firmly despite it being completely coated in wax.

You felt his tongue latch onto your throbbing clit, instinctively you reached to grip his hair but the rope only dug deeper into your wrist causing a different type of burning to sear across your wounded flesh.

While you failed to conceal a single noise that desired to leave your raw throat you’d also failed to form a coherent sentence. Joel moaned onto your skin, relishing in the way your body shook from both the pleasure and the pain, ensuring his fingers kept up the pace that matched his rapacious aptitude.

The skills he possessed pushed you closer to the edge and he made sure to get you as close as possible.

“I love you, I love you! I’ll never ask for him again! Please, baby, please can I cum?”

Joel merely chuckled as he stripped his body from yours only a breath later, grin widening as he saw defeat spread across your face. You mentioning his brother seemed to bring him back to reality.

“No.”

“But- pl—“

“Shh, sh sh sh.” He leaned over your face and his smile softened. “Your punishments not done, sweetheart. But you can make all of the noises you want for me, okay? Deal.”

You weren’t sure how you felt, but you just looked into his eyes and said, “Of course.”

You couldn’t decide if you like this or not: not being the one in control was one thing, but being utterly powerless was another. And while you hated not being able to flip him on his back and make him listen to you, you loved how sure he seemed of himself for once. How he knew what he wanted you to do and say, when he wanted to hurt or comfort you. He was an entirely different person than the man who came over and felt scared to admit that he had found your porn.

So you nodded and toughened up despite the ache between your legs.

“Sure you can handle more?” He asked softly enough so that the camera wouldn’t pick the audio up. When you nodded he replied, “Good girl. I’m gonna turn you over, okay?”

Once your weight was on your knees and chin you could feel some of the wax chip away beneath you, along with your need for exploring other people. Joel was still attentive to the little things during what was meant to be your punishment. He pushed your hair away so that you could see everything before rubbing even more oil into your goosebump littered skin. He’d prioritize nothing above your comfort and that alone meant more to you than a random fuck for another check.

“Doing okay?” Joel asked making you realize you’d been silent since he repositioned you.

“Y-yeah, yeah,” you answered, swallowing the dryness in your throat away.

You watched as he picked up another candle and in the blink of an eye his dick was sprung in your face. With wide eyes you took a moment to assess your options — only one: your mouth… Which you happily opened.

“Tilt your head up a bi—therrre y’go.”

He held the hot stick of wax in his head steadily as he found a rhythm, his thighs bouncing off the edge of the bed as his tip met the back of your throat repeatedly.

Joel laughed as if the sensation was new to him, he couldn’t help but feel so fucking turned on with you beneath him like this. Your glossy eyes shone up at him like diamonds, shoulders tensing off and on again waiting for the hot liquid to drip onto your skin, and you couldn’t move.

A simply tap of your fingers or resistance from your mouth would be enough for him to stop, but you were too touch deprived to even think about the discomfort you may have been in… Too drunk off the manly taste of his dick stuffing your jaw, and if he would accept this as a good enough apology then you didn’t give a fuck.

Jolting from the sudden hot splash on your spine you accidentally tensed your jaw slightly around Joel’s cock, making him hiss but when he didn’t pull back or flinch you figured might have liked it.

So you did it again—much more carefully than before—feeling a surge of excitement when you felt it twitch against your cheek. You flicked and swirled your tongue as best as you could, watching his hip stutter from the feeling.

Spit was drooling down your cheek onto the bed, your mascara began to chip onto your cheeks smearing dark lines into the sheets, your body was wet with a warm sweat, and your pussy was absolutely soaked.

“You thinkin’ about suckin’ his cock right now? Hmm?” He smacked your protruding cheek, the one his cock currently crammed itself into, without an ounce of mercy before holding the candle dangerously close to your flesh. “Pretending my cock is his? You wanna fuck him again? Huh? Say it!”

You did your best. You really did. To answer him. But you were bound, gagged, and your neck was supporting all of your weight.

He tilted the candle without another thought allowing the yellow to stream from your shoulder blade to the small of your back. With you writhing and crying from the heat that solidified quickly he figured you’d had enough and more than deserved to be unbound.

Joel also just really wanted a fucking answer to his question.

He pulled out of your mouth, reaching for the knot and tugging it loose; once you were completely able to move again you took it slow, turning to sit on your bottom and stretching out a few limbs.

Without a word Joel held out a water bottle for you to take. You looked at him wondering what he was thinking, but his expression was unreadable. You figured he was still pissed and trying to get over it so you took the water and said a quiet thank you before taking a few sips and giving it back to him.

“How do you want me?” You asked after a few more minutes.

He blew out all of the last lit candles and came to stand between your legs; his big hands cupped either side of your face and forced you to look up at him.

“Still doing okay?” He asked quietly.

You nodded. “Mhm. I just miss you.”

His thumb smeared your single tear into your skin, then his other hand ran down your painted body breaking some of the hardened wax until he reached your clit.

“I miss you too, baby,” he whispered against your lips, dragging his finger in slow, soft circles. “Put your legs back.”

You winced at the wax crackling against your flesh but did as his said regardless. He pulled his dick into his hand stroking it languidly before using his tip to feel how wet you were.

When he felt the cool slick coating your weeping hole he chuckled, finding the desperate frown on your face amusing.

“Fuck- you’re such a pretty fucking slut,” he groaned as he sank into your throbbing cunt. His hand reached up to pinch your cheeks, and you grabbed onto his wrists for stability. “You wanna fuck my brother again, hmm?”

You shook your head profusely despite the grip he had on you. “N-n-no!”

Despite your efforts to protest against his words, you couldn’t form another sentence once he started thrusting into you.

Between his hips slapping against the back of your thighs and his dick rubbing against the most sensitive spot inside of you your mind was gone. Somewhere between here and there.

“No?” He taunted. “But you were asking for him a few days ago, weren’t you?”

You wanted to correct him, clairfy your intentions—whatever. But words were like putty to your brain, melting in every area that didn’t matter right now. It was his tone that stuck like glue. His grip on your face, the stern yet confused look he gave you, the way his rhythm never hiccuped or skipped; you didn’t think having Joel completely take charge would have you fucked out so soon, but you weren’t necessarily complaining either.

“I—“ You whined at a failed attempt to say something. “I didn’t mean it! I’m sor- I’m so fucking sorry, daddy…”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes, yes! I’m sorry. I’ll never fucking— I’ll never ask for him again! Please, Joel I’m—“

“Who fucks you better? Huh? Me or Tommy?”

“Wha—?”

Joel grinned down at you, hand moving from your face to your hair. “Who fucks you better?”

“You— Joel, you. I lo— You fuck me better than fucking anyone.” You wrapped your trembling legs around his hips, hands clinging to his face now. “My pussy belongs to you, baby. My pussy was made for you—Joel I’m gon—“

He couldn’t stop now, not when you were so close and trying to tell him you were going to come. As tired as his hips and legs were he didn't dare stop or slow down, forcing every fiber of his being to persevere through the aches.

"Whose pussy is this, baby?” He cooed.

“Yours-“

“Who?”

“You, daddy! Fuck— aghh- you, Joel-“

“Hmm?” He brushed his nose against your skin, eyes burning into yours with conviction. “Tell me again,” he mumbled.

“Joel! I can’t—fuck! I belong to you Joel, only you, please let me-“

He carelessly slapped your face, pinching your cheeks again. “You ever fucking ask for anybody else again—“

You were frustrated and on the fucking edge, just barely hanging on. Nothing could distract you from the knots your stomach was twisting itself into. You’d do anything…

“I won’t! Iwon’tIwon’tIwon’t—please let me cum, daddy…”

Joel was quiet for a second, pretending to debate with himself but he couldn’t resist the temptation any longer.

“Thaaaat’s it,” he grunted, “you’re doing so good for me, baby. Cum for me, give it all to me.”

You tangled your fingers in his sweaty curls and pressed your body into him; with arched feet and tear-filled eyes your pussy clenched around him tighter than he’d ever felt before. It was enough to trigger his own orgasm.

As the wax crackled in and against your flesh you felt pieces of yourself fade away. You were so overcome with freedom your body convulsed and pulled him in closer, deeper.

The obscene squelching between your bodies combined with your desperate whines pushed Joel to fuck you past his own climax.

“Fuck,” he breathed out loudly into your ear, though you didn’t necessarily register it, “pussy’s fucking grippin’ me.”

He kissed away the sweat and the tears from your flushed cheeks, his pace finally having faltered to stillness. Yet without much of a thought he slid down your body, his knees hitting the floor with a thud and tongue dipping into the clear and white mixture that placed itself everywhere.

He watched your cunt ache with emptiness, then filled you back up with his cum using his thick fingers. Your legs clamped shut as he immediately curled into your g-spot, but with a wordless smack to your thigh you hesitantly spread yourself wide again.

You cried out a worthless plea that only seemed to humor him.

“You were just beggin’ for it ‘n now you want me to stop?” He chuckled.

You opened your mouth to protest. “I-ahh, fuck…” But him sucking on your clit shut you up.

With his other hand pressed into the chipped wax on your belly he held you in place.

“One more, baby please,” he moaned between licks. “I missed this pussy so much…”

His pathetic tone gave him away, his insecurities. You assured him to keep going by tugging his hair saying his name.

You allowed him the privilege of tasting you and having you in whatever way he wanted. It wasn’t like he was torturing you…anymore.

And just a few moments later you were right there again — crying, whining, arching your back off of the bed and creaming around his fingers. You tried desperately to form words but the only word that left from behind your lips was his name.

With Joel writing love letters with his tongue you felt closer to him and God than ever and to never return down to reality.

He brought his eyes up to admire your pornographic expression, all fucked up from him, and finally he felt secure again. His sucking eased up as did his sore hand and he gently pulled away.

“Shh, shh, I got you,” he whispered after climbing back in bed next to you.

He pulled you into his lap and let you come back to reality in your own time; he massaged your back and kissed your warm forehead, subtly smiling when your limbs latched around his waist.

“You did such a good job, baby,” he praised, and you could only hum in response. “Did such a good job.”

“Thank you, baby,” you mumbled.

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you… I’m sorry fo—“

“Shh shh shh… We’ll talk later, babygirl. How ‘bout we just get you cleaned up? Yeah? Okay.”

You were carried by him while he turned the dying camera off and then to the bathroom where he helped you pick off some of the wax after drawing a bath.

“I didn’t hurt you too bad now, did I?” He asked, grimacing when some of the wax was being stubborn.

“No,” you told him honestly. “I liked it, it was fun.”

He smirked at your reflection. “Yeah? Well listen, I don’t wanna have to do that again. Not unless you ask.”

“I’ll do my best to behave Mr. Miller,” you half joked.

“Uh-huh. M’sure you will. Come on the tubs ready.”

You sank into the hot water, hissing at the change kn temperature.

“I’ll, uh, change the sheets and then I’ll get in with ya… Okay?”

“Okay,” you smiled.

He took a few minutes to collect himself in the bedroom, wondering if he was being too harsh on you over a simple question. Though, it wasn’t really simple to him.

He felt he should have known or expected you to want Tommy again, or even someone else. While he wasn’t exactly fond of the idea he also knows that you have a job to ensure the security of.

You typically weren’t a woman to ask for a man’s permission when it came to anything, so the fact that you came to him meant more than he was initially willing to admit. And after your level of endurance today he saw how much more committed to him than you were to making content, so maybe… He could let it slide.

He found his way back to you soon enough and sat behind you as promised, smiling down at you when you looked up to him.

“I don’t even know why I asked,” you said after a tense moment of silence.

“I do,” he replied. “You weren’t wrong to ask me, sweetheart.”

“Maybe, but the way I worded it made it sound like… I dunno, like I didn’t want you anymore. And that’s not true. I shoulda… I should have known that—“

“You make porn, it’s not like you’re just asking to cheat on me,” he chuckled. “Well, it kinda is, but—“

“Stop,” you groaned and smacked his arm when he laughed.

“I get it. You have an audience to entertain, and I knew you weren’t tryin’ to toss me aside. It was the way you worded it, but I knew what you meant. And I’m sorry for holding out on you.”

“Joel, if I lost you over that… I don’t… I wouldn’t want anyone else.”

Nodding, he wrapped his arms around you and kissed your temple. “I know. I know. That’s why I’m willing to negotiate.”

“I don’t need that anymore,” you affirmed.

“I know, but… It was kind of fun. Maybe not Tommy again, but someone else?”

“I’ll think about it,” you promised. “But for now you and I need to make up for lost time, wouldn’t you say?”

“How can I say no to that face?”

His Punishment Felt Like a Reward...

577K Views | 97% | 2 Days Ago | ♡ 889

a/n: sorry it took five whole months to get this request done, but i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did! xo love you

I FORGOT THE TAGLIST UMMMM… SORRY😭

@miastinky (cant tag) @paulinnn777 (cant tag) @zloshy @fallout-girl219

[thegeminisage]

VEILGUARD FIC RECLIST

these are mostly (but not all!) lucanis/rookanis centered bc that's what i'm into. i have taken the small liberty of truncating some summaries since this is such a long list (with apologies), and tagging the authors where i can find them on tumblr. if i mistakenly tagged you and it's not your fic, or if i didn't tag you and you'd like to be, please let me know! not everybody has their urls in their ao3 profile so i had to cross my fingers and hope for the best lol. please make sure you read the tags for content and spoiler warnings.

How It Sang in Other Days by @viagothots [M, rook & viago, 26k]

Long before Rook de Riva took the contract on the elven gods, she learned to survive as a compradi of House de Riva. More importantly, she learned to survive Viago.

rec notes: ok, so i'm a little biased bc i helped beta read for this one, but the sheer depth of the characterization here is bananas. rook and viago's relationship is so much more complex than platonic or romantic, love or hate. it's a hard, unflinching look at the dark side of the crows that veilguard skirted around, and its take on the crow characters is both perceptive and honest. my favorite four words in this fic are "not like i was." you'll see what i mean when you get there. mind the warnings, but don't miss it - it's such a ride. and if you love a good torment nexus, i can promise you the rest of this series is just as mind-blowing as this installment. i can't rec this one highly enough.

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The Killing Kind by @teddywesworl [E, rookanis, 3.8k]

Lucanis was at Zara Renata’s mercy for a year. That sort of thing will leave a man with scars.

rec notes: absolutely my favorite rook/lucanis fic ever. please definitely mind the warnings on this one too, but it paints such a perfect picture of lucanis's character and the issues he might face after the ossuary, the spite voice is SO good, and the slow burn being somehow even slower is actually a fantastic choice. bonus rec for this author's other fics, particularly and any thing that may not misbecome the mighty sender, which has the best inner demons take i've ever seen, the eagle, which is competency porn, and the baseless fabric of this vision, which is actual porn but with fantastic character work.

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When the Floodwaters Come, I Will Help You Swim by @itsrainingpandas [E, rookanis, 5.5k]

They've been taking the relationship slow, as agreed. But after a freak storm isolates Rook and Lucanis in Treviso, and there's a fireplace and a bed, the desire between them becomes harder to ignore.

rec notes: i absolutely LOVE this entire series to pieces. the author has a MASTERFUL command over tone and mood and is able to shift both effortlessly. this rook is funny and brave while still being ruefully self-aware of and in touch with her own emotions, which adds a refreshing balance to a closed-off character like lucanis, and i'm constantly charmed by her. it was almost impossible to narrow this series down to a single fic to link to, but i chose this one because of how good the sex scene is; the dynamic here between rook and lucanis feels really good and natural. honorable mentions to Your Heart is a Haunted House and The Social Habits of Crows, which both feature illario and nearly got put on this list instead.

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How You Come Home by @punishandenslavesuckers [M, lucanis & illario, 3.2k]

Lucanis Dellamorte takes his cousin out for a night on the town after Illario returns from a rough contract. He doesn't seem like himself and Lucanis will do literally anything (including bar hop in Treviso) if it will bring Illario back home. Properly. AKA: Being a Crow is a nightmare sometimes and Illario commits the crime of decompressing in a 'frivolous' way. Lucanis has his back though.

rec notes: the way the shape of illario's damage is to clear to us without necessarily being clear to lucanis (whether it's because he can't see it or doesn't want to) is masterful, and when so much of their relationship both in canon and fic involves turmoil it's nice to see them just...love each other, even if it's difficult to show or say. this author is very good with characterization, and i also really enjoy Your Inexorable Company and Unseen Influence in this series, though as always, please be mindful of the warnings.

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Phantoms by @thewitchofelpis [T, rookanis, 700]

“It’s a nightmare, Spite. Lucanis is having a nightmare.”

rec notes: short and sweet, but i like how deftly it and evenly it covers all three characters' issues. i love the coziness of this author's style, so if you like this one, definitely check out the others.

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In Spite of You by @blazingquill [E, rookanis, 11.4k]

Lucanis lets himself be vulnerable. It takes a while. OR: Spite watches Lucanis’ slow breakdown over Rook. It lasts months.

rec notes: the pov/pronoun work in this one wrt to possession is extremely twisty and fun and refreshing, and the last line hits SO PERFECTLY. everything here feels so earned.

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Lucanis's Logbook, 6 by @flowersforthemachines [G, rookanis, 3.3k]

Lucanis’s journal kept throughout the time between Rook’s disappearance at Tearstone Island and the day she’s rescued from the Fade.

rec notes: this feels so well-integrated with canon, and the style perfectly matches the style of lucanis's actual logbooks from the game. having the fic itself use the actual look of the veilguard interface was such a wonderful touch and added immensely to this experience.

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Other Plans for the Evening by hollyvipe [M, rookanis, 5k]

Inspired by the Nick Thornborrow concept illustrations showing some very intriguing concepts they didn’t go with, like Rook and Lucanis in a lake in Treviso?! In this reimagining of a world where we got the lake scene, our lovers have already done the ‘commit to a relationship cutscene’ but Rook is still a bit unsure where that leaves them. Sure, he made her a dessert and remembered her drink… but are they actually together? And something I think a bit more exciting happens after his ‘I’ve got other plans for the evening’ tease.

rec notes: this one ties a lot of "missing scenes" together in a way that is satisfying, and it also scratches the itch for a more romantic moment here than was in the game. i really enjoy the mood of this one!

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feed me promises, keep my heart well by @alltears [G, rookanis, 3.9k]

a month after thwarting the gods, rook falls back into the fade. sort of.

rec notes: rook walking through the mansion at night is just creepy enough to be that extra little bit unsettling even though we know what's up, and lucanis and spite's solution to the problem is very clever. i also really enjoyed their dialogue with each other: it's tetchy without being openly hostile, and funny without breaking the more serious mood.

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Tomorrow We Die by @thecaryatid [E, rookanis, 2.8k]

Rook has a breakdown. The obligatory romance scene rewrite.

rec notes: this fic has the most interest after-affect of the fade prison i've come across. it's really compelling, sad, and also just a little spooky. i really enjoyed the comparison between solas and spite as entities inside rook and lucanis's heads.

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Volcanic by kaienne_pepper [E, rookanis, 6.1k]

Caldera de Riva, elder sister to the Fifth Talon currently going by "Rook", is no stranger to using unconventional means of distributing poisons. Unfortunately, on this minor of contracts, her mark doesn't mind distributing substances non-consensually either. One glass of wine later and two little Crows find themselves in a very compromising situation. Or: Lucanis and Rook both end up drugged during a contract and work each other through the effects.

rec notes: this is one of the first rookanis fics i ever read, and though i'm not normally a sex pollen girlie, i really enjoyed the vulnerability in this one and how in-character it was.

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Say The Desires That Are Your Deepest by @purplesauris [E, rookanis, 12.4k]

Lucanis finally allows himself to indulge in a late morning now that the world has ceased trying to fall apart around them.

rec notes: pegging fic of all time (even though there is technically no pegging) and one of my favorites. the way lucanis and rook navigate the New Sex Thing is really good, and the smut itself is both hot and incredibly intimate. it's nice to see lucanis still struggling with spite now and then even after the events of the game are over, it paints a more realistic picture, and i love the way they talk with one another when things are more settled, the spite voice is great.

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A Mirror to the Void by @wishforhome [E, rookanis, 1.9k]

Lucanis is not inexperienced with sex, but it's been more than a year since anyone has touched him. Since he's touched himself. He's worried about Spite, but Rook is asleep next to him and her presence makes him feel safe enough to try.

rec notes: sexuality is such a fun and complicated thing to navigate when there's a literal demon up inside you, and i thought this was a good portrayal of it.

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Just Wanna Hold You by whoframedjessicarabbit [E, rookanis, 400]

Lucanis is too stressed to get it up, and is surprised when he receives love and affection.

rec notes: short and sweet, but the tag #hold dick gentle like a hamburger was too compelling not to click on, and it does not disappoint if you're a fan of broken dick fics.

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Of Kindling Expectation by @nelsynoo [G, rookanis, 2.4k]

The Lighthouse is awake again after centuries of lying dormant. With a new host of inhabitants, the Lighthouse tries to figure out what they need and re-shape itself accordingly. Rook and Lucanis might not realise it yet - but they need each other.

rec notes: i've never read anything quite like this - it's from the lighthouse's pov, which is such an interesting and creative idea. the pov makes me feel as cozy as if i were an inhabitant of the lighthouse itself.

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thank you for reading the reclist, and hope you enjoy <3

[dragon age masterpost]

[agentmarvel]

nsfw alphabet - simon "ghost" riley

afab!reader

mdni - 18+; minors and ageless blogs will be blocked

divider credit: @/cafekitsune

☆ a/n: Due to other various non-sexual factors, I headcanon Simon as a dom - somewhere between a soft and hard dom, but still very much so in that headspace. A majority of this is written under that notion.

♡ a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

- Simon is the king of aftercare. He's so hyperfocused on taking care of you - making sure you understand how much he loves you, keeping you hydrated, cleaning you up, soothing any part of you that he feels needs it, etc. He tends to play pretty rough, test your limits, but nothing matters more to him than your wellbeing.

♡ b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- His favorite part of his own body is his back. It bears dozens of scars - some bad memories, some good - but also some of his favorite tattoos, including his newest, the one he got for you.

When it comes to you, it's definitely your eyes. They're so expressive, and sometimes, he can tell what you're thinking with just a glance. It's easy for him to decipher your mood. And he particularly loves watching those pretty eyes roll back when he hits the spot that makes you see stars.

♡ c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

- He definitely prefers to finish on your holes rather than inside them. Something about seeing streaks of his cum painting your swollen, abused cunt, dripping down between your cheeks, drives him wild. He can't help but use the tip of his cock to smear it around and then fuck it into you.

♡ d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- When he's deployed, Simon takes a pair of your panties. Typically a clean pair, one of the cotton ones so there's no risk of tearing any lace or staining silk; but he keeps them in his pocket at all times. He jerks off with them when he misses you most, but he's never lost a pair. (He thinks you don't know, but you put it together after his first two deployments since you moved in together; kind of obvious when your favorite panties disappear when he does and resurface when he returns.)

♡ e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) 

- Simon doesn't have tons of experience. Between the job and his penchant for anti-social tendencies, coupled with the fact that he's objectively off-putting and intimidating under general circumstances, that doesn't leave much room for hook-ups. But what he lacked in the beginning, he made up for with enthusiasm and research.

♡ f = favorite position

- He's a mating press kinda man! Let's him get the perfect angle and depth to make you scream. Puts your sweet little cunt on full display for him while he ruins it, but your pretty face is still in his line of sight. He gets to see every fucked out expression without missing the way he stretches you out.

♡ g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

- Despite the overwhelming perception, Simon's not all business, all the time. Everyone outside the 141 seems to ignore his dark sense of humor and all the shitty dad jokes he cracks just to hear your precious little giggles. He is, however, very serious in the moment. The dynamic you share really doesn't allow for his façade to crack unless your safeword is used.

♡ h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) 

- Si doesn't typically fuss over his body hair, but after the night he ended up with one of his own pubes in his mouth after a kiss, he decided to keep it a little neater when he's home. Nothing crazy, just shortening up the wiry hairs. But the carpet definitely matches the drapes.

♡ i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

- There are hints of intimacy in everything Simon does. Sometimes, it's lacing his fingers between yours while he plows into you. Sometimes, it's pulling your head back by your hair to dot kisses along your hairline. Sometimes, it's the way he rubs the knots out of your calves when he keeps you in one position too long. But it's also the way he looks at you, the way he praises you for doing as you're told. It doesn't need to be some grand gesture for Simon. It's the little things that are most intimate.

♡ j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

- He loves to make you watch him stroke his cock. Loves how you get all whiny and needy for it. His own hands don't feel nearly as good as yours do, but he'll edge himself until you start drooling. Otherwise, he doesn't really jack off unless he's deployed. No need when you've got a perfect little cum dumpster at home, yeah?

♡ k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

- Size kinkkkkkkk. Regardless of your size, no matter how much you may change over the years, Simon will simply always be bigger. In every way. He loves his intimidating stature, has the musculature to maneuver you how he sees fit, and he has a mean possessive streak that's meant to protect you. He wouldn't be quite so arrogant or smug when he takes you out if he were of a smaller frame.

(He also loves the fact that he's proportionately sized downstairs, too. Something in his brain goes a little fuzzy when he watches your holes stretch to their limits to swallow him whole.)

♡ l = location (favorite places to do the do)

- For teasing, Simon loves the car. You can't really fight back because he's driving, and safety is the number one rule. For sex, he prefers the living room or the bedroom. Toys and tools have their own cabinet in your shared room, restraints beneath the mattress, but the living room has versatility - the couch, the floor, his desk, all provide endless options.

♡ m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

- You. Just you. You existing. That's all.

♡ n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- He absolutely will not permit anything that leaves permanent marks, physical or psychological. There are specific terms that are a hard no for degradation. If you're into knife play, he has a dummy knife that feels real enough but bears no risk of harm. Your safety is paramount, and he won't participate in any act he feels could endanger that.

♡ o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

- Simon gives as good as he gets 110% of the time, loves going down on you just for the sympony of sounds you make, but this man is so in love with watching you gag on his cock. He's obsessed with the way your mascara looks when it's running down your cheeks. He loves to watch you cough and sputter when he fucks your throat. When he has you in the perfect position, he adores the way your throat bulges to accommodate him.

♡ p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) 

- Generally, he's pretty rough, but it's not always fast. He'll alternate between railing you within an inch of your life and agonizingly slow strokes that end in him slamming home hard enough to scoot you up the mattress. He likes to take his time taking you apart, but making love is reserved for rare occasions, particularly when you've been having a rough mental week and need to be reminded that you are loved.

♡ q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

- Quickies aren't preferred. They'll do in a pinch if you just can't wait, but as stated previously, Simon likes to take his time. He'll make a whole evening of edging and overstimulating you if you let him.

♡ r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

- He's moderate in his stance on risk. Teasing is all fine and dandy; he doesn't give a fuck if anyone thinks something is off. But he isn't necessarily game for risky locations when it comes to sex. He's wary of anyone else seeing what's his. He's unopposed to experimenting, though. Never know what you like until you give it a shot.

♡ s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

- His stamina is borderline superhuman. He can cum maybe two or three times in a session, lasts way too long, doesn't need much time to get hard again. But outside of sessions, he’ll hold out for a good half an hour before he allows himself to finish - just to make sure you've gotten your fill (literally and metaphorically).

♡ t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

- I think he owns a few cock rings for himself, but he mostly buys them for you, and boy howdy, does he use them. He favors the vibrators he can control in particular. Loves making you wear them in public and watching you try to act normal. Loves making you bounce on a decent sized dildo while you suck him off (swears it's to prep you for him, but really, he gets off on the idea of you getting double stuffed). Loves to hear you beg for it when he edges your throbbing clit with your little wand.

♡ u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

- He's a merciless tease. Working you up is a game to him. Simon loves to see how far you can bend before you break. And he loves it when you give it right back to him! Winding him up until he snaps is equally fun for him.

♡ v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

- Simon isn't particularly loud, but he's very vocal. He's so primal about it all, grunting and breathing heavily while spewing absolute filth. Constantly telling you how good you feel, how well you're taking him, how pretty you are. A mixture of praise and degradation. He's the type to force you to look him in the eyes while you're struggling to keep them from rolling back. When he's about to cum, the grunts turn into groans, pitched up to near whimpers. He talks to whole time, more so than any time you're not fucking.

♡ w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

- Definitely into anal play. It takes a long time to work you open enough to take him, and he enjoys every second of it. You make this cute, punched-out noise when he finally pushes it in that almost makes him cum on the spot every time. Likewise, he's a big fan of rimming and a little light fingering himself.

♡ x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

- Obv Simon’s a fucking mountain of a man, all 6'4" of him. Proportionate. No shortage of raised pink scars littering his pale skin; they're everywhere. Hella tatted.

7", heavy upward curve, uncut, too thick to wrap your hand all the way around.

♡ y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

- Early on, his drive was pretty low. Sex wasn't a priority; he was fine without it. But then he got his first taste of you, and all bets were off. He's incapable of keeping his hands off you. He'll fuck you 3-5 times a week, but if you want more, you need only ask.

 

♡ z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- Sleep doesn't typically come easy for Simon, and this is no exception. The difference here is that he's too busy admiring you to close his eyes. This specifically is the time he spends questioning how he got so fuckin' lucky, what a guy like him ever did to deserve a gift like you. He spends half the night just staring at you, memorizing every single little detail all over again. He's used to running on only a couple hours of sleep, so it's well worth the sacrifice.

[gr0ggy]

ᖴOᖇ YOᑌ (​ᗰIGᑌEᒪ ᙭ ᗷᒪK!ᖇEᗩᗪEᖇ)

warnings: 18+, dbf!miguel o'Hara, age gap (reader is 25, Miguel is 44), all characters are adults exept for gabriella, dad’s best friend Miguel, sexual content, gabriella exists, no use of yn, miguel x reader, Miguel is spiderman, Miguel is a whore, black reader, descriptions of hair and skin, slow, swearing, mother father and brother’s name mentioned, not set in 2099, Miguel wraps it up

wc: 3.3k

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Ｃｈａｐｔｅｒ ９： Ｍａｔｉｎｇ Ｓｅａｓｏｎ (SMUT)

Art creds: chos_1129 on insta

_________________________________________________

Mating season for spiders spans from September to November. It was October. Miguel, instead of coming to terms with his undeniable attraction to you, chose to pin the blame on his spliced DNA. It was easier that way, easier to believe that the primal pull he felt every time you were near was rooted in biology, not his own emotions. After all, Miguel didn’t just have spider-like abilities; he was part spider. A man fighting against instincts he could barely control.

He leaned over the sink in his apartment the night of the Knicks game, right before he was supposed to head out, staring down at the steady drip of water from the bathroom faucet. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the countertop, his reflection staring back at him from the mirror, haunted and conflicted. He couldn’t stop thinking about the way your voice lingered in his ears, the warmth of your body when you were close. The scent of you—floral, intoxicating, maddening—seemed to cling to him, no matter how much he tried to wash it away.

"This is the spider," he muttered under his breath, his voice rough. "It’s not me. It can’t be me." It explained the immense amount of sex you’d been having. It explained why he couldn't stay away from you.

But even as he said it, Miguel knew he was lying to himself. Yes, the spliced genes heightened certain instincts, made his senses sharper, and made his desires more intense. But it didn’t explain the depth of his feelings for you, the way he found himself wanting more than just your touch. He wanted your laugh, your wit, your warmth. He wanted you. And that terrified him, because you were James’s daughter. That would always and forever be a factor. It killed him.

He tried to distract himself, burying his thoughts in work, but even that wasn’t enough. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your face. The way you’d looked at him the night after the party, like you were seeing right through his carefully constructed walls. Like you knew exactly what he was trying to hide.

And that’s what scared him most of all. You did know. You’d always been perceptive, always had a way of peeling back his layers without even trying. It was maddening and alluring all at once.

________________________________________________

The Penthouse...

Miguel's lips were on your neck, soft and urgent, sending waves of heat through your body. The dim light of the living room cast shadows around you both, the faint murmur of the TV in the background reminding you just how close your dad was, only a few yards away, oblivious. It was thrilling, dangerous, and utterly reckless. Miguel knew better. He always knew better. Yet, here he was, unable to pull himself away.

When he finally broke the kiss, his chest heaved as though it physically hurt to stop. He leaned back, running a hand down his face, his expression torn and conflicted.

"I’m sorry…" he muttered, shifting even further away on the couch.

Your brows furrowed, confused by the sudden shift in his mood. “Sorry for what?” you pressed, your voice soft but firm.

"Just—there’s something—going on...with me." He avoided your gaze, staring down at his hands like they held the answer to his turmoil.

"What do you mean?" you asked cautiously, your heart pounding. For a split second, you thought this might be it. That he might finally confess what you’d been suspecting for weeks now. That he was Spider-Man. That he wasn’t just some overworked scientist with great shoulders and a deep voice. But instead, Miguel shook his head, his jaw tightening.

"I, um…" he hesitated, his words coming slowly, painfully. "Work, it’s been... a lot. And I’m sorry if—if it’s felt like I’ve been using you as a… stress reliever."

His words hit you like a slap to the face. A stress reliever? Was he serious?

You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in the conversation. "Oh, wow," you said, leaning back as your face hardened. “So that’s all I am to you? A stress reliever?”

Miguel’s eyes snapped to yours, panic flickering across his face. “No, that’s not what I said,” he rushed, waving a hand in front of him as though he could erase what just came out of his mouth.

"Really? Because that’s exactly what it sounded like," you shot back.

"I didn’t mean it like that," he said, his voice low but urgent, his tone pleading. "I’m just, God, I’m trying to be honest here, but I’m screwing it all up."

"No kidding," you muttered, crossing your arms as you glared at him.

Miguel let out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his thick hair. He looked utterly defeated, like a man who had already lost before the fight even began. “I don’t think you understand how hard this is for me,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping again.

"Then help me understand, Miguel," you challenged. "Because from where I’m standing, it just sounds like you’re making excuses." He was making excuses. Excuses for this, whatever it was, excuses about his true identity…

His head snapped up at that, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. "You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low and rough. "You think I don’t feel like I’m ripping myself apart every time I’m near you? That I don’t know how selfish I’m being by even entertaining this? You’re James’s daughter, for God’s sake. Do you know what that means?"

You flinched at the mention of your dad, the guilt in his voice cutting through you like a blade. But you refused to back down. "But you're here," you said softly. "Kissing me in the living room, knowing full well he’s right upstairs."

Miguel groaned, leaning back against the couch as he rubbed his face again. "You’re right," he said after a long moment. "You’re absolutely right. I’m being selfish."

The silence that followed was heavy, the weight of his words settling between you like an immovable wall. Finally, you spoke, your voice trembling. "So what do you want to do about it, Miguel? Because I can’t keep doing this, this back and forth. Either you want me, or you don’t."

His head dropped, his broad shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world rested on them. "I want you," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "God help me, I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life."

Your breath hitched at his admission, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. But before you could respond, the sound of a door opening down the hall shattered the moment.

Miguel froze, his eyes darting toward the hallway. "I should go," he said abruptly, standing and stepping back like he was trying to put as much distance between you as possible.

"Go where?" You whispered, still seated, still reeling.

"The guest room," he muttered, his voice tight. "I need to think."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you alone on the couch with your thoughts and the lingering heat of his touch. It was late, and you were tired. Tired of his games, his lies that you could see right through.

_________________________________________________

You lay in your old bed, staring at the faint outline of the ceiling, the city lights from outside casting dim, restless shadows. Tossing and turning, you hugged the pillow tightly, as if somehow it could hold you together. Staying the night had seemed practical at first. The subway was dangerous this late, and besides, your parents’ penthouse was comfortable. But deep down, you knew the real reason: Miguel. You couldn’t pull yourself away from him, even when his behavior frustrated and confused you.

He didn’t make sense, and that got to you. Miguel was a good man, of that, you were sure. He was kind, protective, and thoughtful in ways that made your heart ache. But he was also guarded, indecisive, and maddeningly secretive. One minute, he was kissing you like his life depended on it, and the next, he was pulling away, retreating into the walls he’d so carefully built.

Your mind raced, replaying his words from earlier in the living room. "There’s something going on with me." What was that supposed to mean? It wasn’t the first time he’d been cryptic, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You wanted to understand him, to help him carry whatever burden he was clearly shouldering, but Miguel made it impossible. He carried his struggles like an iron shield, deflecting anyone who dared get too close.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just guilt over your dad or hesitation about your relationship holding him back. No, there was something else, something bigger. Something darker. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way they softened when he looked at you but hardened with fear and determination in equal measure. Miguel wasn’t just hiding something, he was protecting you from it.

In the guest room, Miguel was awake too, sitting on the edge of the bed shirtless, his hands clasped tightly as he stared down at the floor. His broad shoulders were hunched, tension radiating from every inch of his frame. He felt torn in half. You were right there, just a few rooms away, and the pull to go to you was unbearable. He hated himself for how much he wanted you. How much he needed you.

But wanting you was dangerous. He wasn’t just a man with secrets, he was a man with enemies. People who wouldn’t think twice about using you to get to him. That’s what terrified him the most. Miguel had lost too much already, and the thought of losing you... it was unthinkable.

Still, every time he told himself to stay away, he failed. Every instinct screamed at him to protect you, to shield you from the truth of his alter ego and the danger that followed it. But the more time he spent with you, the harder it became to keep his distance. You were in his head, in his senses, in his soul. And that scared him more than any enemy ever could.

Finally, Miguel stood, unable to take the suffocating stillness of the room anymore. His bare feet padded softly against the hardwood floor as he stepped into the hallway, the penthouse quiet except for the occasional hum of the city outside. He told himself he was just going to get a glass of water. That’s all. But his feet betrayed him, carrying him toward your room instead.

The door was ajar, just enough for him to see you lying there, your bonnet on, your breathing slow and steady. Miguel leaned against the doorframe, his jaw clenched as he wrestled with himself. He should turn around. Go back to the guest room. This was a line he couldn’t afford to cross.

But then you stirred, your eyes fluttering open as if you’d sensed him there. You blinked a few times before your gaze focused on his shadowy figure in the doorway.

“Miguel?” You whispered, your voice soft and laced with sleep. You eyed him slowly, taking in his stature. He wasn’t wearing a shirt

"I… couldn’t sleep," he admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. He hesitated, looking like he was on the verge of retreating, but you sat up slightly, the covers pooling around your waist.

"Neither can I," you replied, your tone inviting, even though your heart was pounding. "Do you wanna come in?"

Miguel froze, the internal battle raging in his head. But the warmth in your voice, the way you looked at him like you weren’t afraid of his shadows, broke him. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a quiet click, sealing the two of you in together.

You shifted to the side, making room for him to sit on the edge of the bed. He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. The proximity was intoxicating.

"You don’t have to keep shutting me out, you know," you said softly, breaking the silence. "Whatever’s going on with you, I can handle it."

Miguel let out a shaky breath, his head dropping into his hands. "You don’t understand," he muttered. "If I let you in, it could put you in danger. And I can’t… I won’t let that happen."

Your brows furrowed, concern etching itself onto your face. "Danger from what, Miguel? You’re not making any sense."

He lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a vulnerability you’d never seen before. For a moment, it looked like he might finally tell you the truth. But instead, he reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek.

"I wish things were different," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

"But who—"

Before you could finish your question, his lips were on yours, soft and desperate, as though he was trying to memorize the feel of you. It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a confession, a plea, a promise. Miguel's big hand cupped your cheek.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours. Heat bloomed in your chest. Miguel's hands roamed your sides, tracing the curves he'd longed to touch. You arched into him, desperate for more contact.

"We shouldn't," Miguel breathed against your lips, even as he lowered you onto the bed.

"You say that every time," you whispered back, tugging him closer. "I don’t care."

He stared at you for a second, as if he was trying to decide whether he wanted to go through with it or not.

Next thing you knew, clothes were shed with frantic urgency, hands exploring newly exposed skin. Miguel's lips blazed a trail down your neck, across your collarbone, pausing to pay attention to your tits. You gasped, fingers digging into his muscular shoulders. He moved lower, kissing a path down your stomach. 

"Can I taste you?" He asked. You only nodded your head. Your eyes were closed, and your focus was on where his lips were touching you. 

"Use your words…" He looked at you seriously.

"Yes."

"Did you just roll your eyes at me?" He looked up at you from your belly, the look in his eyes playful, teasing. 

"No."

You did, in fact, roll your eyes at him. Miguel took your sweatpants off, discarding then somewhere over the bed.

"You’re gonna pay for that…" He smiled. His teeth were so white, and his canines were sharper than you remembered. Or maybe they were always like that?

He grabbed your hips, gripping them tightly as he shoved his face in your pussy. You bucked as his tongue found your clit, sensitive and swollen, drawing out breathy moans. His fingers dug into you. Miguel's tongue swirled and flicked against your most sensitive spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your hand in his hair, holding him close as you rocked against his mouth.

"Miguel, please," you gasped, teetering on the edge.

Miguel's skilled tongue worked magic, sending waves of pleasure through your body. You writhed beneath him, gasping his name. He slid back up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, making you taste yourself before he positioned himself between your thighs. 

"Is this okay?" He asked, his face covered in your slick, eyes dark with need but his voice gentle.

"Mhm," you breathe. "I want you."

"You ready?"

"Wait," You turned over slightly, opening your nightstand drawer.

"Condom." you said, pulling one out and waving it.

"You- You just have those in there?"

"yeah, this was my room in highschool..." You said, ripping open the packaging.

"I didn't know you were like that." He took the condom gently, puttin it on.

"Are you calling me a hoe?" You cocked your brow.

"No, that- that's not what I meant...I—"

"I'm fucking with you, Miguel." You smirked, pulling him closer by his arm. "C'mere..."

He pushed into you slowly, both of you groaning at the feeling. Your old bed creaked as Miguel began to move, setting a steady rhythm. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Your fingers traced the contours of his back, feeling the muscles flex with each thrust.

Miguel's lips find that sensitive spot below your ear, making you shudder. You turn your head, giving him better access as he sucks and nibbles. The sensations of his mouth on your neck and his body moving inside you threatened to make you cum. You match his rhythm, grinding into him as he grunts softly in your ear. 

Your nails raked down Miguel's back as the pressure built inside you, drawing a low growl from his throat. He picked up the pace, driving into you harder and faster. The headboard thumped against the wall with each thrust, but you were too lost in sensation to care about the noise.

"Miguel," you gasped, feeling yourself teetering on the edge. "I'm so close."

He slid a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit and circling it with practiced skill. "Let go, mi amor," he murmured against your neck. "I've got you."

That stimulation was too much. Your back arched as waves of pleasure crashed over you, Miguel's name falling from your lips like a prayer. He continued to move, prolonging your orgasm until you were trembling beneath him. With a final deep thrust, he buried his face in your neck and let out a muffled groan as he came.

"Shit!" He whisper-shouted, hugging you so tightly it was almost suffocating.

He rolled off of you, lying down on his back with huffed breaths.

"That was…" It felt like every time you had sex, it got better.

"Great." You finished.

"Yeah, great." He said, rolling over to face you.  

"You’re so beautiful…" Miguel looked tired, like he was going to fall asleep at any second. He was blinking slowly. You sat up, pulling the sheets to your chest. 

“Miguel, don't fall asleep,” You nudged him with your elbow. “You have to go back to the guest room.”

He couldn’t risk staying. If your dad woke up and found the guest room empty, it would raise questions you and Miguel weren’t prepared to answer. Miguel shook himself from his haze, sitting up with a quiet sigh. “You’re right,” he murmured, his voice low but steady.

He stood and moved to where his pants and boxers had been hastily discarded, slipping them on with deliberate motions. As he returned to the bed, his movements were slower, more thoughtful. Leaning down, his arms braced on either side of you, the muscles in his biceps flexed as he steadied himself.

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. "Good night," he said, his tone warm but hinted of restraint.

"Good night," you whispered, your voice softer than intended as you bit your bottom lip, unable to stop your eyes from following him. The door clicked shut behind him, and the faint echo of his footsteps down the hall left your room feeling far too quiet.

Taglist: @keidilla @deputy-videogamer 

[sunsetrendezvous]

could i request wednesday x fem reader who’s shorter than her maybe r has a panic attack and wednesday just scoops her up

Ofc bb!

Back To Tranquility

Summary: Wednesday helps you through a panic attack.

Contents: probably a bad explanation of a panic attack, Soft!Ooc!Wednesday, I may redo this since I don't think I did the best job with it. Also I feel like the text looks funky?

Words: 700+

Due to her perceptive nature, Wednesday is aware of even the most minute things. It's a skill she uses to her advantage and, now, uses it to monitor you and your well-being.

So when you started exhibiting subtle signs of a potential oncoming panic attack, she was aware before anyone else and has been anticipating the possibility.

However, she had assumed that it wouldn't happen this quickly.

Her boots sound against the floor with each step, her pace quick as she searches for you. Her bag clatters with each movement, likely rearranging the contents but right now, she couldn't care less. She has more pressing matters to attend to.

When Wednesday finally spots your figure, curled in on itself as you sit near exit door in a secluded stairway, she kneels down in front of you, letting her fingers brush over your knee.

She speaks in her typical monotone expression but there's a hint of gentleness in her tone.

“Name five things you can see.”

You look around without moving your head and the first thing you notice are the seemingly blinding lights of the stairwell.

You squint your eyes slightly, turning away to look at the sky. There are a few scattered clouds but otherwise clear, a soft pale blue of the afternoon.

Next, is the leaves on a nearby tree, lightly swaying in the breeze.

You turn your attention back to her and immediately take note of her eyes. The dark, almost black colour stares back at you intently, her true emotions swirling within their depths.

Then… Her freckles. The soft colour contrasts the paleness of her skin, creating constellations across her cheeks and nose.

“Four things you can touch.”

She moves on as if she can read your mind and you become more aware of the almost painful sensation of the rough wall pressing against your spine. It makes you cringe slightly, moving forward to no longer be resting against it.

Next is the way your uniform feels on your body. The fabric is soft against your skin and the way it encases your form is something you've long become accustomed to.

Then, Wednesday's hand, lightly resting on your knee. Not too much pressure but just enough to feel her there. To know that she's with you.

And, after a moment of focusing, you begin to feel the way the cool air around you enters your lungs with each breath. Soothing.

“Three things you can hear.”

The sound of birds chirping in the distance is the first thing you take note of.

Next, are the people talking down the hallway, conversing about something you can't quite hear.

Finally, the sound of the leaves dancing with the wind, rustling quietly just a few feet away.

“Two things you can smell.”

The distinct smell of outside, the smell of the dirt, the trees, the air. It's refreshing as you take a few deep breaths before looking back up to meet Wednesday's eyes.

Leaning closer into her, her scent invades you. The smell of old books, coffee and something else. Something you can't quite discern but it brings immense comfort nonetheless.

Once she can see that you're calm enough to x, she moves to your side. Her arms wrap around you before she stands, effortlessly carrying you bridal style.

Wednesday walks with purpose as she carries you straight to her dorm, knowing that Enid is off somewhere with Ajax and that you would find comfort in the familiar surroundings.

She unlocks and opens the door before walking in, closing the door with her foot. She walks over to her bed, ensuring that she places you down as gently as she can.

Wednesday disappears from your sight for a moment before returning, now carrying a bottle of water, holding it out for you.

“Drink.”

You nod, taking the bottle from her and taking a few sips, silently appreciating the way the cold liquid soothes your dry throat.

“Thank you.” your voice is slightly breathless but no less sincere.

She positions herself next to you on her bed, her posture rigid and rests her hand hesitantly on your leg.

Her movements are unsure yet caring.

You rest your hand over hers, silently expressing your appreciation for her attempts.

“I’m not a comforting person by nature, however, I’m willing to try… for you.”

[generic-enthusiast]

Ponyboy's narration

I think everyone in the fandom is well aware of the fact that Ponyboy is an incredibly unreliable narrator, but what I thought I would do is look at it a bit more in depth, seeing what particular methods Ponyboy uses to twist the reader's perspective. I was also originally going to say why I thought he was such an unreliable narrator, but then this snowballed into something much longer than I originally planned for so I'm making it another post

For simplicity's sake, we'll assume he's reliable when it comes to actual facts, because if we didn't, well that's a whole other can of worms I don't particularly feel like opening because analytically it's not very interesting (at least for me). So let's assume that it's only when it comes to people's personalities and thoughts that he diverges a bit.

Now, I started out with a very clear idea of how Ponyboy influenced the reader's ideas. There were two main ways: stating his opinion as fact, and placing information in convenient places that made the reader subconsciously change their opinion.

Then I started analysing and... well, things weren't quite as clear-cut.

A bit of background: I was going to use the Outsiders for a school project but then I wasn't allowed to, so all the analysis I've done is going to end up on here. The format, though, that's going to change, so rather than a clean, edited version that guides you through a clear version of my thoughts, here's my stream of consciousness.

Read it if you feel like it, don't if you don't.

Johnny Cade was last and least. If you can picture a little dark puppy that has been kicked too many times and is lost in a crowd of strangers, you'll have Johnny.

[Dally] liked to show that he didn't care whether there was a law or not. He went around trying to break laws.

Me and Darry just didn't dig each other. I never could please him. He would have hollered at me for carrying a blade if I had carried one.

These aren't facts, they're Ponyboy's perception of the world and, mainly, his friends. If you ask someone else what Johnny's like or why Dally breaks laws or what the problem between Pony and Darry is, they'll have different answers.

But Ponyboy presents them as an absolute truth. He doesn't say "I thought Dally just liked breaking laws" or "Johnny seemed like a dark puppy to me", he says these as if it's common knowledge, mainly because (I think) to him it is.

So these would be clear-cut examples of stating his entirely subjective opinion as a fact.

The problems started when I tried to analyse the following quote:

He stopped instantly. "I'm sorry." 

He wasn't really. Darry isn't ever sorry for anything he does. It seems funny to me that he should look just exactly like my father and act exactly the opposite from him. My father was only forty when he died and he looked twenty-five and a lot of people thought Darry and Dad were brothers instead of father and son. But they only looked alike — my father was never rough with anyone without meaning to be. 

Darry is six-feet-two, and broad-shouldered and muscular. He has dark-brown hair that kicks out in front and a slight cowlick in the back — just like Dad's — but Darry's eyes are his own. He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice. They've got a determined set to them, like the rest of him. He looks older than twenty — tough, cool, and smart. He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold. He doesn't understand anything that is not plain hard fact. But he uses his head. 

This is actually the quote that inspired me to say that he places things in convenient places so you agree with him. Because here, he dedicates two paragraphs to describing how Darry is rough and tough and cool and cold, right after Darry does something that, without Ponyboy's commentary, would be innocent and caring and a fairly mundane action: accidentally shaking someone too hard when you want them to come back to consciousness.

But there's not just that. There are about four explicit comparisons to Ponyboy's dad throughout his description, and the entire description is a constant comparison between Mr Curtis and Darry. This is practically the first we hear of Darry, mind you, and first impressions matter.

So, not only is Ponyboy demonising a perfectly normal action, but he's setting up these impossible expectations for Darry, not just as himself but also for the reader, because whether you like it or not, having the first description you read of a character be a comparison to someone else is going to affect the way you view them. Ponyboy views Darry as his guardian, not his brother, and he transmits that to the reader, changing the way we perceive him.

Remove the inner monologue, and this first scene is an interaction I could perfectly well see myself having with my little brother if I ever found him knocked out, much less beat up.

There's also the constant subjectivity and Ponyboy's opinions being stated as facts: "Darry isn't ever sorry for anything", "He would be real handsome if his eyes weren't so cold", "He's got eyes that are like two pieces of pale blue-green ice", etc.

(There's also the whole eyes thing that I absolutely adore and will go into with more depth at some point in my life)

"I didn't tell y'all something," Dally said, finishing his third hamburger. "The Socs and us are having all-out warfare all over the city. [...] We got hold of the president of one of their social clubs and had a war council. Yeah" — Dally sighed, and I knew he was remembering New York — "just like the good old days."

Without the internal monologue, the last sentence can be interpreted mostly one of two ways: sarcastic or genuine, and that vastly changes the way his character can be perceived. Does he enjoy wide-spread violence, does he find it to be an inconvenience, does he hate feeling unsafe in the streets? We don't know, not without the "I knew he was remembering New York".

Except who, exactly, is telling us they knew Dally was remembering New York?

Ponyboy, who thought Darry hated him because he was so worried about him being out late. Ponyboy, who thought Dally didn't love anyone in the world and only came to terms with the fact that he cared about Johnny when he died out of desperation at Johnny's own death. Ponyboy, who is writing this essay several weeks after everything happened.

I can't recount a conversation I had this morning word-for-word, much less one that happened weeks ago. Can we really trust the way Ponyboy remembers Dally intoning a fairly forgettable sentence weeks before he wrote it down, especially considering the entire plot hinges on him not understanding subtext?

I think not.

(I know I said that we would trust Ponyboy on factual stuff but we can't, not really, and tone is really toeing the line between objective and subjective)

I noticed this once, but I'm sure it's happened other times throughout the book, Ponyboy inserting his opinions at convenient times, telling us what a character is thinking went we can't know that he's right with any sort certainty.

Quick note: I just want to clarify something, which is that I am in no way trying to say that I dislike Ponyboy as a narrator. I absolutely love unreliable narrators and think that they're incredibly interesting and fun to analyse, as well as providing sort of ambiguity that really helps have each person make the story their own. I love them.

I do, however, also know that they are... well, unreliable. And part of what makes them so interesting is how you can spend hours and hours trying to dissect how much of what you just read was a lie (beyond the aspect of fiction and whatnot).

So yeah. Just thought that might need some clearing up considering the tone I used above.

[justkidneying]

Coloboma and Other Pupil Shapes

I saw a post about a photo similar to the one above, asking if it was photoshop or real. Both that photo and the one above are both real images, and I'll explain to you what is going on with those pupils, as well as some interesting stuff about various pupil shapes we can see in mammals.

Coloboma

This is a condition where the choroidal fissure of the optic stalk does not close completely during development. Basically, your eyes are a protrusion of your brain, and when the optic cup sticks out, it has a slit in it. If it doesn't close, parts of your iris, retina, optic disk, or eyelid. Most of the time, the iris is what is affected and the person has normal visual acuity.

Because the ring of the iris is incomplete (and usually shaped like a keyhole), this person cannot constrict their pupils the normal amount. I have a post about pupillary constriction and dilation here. The person may be overly sensitive to light. There's a surgery to correct the defect, or some people wear colored contact lenses to make up for the missing piece.

You can see coloboma on its own, or with another condition like Patau Syndrome (Trisomy 13), Cat Eye Syndrome (too many copies of chromosome 22), or CHARGE Syndrome (a set of congenital defects).

Now onto the other pupil shapes that aren't round cause I'm an animal science major.

Vertical Pupils

These are seen in small cats, foxes, hyenas, etc. Mostly ambush predators that are active at night and dusk. Vertical pupils are helpful for night vision. The difference in area from the smallest pupil size to the largest pupil size in humans is about 10x as small. In contrast, a cat's pupils vary by about 135x the area. This means that cats can have massive pupils for nighttime, but shrink them down small enough to not be blinded by light during the day.

There's a few theories on how vertical pupils help visual acuity, as they are found mostly in a certain ecological niche, but a lot of these theories are either contradictory or complete dogshit. It seems like a lot of the authors (especially whoever wrote the Wikipedia page) need to take an introductory physics class to learn how light waves work and oscillate. But I will try to explain some things that actually have proof, and I'll link an article (here) that has all the math in it. This is all theory, so I apologize if something is incorrect or doesn't make sense.

So with a vertical pupil, depth is able to be perceived without moving the head through the use of stereopsis. They have a sharper image in the central vertical area of their field of view, and can use the differing blurs of the horizontal to assume depth. Vertical pupils are also more common in shorter animals, which can use the blurriness of the ground to estimate depth, instead of taller animals that might not have as much near ground to use as reference. So, we could say that a taller animal could still have use for vertical pupils, but for night vision, rather than depth perception (however this would not be the case for someone with coloboma, as their smallest pupil size is larger than the average human's smallest pupil size).

Horizontal Pupils

These are seen in horses, sheep, goats, etc. So basically prey animals for the most part. This shape may help these animals see horizontal fields more sharply and decrease glare from the sun.

It is theorized that they allow the animal to have a wider sharp view and still see well enough in front of them to move over rough ground quickly. Since most animals with vertical pupils have eyes on the side of their head, they have smaller blind spots. With horizontal pupils, the sharpness of the image in such a wide field of vision is more uniform that that if the animals had round pupils. This means a horse can see around it and where it is stepping with sharp enough vision to be useful.

Also, these horizontal pupils would be most useful if the pupil stayed level with the ground, meaning the eye would need to rotate as the pitch of the head increased or decreased. This is seen in many of these animals, that their eyes rotate to keep their pupil horizontal.

End Notes

This was a pretty fun post to do, and I hope it seemed like it flowed well to put these things together. I hope you guys know a little bit more about eyes. I love eyes. I could talk about them all day. Maybe I'll talk about some cool neuro/ocular stuff soon.

[hermitw]

Hii, I've read your Sukuna analysis alongwith @thepersonperson's analysis and I have to say I like everyone knew he had a very rough past that made him what he is today but the SA part i didn't even think about it with him but it makes so much sense in the nuanced context. And considering he has been with Kenjaku too for god knows at what age and how long it makes me dread at the possibility.

Regardless I'm not so good with words and just wanted to say that your analysis really gave a different and a deeper perspective on his character and really makes me think what if instead of a 15 year old boy he had someone more mature like Nanami (perceptive and a great listener) with him. Could he ever change (ik Sukuna's redemption is the most hated take in the fandom but my simp mind can't help but wonder the what if...)

Also what are your prediction on how his arc and jjk is going to end because i refuse to believe Yuji's last black flash is taking him down(coping)

I'm so glad you got something out of them! Yeah, I'm both dying to know what Kenjaku's past relationship with Sukuna (and the other reincarnated sorcerers) was and dreading it. (Gege has to fill us in on more Heian lore, right? I'm begging).

Anon, you have some great questions, and my tldr JJK ending / Sukuna hope post just came out of the queue, so I'll go more in depth here (and apologize for such a long reply - I tried to keep this short, but apparently have many thoughts).

I think we've had enough irredeemable villains with the curses and curse users like Kenjaku (I really don't see him being given some tragic backstory that makes us understand him, but maybe Kenjaku was so evil without cause that he became like a curse. Same with Haruta and the older ones in Shibuya - they all preyed on the weak, unprovoked). I think that Geto and Sukuna have been misunderstood because we see through the lense that jujutsu society taught us, and I like that. Sukuna deserves his redemption arc, I believe, I want it so bad.

Tbh I've never thought "what if Nanami was the vessel"? I don't think I'm the best person to explore that possibility, nor can I imagine him eating Sukuna's finger (but it would be funny and I'd be down to read someone else's thoughts).

But you have a great point - I'm going to explore this route with Yaga, instead. While I don't know Yaga's past, he is mature and similar to Sukuna in that they put on this cold shell of character, but are very observant and artistic individuals (the quiet creativity of literature and doll-making??). Hell, Sukuna's hobby being eating and Yaga's compulsion to make dolls could both easily stem from loneliness.

I forget whether I've given Yaga his own analysis post, he's super compassionate - from the design of Panda to the use of his cursed corpses in the manga, to help someone overcome by grief (though it's against the rules and he could be in trouble for it), I also feel like the conservative higher ups take issue with visibly queer students, so Yaga admits them to the Tokyo school, pretends not to notice, he makes sure that they're becoming sorcerers for themselves, etc. He's a great listener and you don't even have to say anything.

Plus, with his cursed corpses, Yaga wouldn't even have to eat Sukuna's fingies - he could feed them to a doll. Then Sukuna can have his own body (while I'm not sure whether he could take his true form this way, he told us that he is more comfortable in Megumi's body than his own - he gets to look like any other person, he fits better with clothing, furniture, the way everything is built... Sukuna could design a vessel to look the way he wants to).

If Sukuna were able to incarnate with his own body at first, then he wouldn't have to continue the cycle by repressing another soul (and then feeling gross about it), he would be able to chill and discuss poetry. I think he would still be full of rage at times, and have a lot of emotions and shadow work to process through, but Yaga would listen to Sukuna and find a solution to free him from Kenjaku's plot. (even if Sukuna is under a pact to not discuss certain things, Yaga might be able to figure out what he needs to know).

Or if Yaga had eaten a finger at first, then he wouldn't have just ignored Sukuna - maybe he wouldn't say much, but he would listen. At least have conversations when they were alone. Maybe teach him to make his own cursed corpse and provide it with the fingers they'd find together (I like this AU... Thanks for the idea).

But I have thought that if Megumi were the original vessel, they might have a symbiotic relationship like Hana and Angel. Megumi and Sukuna were both abandoned children, seen first for their differences, their strength, put into a separate category against their will. It was their birthright and they never asked for it.

I rly believe that Kenjaku made sure Yuuji would be the perfect cage psychologically as well - it was important for him to have no emotional understanding of Sukuna, to not be able to relate at all.

Ultimately I hope that Sukuna gets to have his own body, I think that could solve a lot, though he does have a lot to work through and recover from.

I do have fear in my heart from the recent chapter, where there's a frame of Sukuna with white eyes from being hit by Yuuji - it reminds me too much of Mahito in Shibuya, and that better mean nothing. (or maybe it means that we get to see Sukuna's final form, which is fine. Uraume said he's been holding back, after all.)

Something drastic has to happen if there are 4 chapters left and gege mentioned the ending would be satisfying for most people.

So my predictions for JJK ending...

I have 2 routes of predictions, but they could both happen, I guess. A few things listed have already come true. But almost every time I've been right, Gege throws in something unpredictable. I'm trying to finish my 3rd manga read by the next chapter so I can look for clues about the future.

I still can't let go of my cryogenic domain theory (it's not Chosover), or the possibility of time travel - whether to prevent things from happening, or to understand the present better, I can't rule it out.

Oh, and it's not Gojover either. He's the honored one throughout heaven and earth. But especially - the ability to create sugar? That guy Yuuji went to school with... His CT is so random. But who was always eating sugar? Gojo. It always felt like such a massive hint, along with the recent artwork of Gojo, Yuuji and Megumi - all three of them have taken on traits of the one possessing their body. That's why Gojo looks like that, I swear. His brain is just recovering right now. He might show up with Rika, in Yuuta's body.

I'm not confident in predicting these things, but I'd like for them to happen...

Shiu Kong hasn't been seen in a long time. Not since Geto took over the cult. We know very little about Shiu, but he was Toji's friend for 10 years, knew Megumi when he was little, used to be a detective, and is a Korean citizen. So whether he moved to Korea, or awakened some CT, or decided to figure out what was going on in Japan... I don't know, I just think it would be neat to see what he's doing, to have him be the one to tell Megumi about his father. He knew Toji the best, and Gege liked his character.

Gege did say that the end is satisfying, and I forgot about Mei, so if anyone has to die then I really hope she's the one. I don't see how this would happen, unless by Geto's hands.

Geto could return - Gojo said he would have been satisfied if Geto were there with him. Gojo is coming back, and bringing him along. I've been long hoping for Geto's return - Sukuna grew Yuuji a new heart, so maybe Geto's brain can return as well. Then he might have access to Kenjaku's memories, and a thousand years of jujutsu knowledge would be good for them (I was so stressed at finding out Yuuta did not make a pact with and revive Kenjaku for this reason). I also thought that Yuuta was the type to bring Geto's body back, especially when Gojo wanted to mourn it. Since we know he can basically teleport those who he's copied, it seems even more likely. I'm of the belief that the airport is not Gojo's hallucination - how would he know Haibara visited Nanami? (unless they were so close that it was obvious this would happen...)

I'll end with some hope for us Sukuna simps - the first episode was called Ryomen Sukuna, not Yuuji Itadori. Details like that had rumors going that Sukuna is really the main character of Jujutsu Kaisen, so... Maybe... (I hope it really is all about him).

Edit to add: Gojo will become Sukuna's vessel

[berrypass-de-murdler]

3 - 60 A Frozen Body in a Frozen City

No need for a hint, it's Union Man Mint!

You've seen him before, but here he is in all his full-color glory. The velociraptor who's always rhyming for some cryptic reason.

My personal favorite of the cowboy gang is Porter Wine, who I hope appears again.

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

With Irratino forced into a rough location, Logico should finally be heading somewhere pleasant, if the pattern is to continue. But it’s not. Instead, he’s sent to a small island off the coast of Netherlands called Colvoc.

Colvoc is, despite its sister island’s climate, completely frozen over - and it's apparently like this 365. The main attraction is a giant frozen lake - but it’s brownish-green and full of dead fish under the ice. A huge man comes running towards Logico.

CHARCOAL: LOGICO! LOGICO!

He gives the little man a bone-crushing hug.

CHARCOAL: I got out of jail! LOGICO: [suffocating] That’s very good- HONEY: My oh my, it’s Deductive Logico! 

He’s wearing giant boots and scarves on his legs to keep him from losing limbs to the weather.

HONEY: Have you heard about the… [snicker] LOGICO: What, the body? CHARCOAL: Noooo… [snicker] BONE: Are you talking about the - GASP!

The cold pile of bones jumps from the roof of a building like a spider.

BONE: What are YOU doing here, Deductive Logico! If not for…

Mr. Sea falls from the sky directly onto Logico!

SEA: AHA! I KNEW IT!

Considering that he’s hunting down Irratino, he seems to be everywhere that Logico needs to be.

SEA: You’re here for IT! LOGICO: I HATE THE PRONOUN GAME JUST EXPLAIN YOURSELVES YOU IDIOTS!!!

They all push him very fast into a strange restaurant. And placed in front of him is the most disgusting-looking hot dog imaginable.

SUSPECTS: THE COLVOC CHALLENGE! LOGICO: WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM?! SEA: Oh you absolutely HAVE to try the Colvoc Challenge. It’s the only reason ANYONE comes here!  HONEY: Oh yeah. I’m considering buying the rights to it.

They’re all looming over him, begging for him to eat it. He wishes Irratino were here to scold them about the cruelty of eating meat! The old Logico would have punched everyone, but he has too many moral values now (even though he violently hates ¾ of the people here). So he succumbs to peer pressure and takes a bite. He spits it out all over them!

LOGICO: MY FUCKING GOD, I HATE THAT! CHARCOAL: [crying fit]

That night, Logico goes for a walk in the cold, gurgling and miserable. How can one bite, which he didn’t even swallow, make him want to throw up so much? For what happens next, check the episode title. And soon, he has to get all the suspects back.

LOGICO: EVERYONE… I may not feel well, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let a murder go unsol-

Mr. Sea pushes him over, and he slides on the icy road and can’t stop!

LOGICO: OH FUCK YOU!

The road goes downhill, directly into a tiny theater.

MARENGO: Oh, a customer! Oh please, oh how I beg you to come watch a film! I promise it will be worth your time! LOGICO: NO NO NO NO!

He has to trudge back uphill in the thick snow that almost goes up to his chest. He slams open the door to a bar instead, with Mayor Honey inside.

LOGICO: YOU! 

Honey throws beer onto him - and it’s warm!! It melts the ice on him, but now he smells like gym socks. He’s getting an awful migraine and seeing double, which, in his case, means gaining depth perception. 

BONE: GET HIM!

A penguin comes running at Logico with a gun - certainly not Antoduardo! Logico tries to call Irratino for help, but the penguin instead steals the phone and takes a selfie of itself holding Logico at gunpoint.

Irratino gets the photo and is tickled at the thought. A penguin, as a weapon! And he responds with only a heart emoji.

Logico is about to faint, but Charcoal grabs him suddenly and runs away from the others.

CHARCOAL: Are you okay?? LOGICO: …No… [gurgling] [small sob] CHARCOAL: You helped me get out of jail… LOGICO: …I did? CHARCOAL: …so it’s only fair if I help get you out of this mess. That’s what friends are for!!

Logico’s not sure how to feel about ‘friends’. But he’s not going to refuse the help at this time, and together they figure out that today’s killer was Mr. Sea… which means nothing at all.

SEA: I killed for my CORPORATION! LOGICO: WHAT corporation?? SEA: You’ll have to come and see. You’ll have to come and MR. SEA! HA HA HAAAAAAA!

He uses a grappling hook that attaches to a zeppelin that flies overhead, and is carried all the way back to Drakonia. Logico wishes for a doctor, but there isn’t one on the entire island.

The end! 

Something tells me that Fuchsia has some ulterior motives behind the wild goose chase. I wonder why!

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[uniqueinteriordesignbd]

The Art of Layering: Mastering Textures in Interior Design

Layering textures in interior design is a powerful technique that adds depth, warmth, and visual interest to any space. By thoughtfully combining various materials, you can create a harmonious and inviting atmosphere. Here’s how to master the art of layering textures in your home.

1. Understand Texture Basics

Before diving into layering, it’s essential to understand the different types of textures:

Tactile Texture: This refers to how a surface feels, such as smooth, rough, soft, or hard. Materials like velvet, leather, wood, and metal all contribute to tactile texture.

Visual Texture: This is about the visual appearance of surfaces, which can create the illusion of texture. Patterns in fabrics, wallpaper, and art can enhance the visual texture of a room.

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2. Start with a Base Layer

Begin by establishing a base layer to anchor your design.

Choose a Neutral Foundation: Walls, flooring, and large furniture pieces should start with neutral tones and simple textures. This allows other textures to stand out without overwhelming the space.

Consider Materials: Opt for durable materials like wood, stone, or neutral upholstery that provide a solid foundation for layering.

3. Incorporate Fabrics

Fabrics are one of the easiest ways to add texture to your space.

Mix Textiles: Combine different fabrics, such as cotton, linen, wool, and silk. Use a variety of patterns and weaves to create interest.

Layering Textiles: Use throw pillows, blankets, and area rugs to add softness and warmth. Don’t hesitate to mix patterns—stripes, florals, and geometric designs can all work together.

4. Add Natural Elements

Natural materials can bring a sense of tranquility and grounding to your design.

Incorporate Wood: Wooden furniture, beams, or accents add warmth and organic texture. Consider different finishes, from polished to reclaimed.

Use Stone and Plants: Incorporate stone elements like countertops or decorative pieces, and add greenery with plants to introduce life and texture.

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5. Play with Shapes and Forms

Varying shapes and forms can enhance the texture of a room.

Curved vs. Angular: Mix furniture with soft curves (like a rounded chair) alongside more angular pieces (like a square coffee table) to create a dynamic look.

Layered Decor: Use decorative objects of different shapes, such as bowls, vases, and sculptures, to add layers of interest.

6. Consider Lighting

Lighting can dramatically affect the perception of texture in a space.

Use Soft Lighting: Warm, soft lighting creates a cozy atmosphere that enhances the textures around it. Use lamps, sconces, and candles to create layers of light.

Highlight Textures: Focus on lighting that draws attention to textured walls, fabrics, or decor. Spotlights and up-lighting can create dramatic effects.

7. Incorporate Artwork and Decor

Art and decor are essential for adding personality and texture.

Choose Textured Art: Look for pieces with dimensional qualities, such as canvas paintings, sculptures, or textile wall hangings.

Layer Decor: Use shelves or mantels to display a mix of framed art, books, and decorative objects, varying the heights and arrangements for visual interest.

8. Maintain Balance

While layering is about variety, balance is crucial.

Avoid Overcrowding: Too many textures can overwhelm a space. Aim for a balanced mix of soft and hard, light and dark textures.

Create Focal Points: Use textured elements to draw the eye to a specific area, like a beautifully upholstered chair or a striking piece of art.

9. Experiment and Adapt

Interior design is an evolving process.

Test Combinations: Don’t be afraid to experiment with different textures and materials. Swap out pillows, rugs, or decor pieces to see what works best.

Seasonal Changes: Consider seasonal adjustments—light fabrics and bright colors for summer, and heavier textures and warmer hues for winter.

Conclusion

Mastering the art of layering textures can transform your home into a rich, inviting environment that reflects your style and personality. By thoughtfully combining materials, colors, and shapes, you can create a harmonious and dynamic space that feels both comfortable and visually appealing. Embrace the layering process, and watch your interiors come to life!

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[infjtarot]

Hanged Man. Mystic Spiral Tarot

Themes and Keywords: Dissolution. Sacrifice. Renunciation. Redemption. Immersion. Baptism. Crucifixion. Listening. Change of perspective. Suspension. Time out. Cleansing. Earned or bought wisdom. Lucid dreaming. Stillness. Meditation. The power of water. Roads less traveled. Waiting. Self-abnegation. Annihilation of self in the beloved. Enlightment process. Astrology/Element Note that the esoteric title is the Spirit of the Mighty Waters. Our three primary elemental majors (Fool, Hanged Man, Judgement/Aeon) are the only ones thus named. The Hanged Man is the major representing the element of water, physical and astral. As an element, it is considered cold and wet, or phlegmatic in temperament. The phlegmatic nature is dispassionate, so though this is also the element of emotions, it is serenity, and rising above them. The symbol of water is the downward-pointing triangle, showing that it has traits considered feminine, like receptivity and intuition. A downward-pointing triangle is also a very rough pictogram of the heart, as water as a symbol is associated with the feeling realms. Water is associated with consciousness itself, personified by the vastness of the sea, and the tranquilizing hush of endless waves upon the shore. Bodies of placid water present us with reflection, stillness, and depth. Water is the replenishing source that cleanses, purifies, baptizes, quenches, and conquers. It is the amniotic fluid of conception and life, yet the direction of the element, the west, is associated with endings and death. The Hanged Man as spiritualized water also has an affinity for Neptune the dissolver, the modern ruler of Pisces, and for twelfth house themes of transcendence, renunciation, and self-undoing. But as elemental water, it is associated with the entire Cups suit and traits of all of the water signs: Cancer as birth and baptism, Scorpio as death and transmutation, and Pisces as sacrifice and resurrection. Mythology/Alchemy Alchemically, water relates to dissolution, either the physical dissolving of the alchemical ash of calcination into water or, psychologically, the purification of the psyche through immersion in the unconscious. “Let go and let God,” or going with the flow and remaining open to the previously rejected parts lurking in the unconscious mind. Treasures guarded by your demons surface, and you feel recharged and elevated. The mythologies suited to this card are the dying gods of Frazer’s Golden Bough, and the stories of sacrifice, resurrection, and redemption: Tammuz/Dumuzid, sent to the underworld for failing to mourn Inanna; Osiris slain by Set and reassembled by Isis; Jesus the crucified and resurrected; Lazarus who arose from the tomb; Attis the self-castrated; beautiful Adonis, slain lover of Aphrodite transformed by her tears; Dionysus slain by Titans and resurrected by Zeus; Mithras the savior, guardian of waters; and perhaps most fittingly, the Norse god Odin. For nine days and nights Odin, wounded by a spear, willingly hung himself upon the world tree Yggdrasil without food or drink. He sacrificed himself to himself, or his lower self to his higher, in order to acquire the secret wisdom of the runes. In another tale, Odin sought Mimir’s well at the roots of the tree Yggdrasil. Mimir, the rememberer, was the guardian of memory and knew all things. Odin sacrificed an eye for a taste of the water that granted wisdom. For Odin, no sacrifice was too great for knowledge and no price too steep for understanding. He gave up one way of seeing things (his eye) for another type of perception. Susan T. Chang

[marcholasmoth]

OSRR: 3252

going from functioning to effectively blind is rough. anyone who permanently loses any of their sight deserves so much better than the world can offer them. this shit SUCKS.

i went out with my mom today. put on sunglasses and a floppy hat and did my best to not die from the sensitivity to light.

everything is so bright all the time. the only time i can take my sunglasses off is at night. good god it's terrible.

but i put in my drops today twice by myself! so that's good! turns out they're less stressful if i do them myself.

i want to read and i want to write but i can hardly keep my good eye open to bright things for more than a few minutes at a time. it's really a struggle. no wonder i have everything on dark mode. i used to wonder why people used dark mode on everything, but now i am that person and wonder how i ever used the bright settings. everything is so much light. so bright. geeeeh.

anyway, joel texts me regularly to make sure i'm still alive and to ask me how im doing. which i really love. he makes me happy. he's worried about me and he shows his concern in his texts. he's very sweet.

also i learned that my lack of good sight definitively means i have no depth perception, it throws off my balance, and it throws off my perception of physical pain. my cat decided to bite me and it took me a hot minute to process that he was massacring my hand instead of just causally munching it like he'd done a few seconds previous.

my patch is too big to wear with glasses except my sunglasses. it's too bright to wear regular glasses without sunglasses. but i also can't see without regular glasses. i end up wearing just my sunglasses most of the time because it's too bright and too sharp for my sensitive eye blobs to wear both glasses. the struggle is real. sure i got a ways to go, but good god, i just wanna see again.

but i can open my eye a little more than i could yesterday, which is good. it waters a lot, though.