#no break week! Woo

[pinknnight]

all i’m gonna say is guys, just eat that crapburger :’)

[crescentfool]

🌊🌸

[sydney-carton-of-sour-milk]

📣ANNOUNCEMENT📣 THE BIG 2024 PROJECT

At long last, I'm announcing what I've been working on🥁

Starting February 6th and continuing every other Tuesday through at least mid-December, this blog will be highlighting the work of various illustrators of A Tale of Two Cities over the many decades since its initial publishing!💫

As it stands right now, the archive will span from the very beginning in 1859 all the way through about 1992 (with a heavy density at the turn of the century) and will contain just under 500 individual illustrations by 20 individual illustrators — in styles ranging all the way from pen to painting and abstraction to realism✍️

All of these numbers will continue to grow, however, because this is an ongoing project! In fact I expect the queue to continue through a good portion of 2025 as I keep finding and archiving more and more — there's just so much out there! For this reason I am not posting these in a sorted order — I looked at what I have right now and ordered them to feel random and balanced, with some themed for certain months😎

Also! A large percentage of these (about half of the artists and well over half of the total illustrations) are coming from sources difficult or impossible to find on the Internet and are instead coming from my own scanning work: When I would discover in my research editions that I knew to have work by new illustrators whose pages weren't available for online viewing, I would seek out and buy those editions for super cheap online and scan them on my own printer's scanner — so for a lot of the old illustration work that this blog will be posting, it will possibly be the first time some of these have ever been uploaded for public view on the Internet!🤩

As far as keeping the archive organized on this blog, the organizational tag for these posts will be " #illustrators ", and I will also tag each post with the highlighted artist's name and with the decade in which each set of illustrations was initially published (as far as my research tells me)🏷️

On the off-weeks, this blog will be posting its usual miscellany, with a sprinkling of behind-the-scenes and extras for this specific project. But starting next week and continuing every other Tuesday* through about the entire year, expect a new post highlighting the work of a given A Tale of Two Cities illustrator — and be prepared because sometimes the number of illustrations on a single post will be in the tens/dozens since Tumblr increased the max image count for a single post to 30! *with the exception of April, which is going to have a special schedule for reasons you'll see when the queue gets there👀

I'm just so excited to at long last get to share this incredible archive here! I sincerely hope you enjoy this fascinating and often breathtaking look at these tiny, beautiful pieces of art history!🌟

[okkottsus]

AKJSDJKJK REO’S FIRST IMPRESSION OF NAGI WASNT AS MAGICAL AS IT WAS MADE OUT TO SEEM LMAOOO 

“HE LOOKED HALF DEAD” “WEIRDO” PLSSS 😭😭😭

[nattikay]

hmmmm think i'm gonna go play some afop

[bibelots]

every now and again I think of the bit in Maurice when he is explaining Clive's symptoms to the doctor and is like "can't stop crying." me too bestie

[serafilms]

omg leehan can’t eat spicy food?? ME NEITHER the similarities are endless 😍😍

[rillette]

keychains came in today! i'll start shipping them out asap once i'm a little less swamped with hw 🫡

[strxnged]

holy shit brothers and sisters we are Exhausted

[isdalinarhot]

Dalinar and Sadeas? Wrestling? Without shirts on? As a sparring exercise? And they’re sweaty and using all of their strength. But Dalinar is distracted looking at the way Sadeas’s sweaty hair still manages to cascade around his shoulders in such a resplendent way that Sadeas gets the upper hand and PINS DALINAR TO THE GROUND. And then they KISS. WITH TONGUE. It’s true Brandon Sanderson told me it’s happening in a deleted Oathbringer flashback

[digitalcockroach]

i should log off im way less willing and able to deal with morons online when im sober lol

[andersunmenschlich]

The Synopsis

...I promised @gramarobin I would share. (Promise in comments of this post: link.) It's long!

Brief summary of the post @buttebrat was responding to:

The Bible contains dirty stories. Many of the pornographic situations described are not condemned (for instance, Jacob regularly had sex with four different women and it's never so much as hinted that this might not be okay, Abraham married his half-sister and same, etc). .

Brat Jacob was married to two of the women, so that was fine. He was probably married to the other two, who were not slaves despite the fact that having sex with Jacob was not their idea (it was their mistresses' idea), so that's maybe fine? The Bible never says God approved of Jacob having sex with the two definitely-not-slaves.

Yes, Reuben did have sex with one of his dad's sex slaves concubines. I don't know where you got the idea that Yahweh approved of this. .

Anders They were slaves. If my wife can hand her 'servant' over to me and say "here, have sex with her and her kids will count as mine," that 'servant' is a sex slave. If God disapproved, he'd have killed some people. He's not shy about doing that.

I don't know where you got the idea that I thought Yahweh approved of having sex with one of your dad's sex partners. Go back, read again. I said that Yahweh didn't punish Reuben for having sex with Bilhah, and even when He got around to condemning this kind of behavior He condemned it for the wrong reason: because having sex with a body that belongs to your dad is gay, not because having sex with a woman who doesn't want it is rape. I think that's noteworthy. .

Brat I have school, but I'll get back to you. .

Anders Take your time. .

[One week later.] .

Brat I finished my midterms! How are you doing? .

Anders I just learned that my baby sister no longer has a left arm. Otherwise, I'm fine. Congratulations on making it through your midterms. .

Brat That's horrible. I'm so sorry. Can I ask what happened? .

Anders My parents relied on the Great Physician. Like the Bible says. Acted in accordance with their faith instead of in accordance with reality. My sister's 16. She might not make it to 20. .

Brat Now I understand why you're mad at God! You should be mad at your parents instead. This Bible verse about how faith is incomplete without corresponding action means that your parents should not have acted in accordance with their faith: they should have turned to secular medicine immediately. God blessed us with science, so we should use it!

This Bible verse where God scoffs at Moses for asking Him for help instead of waving a stick around and walking into the sea shows that your parents should have done the rational thing instead of depending on God! .

Anders Well, I'm glad you know God isn't dependable. Shame my parents don't. .

Brat I never said that! God's totally dependable! You just shouldn't depend on him for things you can do yourself. I think it's silly to rely on an all-powerful deity when fallible human doctors are right over there.

Also, God only heals people when he feels like it. Which is a good thing, because sometimes it's best for people to suffer and die.

It is. It really is. See, our physical bodies and physical lives are nothing compared to our immortal souls. God cares most about our souls. So it's best not to depend on him for anything physical. He's totally dependable, though. Just... you might die if you rely on him instead of modern medicine.

This line of thinking has upset me, so here's another Bible verse!

The Bible claims that everything will be wonderful after you die (ignore the following verses about the people who'll be burning in a lake of fire and sulphur and focus on this one about becoming incapable of negative human emotion).

God never meant us to suffer. That's why he created us with a capacity for suffering—because he never planned for us to suffer.

Life was never meant to be like this. We did this to ourselves when we turned away from my specific god. I'm really looking forward to the end of the world, when everyone will be judged I and the people like me will finally get to live happily, the way we were meant to.

...That made me feel better. I think I'll be able to sleep now. Bye! .

Anders Humans came up with medicine, not your god. But if you have to pretend your god came up with medicine so you can use it, fine. Please do.

Life was never meant to be like this, huh? According to the first part of your holy book, life was meant to be lived naked and ignorant. It's just a book. I wish people wouldn't take it so seriously. Taking it seriously leads to all sorts of tragedy.

Sleep well. .

Brat I'm not pretending. My god did give us modern medicine. By giving humans human brains. No other creature on earth has a human brain. The human brain is a gift from God.

Also, I think Genesis is a metaphor. God didn't want us to be naked, he wanted us to be vulnerable. He didn't want us to be ignorant, he wanted us to rely on him instead of being able to stand on our own. Eating the fruit wasn't an actual eating of actual fruit, it stands for the disobedience we have in our hearts—it's a metaphor for us not doing what God tells us to. God wants us to obey him. He wants us to trust him totally.

But he doesn't want to force us into it.

If he had wanted to force us to be vulnerable and dependent and obedient and trusting, there wouldn't have been a snake in the garden for Eve to listen to and trust instead of God.

God gave Moses the ability to part the Red Sea. He gave us the ability to go to doctors who he gave the ability to use modern medicine by giving scientists and researchers the human brains they used to create modern medicine, and aren't human brains amazing? We can read the Bible with them, and pray, and find the true kingdom of God.

Prayer is powerful, so I'm glad your family has that heart.

It's just strange that they would rely more on an infallible god than on the fallible doctors that infallible god gave them in such a roundabout way. .

Anders Of course you're not pretending to believe this bunk. You actually believe it. I know. I know you do.

And yes, only humans have human brains. (The president of the tautology club is the president of the tautology club, by the way.) Did you know that human brains aren't the only ones that possess a capacity for intelligence and self-awareness? In a few hundred years, African gray parrots may be campaigning for their own rights.

I'm glad you don't think the Bible means what it says. Keep pretending it says sane things instead.

You can't possibly believe that prayer is powerful. Prayers are only granted if they align with God's will, right? So if God wills a thing it'll happen and if he doesn't it won't, meaning that prayer does nothing. .

Brat Most of the things it says wouldn't make any sense if they were literal! So of course I'm going to carry on telling myself that they're metaphorical. Also, parrots are dumb birds and they'll always be dumb birds. .

[Long pause: from noon to one hour past midnight. No response to the bit about the power of prayer.] .

Anders Not sure whether you're ignoring the last bit of my message, or have been hit by a car. Hope it's not the car.

Here's a link explaining how intelligent some parrots are: https://news.harvard.edu/gazette/story/2019/02/harvard-study-shows-parrots-can-pass-classic-test-of-intelligence/

In short: pretty much every brain has the potential to develop human-style intelligence. At different rates, developing different areas in different orders, but given enough time and necessity it's a cert—it will happen. Here's where African grey parrots are right now: above human kids. .

Brat Do you honestly believe there is no difference between a human and an animal?

Happy Sunday, btw! .

Anders A human is an animal. Look at yourself: you're a mammal. Or do you think you're not warm-blooded? Does your species not give live birth?

I know Christians believe humans have an extra, invisible, impalpable, unverifiable, supernatural thing called a "soul" that makes them better than all the other mammals on planet Earth. Frankly, I could just as easily claim that capybaras have a supernatural thing called a "storg" which makes them better than all other living things, which are merely animals in comparison.

Happy sun's day to you, too. Though it's nearly the day of the moon now! .

Brat Some prayer is about asking for things, but some prayer isn't. Also, sometimes we pray with a bad, non-humble attitude. Sometimes we ask for things that God knows would be bad for us. Obviously God wouldn't grant those prayers. Anyway, it's best to pray for insubstantial things like humility, not for substantial things like good grades. The power of prayer is much more spiritual than physical. The soul is spiritual. Do you believe in the Big Bang? Then you're religious too. You believe in something coming from nothing. .

Anders If you recall, the powerful prayer we were talking about was in regard to my sister's arm. Is that prayer powerful? No? There's only spiritual power in prayer? Prayer has no real power in the real world?

There's no evidence that souls exist. There's not even an agreed-upon definition for the word "soul."

No, I don't believe in the Big Bang. I believe that experts in the field of cosmology have settled on that as the mostly likely explanation for all the evidence available to them, and I don't think I have more evidence or expertise in that area than they do. They could be wrong! But they're way more likely to be right than me, a non-expert.

Also, from what I understand, Big Bang theory does not postulate something coming from nothing. It's just a description of the expansion itself, not of where the expanding stuff came from.

Would you like to shove your god into that gap and pretend you already know where the initial singularity (or whatever) came from instead of waiting for more information to come in?

Happy day of Tiw, by the way. .

Brat No, I remember about your sister. Notice how your family still believes in the power of prayer even though relying on it cost your sister her arm? That's because they have faith. Faith is not about what we see. It's about all the stuff we believe is going on in the spiritual realm we believe exists but that we have no idea about.

I would definitely fit God into that gap you're speaking about and I think you know that lolz.

Our hope isn't about what will happen in this lifetime, but in the next. The next one is forever, this one our bodies on average won't make it past 100 years. We are fragile beings if you ask me. .

Anders Thanks for admitting that prayer does nothing in the real world.

Applying prayer did nothing to save my sister's arm. This implies that God didn't want my sister's arm to be saved (if her having two arms had been aligned with his will, he'd have answered that prayer). So what do you think would have happened if my parents had applied science instead of prayer? Do you think God would have intervened to make sure she lost her arm anyway?

Thanks for admitting that you think real life—the life that definitely, provably exists, that everyone knows for a fact exists—is much less important than a hypothetical afterlife.

I care about real life. I wish Christians (specifically my parents) did too. .

Brat Prayer always works, it's just that sometimes the answer is no.

It's okay that you don't understand why Christians value eternity more than finitude. Faith is hard to understand if you don't have it. (I realize that I just said something very rude. Time to empathize!) I am very sad this is happening to you, though. This must be really hard for you. It's hard for me, too: I'm really struggling to empathize with you because no one I care about has lost an arm.

(This is not making me feel better about myself. I'm a good person! What can I offer an angry person who hates God? Oh, I know!) If I can help you in any way, please let me know what I can do. Even if you want to just call me up and scream. I'd listen. .

Anders Prayer has no effect on the real world.

I know why Christians value eternity more than finitude. I would too, if the eternity was real. For over thirty years, I did! Somehow I failed to notice that while real life is obviously and definitely real, this supposed afterlife is not.

Faith is easy to understand. It's belief without evidence, often because the believer doesn't know what evidence is.

And thank you for the offer, but no, I'm not going to call a young lady [a number at the top of her blog said 22; this has since been changed to 25] and scream at her. I'm not angry at you. It's the blind faith—pardon the redundancy—that you share with my parents which I wish I could wipe out of this world.

Why believe things when A) they can't be proven to be true, and B) believing them can be proven to harm people? .

[10 days of silence.]

Anders All right then, back to the original discussion.

You were attempting to deal with the fact that God blessed Jacob's polygamous relationship with four different women.

You went on a bit of a tangent arguing that a woman who can be handed over to a man with a "here, have sex with her and her kids will count as mine" is not a slave, but never addressed the polygamy at all.

Is it moral for a man to have a harem? Is this a part of God's moral law that shifts and changes like sand with human cultural norms?

Did God disapprove, and merely bless all four unions with sons because he didn't care to condemn this immoral behavior? Or were these people wrong in thinking that sons are a blessing from God? .

Brat I'm going to copy and paste my first arguments as though you didn't already address them, and then tack on a bit about how sons are totally not a blessing from God because they aren't specifically called that during the course of this one story.

Incidentally, I no longer remember why we're having this exchange. .

Anders We're talking because you ran across a post pointing out bad things in the Bible, denied the facts, and I agreed to spoonfeed you the information (while you continue to try and spit it out).

To reiterate: in the Old Testament, God is not shy about killing anybody who does anything he dislikes. He doesn't kill Jacob. Instead he gives Jacob multiple sons. The Bible presents sons as a blessing from God. You have read the Bible, right? At least tell me you've read the bit in Genesis that we're talking about. Remember how Jacob's wives kept saying things like "God has given me a son"?

God blessed Jacob's polygamous unions with lots of sons, and then he blessed the sons and created the twelve tribes of Israel through them. Remember that? This is not condemnation. This is approval. This is a blessing of Jacob's sex with all four women. This is a reward for polygamy.

Can you see how "oh, you're having sex with four women at once—okay, I'll give you sons with all four women and then I'll make those sons into a great nation" is the opposite of disapproval?

If not, that's okay. There are smaller words I can use. .

Brat I don't understand your arguments at all, and you're making me feel stupid!

Obviously God is only capable of approving one form of marriage! He can't like both monogamy and polygamy! Because of this fact (which I don't even need to state because it's so obvious), I can logically argue that if God thought polygamy was okay he would have made Adam polygamous!

Also, because it's stupidly obvious that children aren't a blessing from God in the real world, the Bible can't possibly state that they are! The writers of the Bible weren't ignorant enough to believe that, so they didn't believe that and didn't write it!

I hate your tone! Respect me! Respect me and my beliefs or I'm not debating with you anymore! .

Anders Look, I respect you just fine. Not as an authority on anything! But as a fellow human being, yes. And as a fellow human being I'm gonna point out when you've started talking out of your ass, because to do otherwise would be disrespectful: it'd be giving you up as too stupid to talk to.

On the other hand, your beliefs are stupider than hell and I refuse to give them any respect at all because they don't deserve any.

Also, this was never a debate. You asked to see the bad things in the Bible. I showed one of them to you. You rejected it. That's not a debate, that's you refusing to accept what's right in front of you. .

Brat No, every chance you got you twisted my response. Maybe you'd be better talking to yourself in a mirror.

Also the backhanded replies is what made me feel disrespected. .

Anders Twisted your responses, did I? Well, let's look at them.

In my argument that the god we see in Genesis sometimes approves of immorality, I pointed out that:

1) the god character in Genesis punishes actions he disapproves of with curses and death, and offers "having lots of descendants" as a reward for actions he approves of (he's the one who controls whether women's wombs are open or closed).

2) Jacob had sex with four women (two of whom were "gifts" and may or may not have had a choice).

3) The god character does not punish him for this. No cursing him, no putting him to death. Instead,

4) All four of Jacob's sex partners have sons, giving Jacob lots of descendants.

To this, you responded that:

1) Jacob was definitely married to two of his sex partners and may have been married to the other two as well.

2) The first two women were using the wombs of the second two to "go over God's head" and have children without his approval, which was selfish.

3) There's no verse that straight-up says "and the Lord blessed Jacob's polyamory and opened the wombs of his sex partners."

4) God could have been blessing Jacob for something else.

When laid out this clearly, I hope you can see that your supposed counterpoints are nothing but disjointed, irrelevant statements. Does being married to multiple women make polygamy moral? If what Leah and Rachel did with the bodies of their "servants" was immoral, shouldn't God have punished them? If the Bible doesn't bluntly say "and God approved of this," does that mean we should ignore the evidence of his approval and lack of evidence of his disapproval?

Does the god we see in Genesis make a habit of not punishing people for immoral things, instead rewarding them (for moral things that they definitely did just off screen)?

If none of these things are so (and they certainly seem to not be so), then none of your points were at all pointy. Yes, Jacob was a polygamist who might have been married to all four of his sexual partners. Yes, his wives tried to use their "servants" as secondary wombs because they didn't like what God was doing with the wombs they had in their own bodies.

Yes, God's approval (and disapproval) is not always directly stated; often it's implied by his actions or the results of his actions. Yes, God could have been blessing Jacob for something else while not punishing him for being a polygamist (and possibly a slave-raper).

Does all this make God look good to YOU? If not, why say any of it?

.

This last message was sent March 4th. There have been no replies.

[thewhizzyhead]

Hi dudes so I just got home from a 4 day long stay at the hospital woo we'll return to our regularly programmed rambles soon enough

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[bibelots]

Hello I hope all are well !

I wouldn't say I'm taking leave from this, most likely just inactivity, as I have a veeeery busy coming month and year (starting a job at the same time as finishing my MA dissertation due at the start of September) !

I'm always around for catchups, and if anyone wants to find me elsewhere (ig, twt, I'm more active there - but they're more personal accts) - just lmk!

I know I appear in bursts on here but I truly do appreciate you all v much x

[bwabys-scenarios]

CAN YOU PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DO PERV ILLUMI i do not think there is enough perv illumi content on this app

He’s a perv

Perv!Illumi x Fem!Reader

A/N: sorry this is short and may resemble my other perv writings… but I hope y’all like it! Join my server

warnings: pervy Illumi, yandere behavior, masturbation, panty stealing, he’s kind of yucky, breeding, pregnancy

NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Illumi had never experienced sexual attraction before. Had he gotten some morning wood once or twice? Yes, but he rarely felt the urge to jack off.

That was… until he met you.

He wasn’t quite sure what made you so appealing. You looked ordinary, at least… you should have. Illumi had been surrounded by the worlds most beautiful women since he was but a boy… yet here he was, getting hard over a girl he had barely met.

Maybe it was your soft curves, or the ways your hips swayed when you walked… it could have even been your sweet voice, and those pretty, glossy lips that made him want to pull you in and taste the shiny lipgloss you were wearing…

Whatever it was, ever since he first laid eyes on you, Illumi’s body had been acting strangely. Even a whiff of your perfume could have his cock twitching, standing at attention and ready for you… it was quite embarrassing, or it would have been if Illumi had any shame.

No, the only reason Illumi his his overwhelming desire for you was because he wanted these feelings to go away as quickly as possible. He couldn’t fall for some nobody Hunter with nen weaker than all the other applicants that had passed with you. No, Illumi was supposed to marry the best of the best, a woman whose womb could bear a strong heir.

But… that didn’t stop him from acting on some of his urges…

Unfortunately, Illumi couldn’t seem to let you out of his sight. It was annoying, following you around as you did your little daily chores in town. He could hardly get any work done when you looked so cute. You didn’t even realize your panties were showing when you bent over to pick up a coin…

When he couldn’t be constantly watching over you, Illumi would steal little trinkets from your home to… keep him satiated. Used panties, your lipgloss, and clothing items that smelled like your perfume.

He’d wrap your panties around his cock as he jerked off, your cardigan pressed against his face. If he really focused, he could imagine your pussy tightening around him, your plump thighs pressing against him as he bounced you on his cock…

He’d cum buckets into your panties, then break into your apartment and drop them off on your floor, like a cat leaving a dead mouse as a gift.

After a while, his urges grew and grew, until your panties just weren’t enough for him anymore.

Wooing you wasn’t too hard, and getting into your pants was easier than he would have though. The fact you were a virgin was very surprising… but welcomed. After all, he was a virgin as well.

The second his cock sunk into you, he immediately knew that he could never let you go. To hell with a strong heir, he wanted you, and only you. You were the only one that could make him feel this way… soft, vulnerable, and so goddamn horny.

Poor, poor you, having Illumi fuck into you for hours on end, unable to pull out of your pretty, warm cunt. He fucked so much cum into you that you felt so swollen and full…

Even after he was done, he didn’t pull out. Instead, he held you close, kissing the top of your head. “You’re all mine, darling. I’ll have wedding preparations ready within a week.”

You were much too exhausted to argue… and you weren’t sure you could say no to Illumi Zoldyck… so you just slept, accepting your fate. You’d be taken care of, and would never have to worry about anything ever again.

Shortly, Illumi would have his now pregnant wife in his home, where she would be safe, and where he could ravish her whenever he felt like it.