#Challenge to Development Consent

[arpadvisory]

Successful Challenge to Development Consent - Tanunda, South Australia

Case Name:Geber Super Pty Ltd v The Barossa Assessment Panel [2023] SASC 154 (25 Oct 2023)First Applicant:Geber Super Pty LtdSecond Applicant:Australian Food and Beverage Group Pty LtdFirst Respondent:The Barossa Assembly PanelSecond Respondent:Barossa Central Pty LtdHearing Dates:19.05.23, 15.06.23 – 16.06.23Civil:Judicial Review The subject property is 252 Murray Street, Tanunda SA 5352. In…

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

[eringobragh420]

➰ Pairing: Damian Priest x f!Reader ➰ Summary: Damian shares one of his darker fantasies, and his girlfriend is 100% up to the challenge. 🛑 Warnings: NSFW. Somnophilia (the interest in having sex with a sleeping person [in this case, NOT rape, consent is given]) oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v, cum. 18+ ➰ Notes: Spanish translations are at the end of the story. I do not speak Spanish, so if anything is incorrect, please let me know and I'll fix it! ➰ Taglist: @eddiesrockstargirlfriend. If you'd like to be added, please click here! ➰ Requested By: @wrestlinginme Hope you enjoy! ➰ MASTERLIST

He’s had his hand on his dick for the last thirty minutes, leisurely stroking, not even half-hard yet, but he’ll get there. Lying on his side, he watches her silhouette in the darkness, breathing softly, muscles randomly twitching as she falls further and further into the land of sleep. His head is propped on his fist, dark eyes roaming her form from her hair spread out on his pillow to her jawline, shoulder, bicep, and the irresistible dip of her waist that leads to the curve of her hip. The sheet, tucked under her arm, is concealing a smokeshow of a body he knows to be mostly nude, save for a tiny pair of panties, and he has no idea why it’s taken him so long to get here. A soft snore from the beautiful woman beside him, and he no longer cares.

Gently, he relocates the hand from his bulging boxer briefs to her hip where he applies gradual pressure as his palm passes along the skin just below her belly button. She rolls in his direction, settling on her back just as he hoped she would. He kisses her neck, mouths her ear, paying close attention to the hot spot behind it. She smells so sweet, so fresh. He buries his face in her hair for a long moment, simply inhaling and exhaling. Inhaling and exhaling. He pinches the sheet between thumb and forefinger and inches the soft cotton down below her breasts. His cock spasms while watching her nipples turn to tiny pebbles upon exposure to the cold air, and he can’t help but lean forward and take the one nearest to him into his mouth. He eyes her closely, on the lookout for any indication she could be waking up. Finding none, he becomes bolder and twists his tongue around the nipple, sucking ever so gingerly. He looks up again—still no response from her.

What is it about touching a sleeping woman? Is it the power? The helplessness of the small female beside him? Or does he maybe want to feel like she’s his property? He doesn’t know. It’s been a fantasy for years, ever since he saw some guy sleep assault a girl on a porn site, but he’s never been comfortable enough with a woman to tell her about it, let alone ask for her explicit consent to touch her while she slumbers. But this girl’s different. After she told him she thought maybe she wanted to rim him—and he picked his fucking jaw up off the floor while adjusting himself at the same time—he let her in on one of his darker fantasies: his desire to fuck a woman while she’s essentially unconscious. To his utter surprise, she’d jumped at the idea, and after unequivocally granting him blanket permission to do whatever he wanted with her while she slept—adding, “I’m not sure how much you’ll really accomplish before I wake up,” and Damian instantly, mentally, accepted the challenge—she took it a couple steps further. He could do it whenever he wanted—she didn’t want him asking for authorization beforehand, she didn’t even want him to mention it after they ended their discussion. Aside from that, she’d taken the opportunity to remind him—with eyes the shade of obsidian—that she sometimes takes muscle relaxers.

She’d been sore all evening from spending the day at development, hinting every few minutes or so how much she’d love a back or a foot rub, or maybe he could massage her thighs? He’d feigned soreness as well, particularly his hands from weightlifting, and she scoffed her way across the living room and into the bathroom, Damian’s eyes following until he could no longer see her. A moment later, he heard the sound of a pill bottle, and a smirk grew on his lips. He could handle her anger for now because he knew exactly where the night was headed, and the pretty little thing gulping down two Flexeril had no fucking idea.

He reaches for her other breast as he continues to suck, softly rolling the nipple along the pads of his fingers. Her eyebrow flutters, causing him to reluctantly back off, though not completely. Testing the waters once more, he cups a breast and squeezes, his hips humping against her leg accordingly. She remains inanimate, and his smile is wolfish as he moves down her body, taking the sheet with him—kissing over her ribcage, licking at her belly button. He rises to his hands and knees, eyes focused on her serene features. Every move he makes now is calculated, deliberate. He hooks his thumbs under her panties, discreetly pulling them down her legs. A tiny wad of lace in the palm of his hand, he presses his nose inside and sucks through his nostrils, filling his senses with her primal fragrance. He tosses the material over his shoulder before maneuvering himself between her legs, stretching his long body behind him, and the bare lips before him are glistening.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, leering at his meal while skillfully arranging her legs over his broad shoulders. Her skin is like satin against his cheek as he grazes the stubble along her inner thigh. The closer he gets to her pussy, the more he smells her arousal, and his eyes roll back as he inhales until his lungs threaten to burst, much like his cock is promising to bust through his underwear, maybe even the mattress. 

His tongue swipes across her bare, slippery lips, the flavor of her washing over his tongue, and his entire body jerks—in the space of a millisecond, he lunges forward to devour the best pussy he’s ever tasted, realizes his mistake, and successfully restrains himself, all of which results in a strong twitch. He stills, eyes rising haltingly, certain he would find her staring down at him. She’s blissfully comatose, breathing softly. Damian lets out a breath he doesn't realize he’s been holding.

He kisses her thighs, returning his attention to the masterpiece before him. His long tongue bypasses her lips, that familiar tang coating his taste buds once more. He focuses on the nub at the top of her clit, sliding down with the underside of his tongue, repeating the action several times before abandoning the licking for sucking. He pulls her ass closer to him, his mouth covering her entire pussy as he trades the sucking for licking again. He dips the tip of his tongue inside her, groaning as he laps at the source of her juices. Her hips roll against his mouth, and his eyes rise to watch her turn her head, moan so softly he’s not sure he heard it all, and there’s a brief smile on her lips before it disappears, she stills, and her breathing falls into an even pattern. Suddenly, a wave of her essence falls across his tongue, and he’s positive it’s cum, and he can’t do this anymore.

He unleashes himself from his underwear as he climbs into a kneeling position between this ethereal, vulnerable woman’s legs. He massages the spongy head of his cock along her drenched slit, head falling back, eyes closing. After a long moment, he returns his attention to her, guiding his dick carefully inside her. He expects her to wake at some point, now that he’s changed course from simply eating her out to having to fuck her out, but he has to know how far he can get before her beautiful eyes flutter open.

He can’t remember a time—after the first several times—he’s had to inch himself so slowly inside the tightest, wettest heat he’s ever felt. Christ, is he fucking dying? This is surely what hell must be like. Never being able to fully submerge himself inside a pussy ever again? Certainly sounds like damnation to him. Feeling a hand on his knee, his eyes open—when did they even close?—and her eyes are moving behind their lids. He pushes himself further inside her, and her hips lift, and he slides into place like a fucking puzzle piece.

“Fuck,” Damian whispers, cutting off a roar beckoning from deep in his chest. Her jaw drops and she sucks in a breath, eyelids trembling as they lazily open. Both her hands are on his knees now, squeezing them below her thighs as he holds them up with his own.

“Papí,” she breathes.

Damian’s cock twitches, his grin ravenous, and he hunches over to press his lips to her ear. Moments like this, he wishes he was shorter so they lined up a little better, but the thought is fleeting and unimportant. “Si, mi vida,” he rumbles. “I got all the way inside your cunt before you even woke up.”

“Christ,” she respires, nails scraping up his thighs, tickling his sides. She clutches his face with soft hands and pushes him away enough so their eyes can meet. Hers are wide now, brows knitted together. “I’m so fucking wet,” she all but sobs, “and you’re inside me, and I don’t know how any of it happened.”

Damian presses his lips to hers. She’s slow to react, and the lackadaisical way her lips and tongue massage along his is enough to make him come undone. “My mouth, baby girl,” he tells her. She blinks slowly up at him. “I ate that pussy.” She groans, arching her back, pressing her nipples to his chest, and there really isn’t much in the world he loves more than feeling those little pellets against his skin. “And you came all over my tongue.”

“Mmm,” she mumbles, ending with a soft giggle. “You love it when I cum on your tongue.” Damian’s eyes narrow as he watches her—how awake is she really?

“Mhmmm,” he agrees, nodding. “So I had to fuck you, whether I woke you up or not.” He thrusts, both of them sharing a moan.

She nods. “You feel so good.” She stretches her arms under her pillow, luring her boyfriend’s eyes to her breasts once more. “God, I’m so full.”

“Tell me what you want,” Damian says.

She nods again. “Please fuck me, Papí.”

Damian sits up on his knees and grabs hold of her legs. Gripping the undersides of her thighs, he spreads them so he can watch his cock as he pulls it out. The goddamn thing glistens in the moonlight, and he shoves it back in her pussy only to pull it out again so he can admire his artwork. She bites her lip, eyes closed. Her tits are bouncing now, and he isn’t going to last, because she’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and sometimes, like right now, he can’t believe she even chose him in the first place.

It only takes a few more pumps, and he pulls out, stroking himself until he shoots load after load of cum onto her stomach, a few shots landing on her left breast. A satisfied sigh escapes her lips as she reaches down to dip her fingers in a pool of his cum, and Damian watches with hooded eyes as he catches his breath, and she brings those soaking fingers to her mouth. She sucks them behind her lips, keen on swallowing everything she can.

Damian collapses on the bed next to her, a pleased smile splitting his lips. She rolls over, tucking herself into his side, leg wrapping around his. 

“Was it everything you hoped for?” she mumbles.

Damian’s arm comes around her, his hand settling on her hip. “It always is, corazón,” he says, kissing the top of her head. “It always is.”

🎀 Papí - Daddy 🎀 Si, mi vida - Yes, my life 🎀 Corazón - Sweetheart

[naamahdarling]

Maybe it isn't that I actually hate medical professionals? They just suck and are weird sometimes, and a lot of them shouldn't be practicing, but I don't hate them as a group, like, personally.

What I hate is their ability to make my life harder in ways that are often completely opaque to me, and a lot of the crap things they do are not really possible to challenge. And I hate the fact that holding them responsible fort dogshit behavior in any way that will actually benefit me is almost always impossible.

And I also hate the fact that they have to do stupid things sometimes because that's how the system is set up, and those things sometimes mean patients actually get harmed. They aren't fond of that part either! They don't want the system to be the way it is! But they don't have a choice, so sometimes people like me get forced by bureaucracy into doing things that are re-traumatizing. And I can't imagine that feels good for them at all, knowing that their patients are sometimes only "consenting" because that bureaucracy will not let them be helped in any other way. Which isn't consent at all. I imagine that must be pretty traumatizing for them, too, sometimes.

If it were easier to actually access medical care without tremendous delays in this country right now I would have much less trouble finding providers who are good at what they do and are not horrible people, and who have clinic staff who can do their fucking job.

Oh and I also don't appreciate how evasive and unwilling to commit they are out of fear of being held to an answer that turns out to be inaccurate, but I can't make an informed decision about my own care unless they give me at least some information about probabilities and trajectories and typicalities. Genuinely, how the fuck am I supposed to navigate that shit. I get that some patients are really fucking difficult, but I should be able to get a special stamp on my file or something that says I understand that sometimes medicine isn't an exact science and the best answers that my doctors can give may not always prove to be accurate in the long term. I know they don't like being in that situation either.

A lot of medical professionals are fucking assholes, and unfortunately the ones who are not are still hamstrung by a system set up to actively prevent people from getting care.

I miss my old doctor. He gave no shits about anything that wasn't the patient. He prescribed scheduled meds based on what the patient needed and not based on fear of consequences potentially being imposed on him by the punitive patient-hostile drugs-are-bad moral panic machine developed to force suffering people into buying more dangerous drugs off the street in order to prevent far fewer people from maybe getting high off of drugs that at least weren't laced with lethal substances. (The purpose of a system is what it does.) Did he get sanctioned and become locally unhireable? Unfortunately yes he did. Does he now provide concierge care to rich people? Yes he does. He found a way to make it work, God bless him.

Everything about the medical system in this country is fucked. Hospitals, doctors, nurses, pharmacies, pharmacists, pharmacy techs, phlebotomists, clinic administrative staff, insurance companies, medical schools and schooling, licensing boards, drug advertising to both providers and patients, pharmaceutical reps, researchers, research, publishing, medical trials, pharmaceutical companies, manufacturers and distributors, medical equipment, charting software, billing and billing codes, diagnostic criteria, charity and low income services, accessible transportation, home care, the lack of independent individual patient advocates, dietitians and nutritionists, access to physical and occupational therapy and physical and occupational therapists, the massive bigotry of every kind rampant in every corner of the medical field, social work, senior care and assisted living, deprioritization of informed consent and harm reduction, disability applications, inaccessibility of medical records, especially psychiatric notes which are specifically allowed to be withheld from patients, lack of continuity of care for disadvantaged people, care that is equitably accessible to disabled people, telemedicine, patient portals, phone systems, clinic hours, every single aspect of inpatient and outpatient psychiatry, facility security, all sorts of things going on with therapists who are nevertheless probably the least malicious group of people in this entire charade, aaaaaand patients themselves.

Also hospital toilets that are too tall and make it literally physically impossible for me to poop while I'm there waiting for somebody to come out of surgery. I just needed to take a crap, guys. You didn't need to make the toilets so tall that my feet didn't even touch the floor. It is very clean but there is no shitting for short people at St Francis.

[balkanradfem]

I'm reading the 'Age of Surveillance Capitalism' book by Shoshana Zuboff, and it is haunting me, making me feel uncomfortable and making me want to move offline.

We've all been aware that google, facebook, and all other digital tech companies are taking our data and selling it to advertisers, but according to the book, that is not the end goal.

The book goes into the rise of google, and how it made itself better by constantly studying the searches people were inputting, and learning how to offer better information faster. Then, they were able to develop ways to target adverts, without even selling the data, but by making their own decisions of what adds should be targeted at what audience. But they kept collecting more and more data, and basically studying human behaviour the way scientists study animals, without their knowledge or consent. Then they bought youtube, precisely because youtube had such vast amounts of human behaviour that could be stored and studied.

But they're not only using that data to target adds at us. They've been collecting data in ways that feel unexpected and startling to me. And whenever they're challenged or confronted with it, they pretend it was a mistake, or unintentional, and it's scary how far they've been able to get away with it.

For example, during their street-view data collecting, the google car had been connecting to every wifi available and taking encrypted, personal data from households. When they got found out, they've explained it was not intentional, and a fault of a lone researcher who had gone rouge, and they evaded getting sued or being held accountable for it at all. Countries have created new laws and regulations and google kept evading it and in the end they claimed 'you know if you keep trying to regulate us, we'll just do things secretly'. Which is a wild thing to say and expect to get away with!

Another thing that struck me was that governments, which at first wanted to restrict data collection, later asked tech companies to monitor and prevent content connected to terrorism, and the companies didn't like the idea of being a tool of the government, so they claimed the terrorism data is being banned for 'being against their policy'. Which makes me believe they didn't want to remove that content at all, after all, they could have done it beforehand, they didn't feel any natural incentives to do so.

The entire story is filled with researchers who don't seem to experience the human population as other human beings. They don't believe we deserve privacy, or dignity, or any say in what is being collected or done to us. Hearing their quotes and how they describe the people they're researching shows clearly they consider us all stupid, and our desires for privacy, self-harming. They insist we'd be better off if we just accepted their authority and gave them any data they wanted without complaining or being upset it's being collected without our knowledge.

Even though companies claim at all times that the data is non-identifiable, the book explains just how data is handled and how easy it is to identify anyone whose private conversations are recorded; people say their names, their addresses, places they're going, friends they're meeting, they say names of their family members, their devices record their location and their habits, it is extremely easy to identify anyone whose information has been collected. It can be identified and sold to information agencies.

I believed when it was explained to me that most of the data collection was just for add targeting, and that it would be used only for advertisement purposes, but they're not only collecting data anymore, they're deciding what data is being fed to us, and recording our reactions, learning how they can affect and manipulate our behaviour. We know all algorithms feed us controversial, enraging and highly-emotional content in order to drive engagement, but it's more than that. They've discovered how they can influence more or less people to vote. The mere idea of that makes me go cold, but they talk about it like it's just another thing they can do, so why not? Companies who have experimented and learned so much about influencing human behaviour give themselves the right to influence it as they see fit, because why wouldn't they? Since they have the power to do it, and all lawsuits and regulations can't stop them, why wouldn't they make a game out of it?

I can't imagine how many experiments they did before feeling so confident and blase about this and casually influencing the elections, again, seemingly just for the sake of an experiment.

The book compares this type of behaviour manipulation to totalitarianism and surveillance state, and it shows how the population is slowly losing parts of their freedoms without realizing it is even happening. Human behaviour has changed due to online influence, and it keeps changing rapidly, with every new popular website that is influencing human behaviour. They've learned that humans are influenced mostly by behaviour of other humans, and they can decide what kind of content or influence to send our way to get desired results.

I love how the author of the book talks about humanity. She uses the term 'human future', as something we all have the right to, as opposed to future controlled by companies and influences. She describes how regular people were affected by the data collected against their will, and how they fought for their 'right to be forgotten', when google kept displaying their past struggles, damaging their dignity. She also explains the questions people should ask about how society is led: First question is, who knows? Second question, who decides? Third question, who decides who decides? She goes in detail about how the answers are held away from us, and what it does to us. She also touches very deeply on the idea of human freedom!

I recommend this book, even though it will make you feel far less secure and carefree to be online, and using anything google, facebook, twitter or any of their owned services. They are not free, and it's also incorrect to say that we're the product of them, but we are the source of the raw materials they collect in order to gain results.

[merwgue]

Sarah J. Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series, despite its claims of promoting feminism and female empowerment, contains an undercurrent that undermines its own narrative — particularly when it comes to addressing Rhysand’s sexual assault of Feyre. In A Court of Mist and Fury (ACOMAF), we see a scene that exemplifies this disturbing dynamic: under the mountain, Rhysand forces Feyre to kiss him while she is under his mind control, leaving her helpless and stripped of agency. While Maas paints this as part of Rhysand’s complex plan to save her, the reality of the act — that he violates her consent — is swept under the rug as their relationship progresses. This lack of resolution highlights a troubling issue: Maas is aware that Rhysand's actions constitute an assault, but rather than allowing the characters to address this, she buries it under romantic arcs and "fated mate" destiny.

A glaring moment in A Court of Wings and Ruin (ACOWAR) emphasizes the awareness of Rhysand's assault. Lucien, during a heated exchange with Feyre, accuses her of having loved Rhysand all along. Feyre’s defense is chilling: she reminds Lucien that Rhysand forced her to kiss him, an act she had no control over. And Lucien, in shock, asks the question that echoes the concern of many readers: “This is the man you’re with now?”

Let’s break this down: Maas knows what she’s written. She acknowledges the fact that Rhysand took away Feyre’s autonomy, yet she never gives Feyre the chance to confront or process that trauma. This moment between Feyre and Lucien is the only time it’s mentioned in the series, a brief flicker of recognition that quickly fades into oblivion. By doing this, Maas diminishes Feyre's trauma, allowing Rhysand’s actions to go unchallenged. The result? A deeply troubling message that sidesteps the seriousness of assault in favor of a romanticized narrative where love — or destiny — can somehow erase all wrongs.

From a psychological perspective, the erasure of trauma is harmful to the portrayal of healing. Studies show that trauma victims need acknowledgment and validation to heal properly, whether that acknowledgment comes from themselves, their loved ones, or society at large. Bessel van der Kolk, in his book The Body Keeps the Score, argues that unaddressed trauma can create lasting impacts on a person's mental and physical well-being. In the case of Feyre, Maas’s choice to brush the assault under the rug denies her character this crucial step in recovery. Instead, Feyre’s journey with Rhysand is romanticized, implying that the good intentions behind the assault are enough to negate its damaging effects.

Worse still, this narrative perpetuates the toxic idea that love or destiny can somehow "heal" or make up for the violation of consent. Maas portrays Rhysand as Feyre’s savior, her destined mate who "redeems" her from her struggles under the Mountain and from Tamlin’s controlling behavior. But the foundation of their relationship — one that begins with Rhysand drugging and forcing himself on her — never gets resolved. The result is an uncomfortable message: that it’s okay to overlook the bad as long as the end result is a "happy" relationship.

This isn’t just a failure to develop Feyre’s character fully; it’s a failure to challenge problematic behaviors within relationships. Maas’s works often preach the importance of women reclaiming their agency, yet Feyre, the main protagonist, is never given that chance with Rhysand. She is instead swept into the romantic arc without confronting what was done to her — leaving readers with a sour aftertaste that Maas is more interested in fated love than in true feminist ideals.

This lack of resolution becomes even more troubling when we look at the broader narrative of ACOTAR, where Maas purports to champion survivors of sexual violence and trauma. In the very same series, Maas writes about women being violated, their bodies used against them. She even writes about Rhysand’s trauma as a victim of sexual assault by Amarantha. Yet when it comes to the male lead, Rhysand’s similar violation of Feyre is conveniently ignored, as if his status as a romantic hero somehow absolves him of accountability. This sends a dangerous message: that sexual assault can be dismissed or excused based on who commits the act.

Maas’s selective treatment of sexual assault and trauma in ACOTAR is not just problematic — it’s hypocritical. She builds an entire narrative on the premise of women reclaiming their power, only to sidestep one of the most significant power imbalances in the series. Feyre, the character Maas positions as the embodiment of strength and resilience, is denied the opportunity to address the fact that the man she loves once stripped her of her autonomy. In doing so, Maas undermines the very feminist message she claims to be advocating.

This flaw in Maas’s storytelling has greater implications. The normalization of Rhysand’s behavior can desensitize readers to the reality of coercion and assault within relationships. It creates an illusion that as long as someone loves you or has good intentions, their harmful actions can be overlooked. This isn’t empowerment — it’s erasure, and it’s damaging.

In conclusion, Sarah J. Maas's decision not to address Rhysand's assault on Feyre is a troubling oversight that diminishes the importance of consent and accountability in relationships. While Maas may champion themes of recovery and empowerment, the fact that this pivotal moment remains unresolved undercuts her message and leaves readers grappling with a romanticized depiction of coercion. Feyre and Rhysand’s relationship, as it stands, is built on a foundation of unacknowledged harm — and until that harm is addressed, Maas's narrative remains completely flawed.

[buckets-and-trees]

Peering In My Hollow Core

Characters/Pairings: Nomad!Steve x Morally Grey!Female Reader Word Count: 2.4k Summary: Even the best laid plans can go up in flames. You're both wrong, and yet also more right for each other than you know.

Content Warnings: explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT due to sex pollen, masturbation, rough fucking/vaginal sex, unprotected sex/ejaculation

Logistical Notes: I claimed prompt 13 for @lunarbuck's Star-Crossed Lovers Soulmate AU challenge and also knocking off I1 "masturbation" for @the-slumberparty's August/September Bingo challenge. And because you know I can't resist... it's also using one of the prompts (first bolded line) for @witchywithwhiskey's Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon! And it's answering an ask I got from one very mischievous @stargazingfangirl18 that's been on my mind for the last two weeks.

Additional Notes: @biteofcherry and @vonalyn let me suss out how this evolved, so thank you for enduring my brainstorming! Eva also gave a line of dialogue inspiration that I found too delicious not to snatch up, and so that's bolded for acknowledgement as well (near the end). Title from Scars by Basement Jaxx.

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“What’s your grand plan here, Doc?” The golden-haired, bearded hulk of a man, America’s golden boy now a rogue in the shadows is pacing before you. “Are you even a doctor?”

His tone is biting, angry, and you don’t hold it against him.

He did fall right into your trap.

“You’re a smart boy, you can guess.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I think it will bruise your ego more if I spell it out for you.”

“You should have thought of my rage before you put yourself in this situation, Doc,” he all but growls, still prowling back and forth across the living room floor. “What’s your exit strategy here?”

“You’re getting more volatile and heated, that’s good. That’s what I need.”

“Do you think this is a fucking game? You’re on dangerous ground.”

Your lips curl up slightly, but you try not to smirk. “I dangled myself in front of you. Good Captain America couldn’t resist trying to liberate the poor scientist who got wrongfully entangled with the remnants of HYDRA. You never even stopped to consider that I was dangling myself out in the wind to get you here like this, and you’ve read enough about HYDRA, you know what I gave you.”

“But why?” he barks.

“No one can beat you for strength. You’re driven, resourceful, able to evade an attack. Your weakness is caring,” you pause because he stops his pacing, he looks ready to spring, but doesn’t yet. His eyes haven’t left you for even a moment since he realized it’s you he needed to worry about, not save. “I need your DNA, blood samples, bodily fluid, and I can’t trap you with anything, but I banked on the one physical vulnerability even a super soldier isn’t immune from: a compound they initially developed as something called a sex pollen. In fact, I think you know they tested it on a super soldier, don’t you?”

He slams his fist on the table between you two, and it splits from his actions.

You shouldn’t have provoked him with that. It wouldn’t yield the results you were trying to manipulate him into.

“Easy, Nomad,” you raise your hands cautiously to ease the tension just slightly. “That’s what they call you now – Nomad is the moniker now that you can’t be Captain America out there to the world anymore.” He flexes his fists, another angry reflex, but one you know speaks to a slight de-escalation, self-regulation. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t agree with everything HYDRA has done.”

He lets out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t,” you insist.

“If you’re not in with them, you’ve made a deal with a devil you’ve vastly underestimated.”

“They’re a means to an end.”

“How can you be so foolish to think that?”

“No one will fund my research at the rate and without regulatory oversight the way they do. They’re desperate to have more of you but under their thumb, especially since you’re at the root of them losing their prize assassin.”

“You’re not stupid, so why are you giving them what they want?”

You lift your chin defiantly.

Steve’s eyes narrow. “Oh god. You can’t tell me… Really? You think you’re gonna keep your research and development from them in the end?”

“Look at what I’ve done so far,” you gesture. “You’ve evaded every attempt they’ve made to get you, you’re evading all the countries who are supposed to enforce the accords and hand you over, and yet I have you trapped here.”

“Why do you care about a super soldier serum?” he asks.

You shrug. “I’m interested in a serum, but I don’t need super soldiers. The list of your medical ailments before you were injected, and then you’re instantly cured of everything? Do you know how many people need even a drop of what cured you?”

“And you think I’d be opposed to that?”

You scoffed, “Yeah, easily. Once the research exists, it will get applied for things it was never intended to be used for, up to and including developing super soldiers for HYDRA and people who pretend they’re better than HYDRA.”

“So, who has made you this desperate?”

“You don’t get to know that.”

He scoffs now. “You don’t get to set the terms here if you intend to get what you want.”

“Don’t I? You’re uncomfortable. You’ve been uncomfortable for a while. It’s going to get worse, but I adapted the formula for what I gave you in that drink of water. All you have to do is ejaculate, and the toxin will abate from your system.”

“How thoughtful of you,” he deadpans.

Then his demeanor changes. He sniffs, and his eyes finally stray from you.

“You said this house is reinforced in its lockdown to keep me in until you initiate and secure your extraction with the HYDRA team?”

“Yes,” you answer slowly, trying to follow his line of sight and decipher what he’s looking at.

“I think you’re going to need to adjust your plans and priorities and do it quickly.”

You open your mouth to ask why, but then your mind quickly makes the leap. “They modified my ventilation system.”

“HYDRA has refused to be eliminated for decades. They can wait for a purebred super soldier and think they can get one in your womb today.”

The heat of humiliation floods your body. How could you have been so foolish not to account for a maneuver like this. They had clearly approved of your strategy too easily.

“Soon you won’t be able to think about anything more than my cock in your cunt, so you better start thinking of how you’re going to get yourself out of this, Doc, because Nomad is not who everyone knew Captain America to be, and I’m certainly not inclined to assist you in any way now. Been doing fine evading capture as you yourself asserted, I can probably figure out my own exit strategy here and fight off the sex pollen until I make it out. But for someone without any biological enhancements… I’m not optimistic over your odds. I read everything on HYDRA. This stuff was nasty when they first developed it, but you can bet they will have reverse engineered whatever you did to the formula to make it even worse.”

As if on cue, you start to feel the physical effects of whatever nearly imperceptible airborne toxin – imperceptible to you, but apparently not to enhanced individuals. Heat flares again in your body, but this time it is a pulsating sexual need.

You close your eyes to try and keep your breath steady and even, but after another moment, you whimper and draw your hands to your stomach as the poisonous desire pulses more strongly, the tremor of need undeniable.

Your eyes burst open again, seeking out the male across the room from you.

He chuckles darkly. “Oh, no. I’m not giving you anything you want. If you’re as brilliant as you think you are, you don’t need me to get out of your unfortunate predicament.”

Your body is yearning for him, but you know he’s serious.

You also know he’s right; you need to think fast.

You’re coherent enough to get both of you out of the lockdown state of the house now – because HYDRA was clearly going to come for both of your – you had a failsafe to get out in case there was some loss of electrical power. But could you get away in this state?

And you know if you get out, you’ll never get the DNA you need from Steve Rogers – you’ll never be close enough to or even see him again. You know that in your bones.

Over the next hour, at different points during the feverish state that overtakes you, you can sometimes hear the super soldier nearby, doing things around your home, undoubtedly trying to apply his own ingenuity.

He might be successful.

It hardly matters.

Now you’re in the shower, under a stream of cold water, trying both to alleviate the unbearable heat your body has peaked to and to hide the sound of your sobs as best you can. You’ve stripped down to a nearly naked state. You ripped off your shirt and pants in your room, left them on the floor, your panties are on the tiled floor outside the shower, but you couldn’t spare your hands to remove your bra. At first you were almost experiencing a sliver of relief with one hand between your legs, paying every attention to your excessively slick folds and throbbing clit, thrusting your fingers in and out of your cunt as well, but it was a false grasp at hope.

You don’t know when you slid down the tiled wall of the wet glass tomb where you think you may die, curled in on yourself, one hand still trying pointlessly to trigger the orgasm that will flush the desperate physical pain from your body, surely it must come.

You don’t know how long he’s been standing in the doorway of the bathroom before you try to shift pathetically, your eyes open, and you see him slowly stroking his hard cock, watching you. You shut your eyes again, in agony wondering how he can possibly seem so collected. Why isn’t he pumping his fist in a frenzy? You couldn’t stroke your clit fast enough, and now you can’t bear to touch it, but the heel of your hand can’t help bumping it as you try to fuck yourself on your fingers.

Then a rush of air blasts over your body.

You open your eyes weakly to see Steve reach to shut off the water, before he bends down and without a word grabs your limp body from the floor, drapes you over his arm, where you hand limply, bent in half, and he hauls you back to your room, and throws you on the bed.

You continue to cry and stroke yourself while you hear him unzip and unfasten, your body a trembling heap, facing away from him as he’s undressing.

“I’m going to fuck you, and then you’re going to let me out before HYDRA comes for both of us. You’re fucking clever and I can’t get out of here without you.”

You whimper when you feel his weight on the bed behind you.

He forces you into a kneeling position, but he doesn’t care that you can’t even prop yourself up, head and shoulders slumped down on the mattress, ass in the air. His left hand grips your hip, and he groans as he guides the head of his cock up and down the slit of your dripping cunt before he finally slides in. It’s deliberate, sliding down to the base, his hips pushing into yours. The way he invades and stretches you is painful, and yet you need it, keening at the fullness.

You do catch that his breathing hitches.

He needs this, too.

You’ll give it to him if he’ll just put your body out of its misery.

After a moment of slowly rutting against you, only shifting his girth inside of you a bit, teasing, perhaps warning, you whine, “move, please, more.”

“More than you bargained for,” he growls, then pulls back, and then thrusts back into you, adopting a brutal pace, both hands anchored at your hips now, slamming you back and forth roughly.

He pulls a first orgasm from your body quickly, but the second comes not long after when he reaches around to pinch and roll your clit between his fingers, still using your pussy for chasing his pleasure.

A third, and you’ve gone from whimpers and keens to crying out and a fresh wave of tears. This is rough and you’re over stimulated, and he knows. He leans over your back to smirk against your neck.

“Please,” you cry. You don’t know if you’re begging for more or for less because your body is screaming in exhaustion, but the fire is still tormenting your veins.

Because you haven’t been filled.

The smirk turns to a sneer against your neck, and Steve snarls, "You wanted it. You staged it. So, you're going to take it and keep fucking taking it until I'm done with your pathetic fragile body."

He’s pressing into places you’ve never felt before, and you cry out more, face pressed into the sheets. He pushes back up and pulls his cock out of you. His fingers work the clasp of your bra, and he pulls it off while he flips you over so you’re on your back. You can’t even open your eyes, but you feel him looming above you, kneeling between your splayed out thighs.

But then you feel something shift. He mutters a curse and is suddenly still.

You open your eyes and look up at him, but he’s looking at your chest. His hand moves up to trace his fingers over a scar near your collarbone. You look and see the same scar evident on his chest.

You reach up and your fingers quest along his bicep, and they do find a scar there, very faint but long, matching one you’ve had nearly your entire life.

Your eyes lock on each other now, and the acknowledgement there between you is terrifying.

There are more scars, but you don’t need to continue to confirm what you know.

You’re soulmates.

You’ve betrayed him before you even knew.

You’re still beholden to the drive of the sex pollen, boneless and exhausted, but this revelation drives with adrenaline through the haze, too hard to deny. It gives you enough to say, “We can’t deal with this now if we want to get out of here with a chance to escape HYDRA, fuck me and end this.”

He does, but he can’t look at you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, and spears you with his cock. The fucking is rough, and you take it. It’s punishing penance and painful pleasure. You cling to him as he thrusts you over the cliff of ecstasy again, coming with you finally, and his spend pumps hotly into you. The physical relief from the torture is blessedly immediate. His hand ghosts over your lower abdomen where he’s just planted his seed. With his eyes closed, he touches his forehead to yours, then pushes roughly away and rolls off of you.

“Get up, get dressed, pack light,” he says, stone cold. “Between us we might get out of this dangerous trap. That’s all we need for now.”

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I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[londondungeon2]

the doctor is giving me all these medicinal notes about floyd, can u guys take them off my hands [headcanon/exploration from canon]

1. his pain threshold is high high. out of everyone in the leech family, he has gotten into the most accidents — perhaps not the worse accidents! but definitely the most! — and developed a pain tolerance that is off the charts. he won’t even really wince at a broken nose. he knows it’s there and is happening, but he has gotten a broken nose so much that it is the equivalent to getting a really bad stubbed toe.

1.2 really enjoys hand squeezes with azul. an octopus’s grip is tighter than an eel’s. floyd can dig his fingers and nails into all the pressure points on azul’s but he is always the one letting go first. however, it’s very rare that azul every entertains this hand-squeezing competition.

2. fickle sleeper. needs something to tire himself out like a dog with zoomies, so on RARE occasions, floyd will join jade in his night walks. he does parkour around the courtyard — his best moves are underbar, gate vault, & 180s down — until he’s exhausted. his sleepwear is very movable, a wife-beater and pair of baggy pants is optimal when moving and jumping around a lot.

2.2 do not put this man on a trampoline unless you are fine with endangering everyone in the vicinity!!! — which translates too, jade would probably ‘find a way’ to get vargas to consent to a trampoline in the gymnasium for a day. floyd learned out to do one (1) front-flip with his legs and it has spiraled since then.

3. hates getting mild runny nose. he never got one in the coral sea and now suddenly his nose starts dripping!!! ⋋_⋌!!! what’s up with that!!! he doesn’t really do well with colds in general but a runny nose is his nemesis and will complain loudly about it.

4. he eats what he wants when he wants!! but i think he’s a real enthusiast for food challenges, especially warheads and anything really sour. candy is rare undersea; he wants to test out his limits and this little 3-day-long fascination led to him discovering he really likes peppermints.

5. has a comic series he is working on about a samurai merman who kills and cooks his enemies. into various plates of seafood. jokes it’s about teaching children how to make healthy meals in the coral sea. the art style is on level with takehiko inoue but maybe like ten pages are actually finished? Samurai Swordfish is very important to him though, even unfinished, and he will not tolerate slander.

6. it’s something that people without siblings wouldn’t really get but floyd and jade are incredibly close and also very independent. despite this juxtaposition, it became clear the relationship they would have in NRC when floyd, in the first month of his first year, was sitting in class, thinking ‘i want to see jade right now’ which evolved fast into ‘i’m going to see jade’. since that little epiphany, floyd has had no issue with simply abandoning class to walk into whatever class his twin is in.

7. picks up instruments easily and almost always finds a way to master it. from this, it is evident he has perfect/absolute pitch. sound is especially important to him — not just from tapping a rhythm with his fingers or whistling a tune, the voice of his loved ones is very important to him. with such a unique sensitivity to sound, he really thrives off calls and voicemails. he is not a texter, he is a caller 100%.

8. brain tank empty …. goodbye …. 💔

[tom-whore-dleston]

When Delusions Become Reality

Summary: Imagine your favorite babe being your professor that you had a crush on the whole semester. You both met up after finals week for coffee. One thing led to another, and he found himself walking into your off campus apartment.

This fic contains: professor x student relationship, making out, flirting, consent is major key, praise kink, oral sex, boob worship, penetration, cum eating, babe calls reader 'bub', reader calls babe 'sir', implied round 2

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: When @bucks-and-noble announced they will be hosting a Choose Your Babe Challenge, I was very excited to share a piece that I revisited after abandoning it years ago. It was mainly for an old AU, but decided to make the love interest open to interpretation. With that being said, let your imagination run wild and picture you and your favorite babe in this little scenario.

“Well, this is it,” you said to your professor. “Welcome to my apartment.” You extended your arms out as if your living space was on display. The professor scanned your apartment in silence and you watched his face, waiting for him to say something.  

“This is nice,” he simply stated. He sensed you were uneasy by the way you searched the room for something to entertain him with. To be fair, you were uneasy. You spontaneously invited him to your apartment after kissing him not too long ago. Anything could happen at this point. Sure, you imagined what it would be like to be intimate with your professor, but who would have predicted your delusions would become reality?

His eyes fell upon a wall of Polaroid pictures of you and your roommates. He remembered seeing your roommates once from afar as he walked you out of his office hours. Neither of you wanted office hours to end that day, but he had another class to teach and you already planned to meet your roommates for lunch. You waved goodbye to him before joining your roommates and disappearing into the crowd of students.

“Oh yeah, my roommates and I like to take Polaroids whenever we have a good day,” you chimed in, noticing the way he examined the wall. He turned his gaze back to you, tilting his head in curiosity. 

You continued, “For example, if we talked to someone we liked, we’d take a Polaroid to capture how we looked in that moment of pure happiness, you know.” Your professor nodded. Then, you pointed to a picture towards the top of the wall. 

“That picture right there was the first day of classes. The day I met you.” Your cheeks warmed up at the memory. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you that day and my roommates kept egging me on about what made me so giddy. I just told them I met someone and they took a picture of me without my knowledge. I was confused but then when it developed, I just…looked so happy. They say they’ve never seen me smile like that and that was when we started our ‘Wall of Candid Happiness’ as my roommates like to call it.”

The professor stepped closer to you and gently took your hand in his. Your eyes immediately locked with one another. 

“I don’t know how you do it, but you always find a way to make me crazy for you.” He closed the space between you and your lips. Your tongues easily slipped into each other’s mouths as he slid your coat off. Before the kiss deepened, you both separated, giggling while avoiding each others’ gazes.     

“Oh, umm, please make yourself at home. I can take your coat.” The professor handed you his coat. “I have Netflix so you can watch whatever you want.” You gave him space to take off his shoes and head into the living room. 

“I know we just came back from coffee, but would you like anything? Water-”

“Water is fine,” He responded, taking his glasses off. “Thank you.” He flashed his signature smile before wiping the lens with his sweater. 

He turned on Netflix and noticed your profile named ‘bub’. A smile quirked on his face as he clicked on your profile. You joined him on his side at the couch, placing two glasses of water on the coffee table. 

The professor turned towards you. “So…is there any meaning behind ‘bub’.”

Your cheeks warmed up and you grinned softly. “Oh, it’s something my parents always called me growing up. Sorry, it’s silly-“

“No, it’s not silly. I think it’s cute. Like you.”

You give him a quick kiss before spending the next few minutes deciding what to watch. Eventually, you both agreed to watch the latest holiday rom-com featured on Netflix to get in the spirit. You and your professor started off a lil far apart but slowly moved closer to one another until your head is on his shoulder and his arm is wrapped around you. When the movie ended, you peered longingly into each other’s eyes. 

Without an exchange of words, you leaned forward to kiss him. He cupped your cheeks with his large hands while kissing you back. He pushed you back onto the couch and he crawled on top of you.

“Is this okay?” You only nodded your head and he stopped.

“If you want me to continue, I want to hear a clear yes from you.” He paused. “Are you okay if I’m on top of you like this?”

“Yes, professor.”

He smiled at your response. “Good girl.” He continued kissing you and you subconsciously ground your hips up against his. A smirk formed on his lips.

“Did you like being called a good girl?”

“Yes it was so hot!” Your pupils were dilated and eyelids hooded. 

“Noted.” He kissed your neck, relishing the way your moans progressively got louder.

“I’ve thought about you every night.” You gasped as he sucked a sensitive part of your neck. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind the first time I saw you. I can’t believe this is happening.”

“You’ve thought about me?” He licked his lips, his cock straining in his pants.

“Yes.”

“What did you think about?” Your professor inquired.

“A lot of things.” You laughed nervously, trying to avoid his intense stare, but he gripped your chin firmly. 

“Like what?” 

As if put under a spell, you confessed how you thought about him kissing your naked body, sucking hickies into your skin. The professor unraveled your layers of clothing as you spoke, fulfilling each fantasy that spilled from your lips. He claimed ownership of your bare skin with purplish red marks. 

“Tell me more about what your pretty little head was thinking about.” 

While you revealed to him how you wanted him to lick and suck your nipples, he slowly unclasped your bra, your breasts in full view. A growl rumbled from his chest to throat before he latched onto one of your tits. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he worshiped your breasts with his mouth and hands. 

As his lips traveled south, you were a panting mess. You mustered up the last bit of clarity you had to tell him the main fantasy that plagued your head.

“The one thing that kept me up at night was thinking of your face between my legs.” The professor yanked your jeans off, along with your panties, revealing your wet pussy. Having your professor this close to your core felt like a fever dream. One you refused to wake up from.

“Let’s see if you taste as delicious as your moans sound.” With that, he dove his head to where you craved him the most, causing you to scream in pleasure. His tongue trailed over your slit, collecting the nectar that dripped from you. Just a single taste from you, and he was already addicted. He maintained eye contact with you while he ate you like his last meal.  

After you came in his mouth, he licked his lips. The professor hopped back on top of you before desperately undoing his pants. It didn’t take long for him to stroke his spit over his cock before sliding into you. You yelped at his size and he interlocked his hands with yours while comforting you. 

“Fuck, bub, you are so beautiful! My beautiful bub. So good for me.” He fucked you more passionately until you were both moaning. 

“You feel so good inside of me. Keep fuckin me like that, please, sir, please!” Hearing you call him sir unlocked something in him that he pinned your hips down and hammered into you. 

“F-fuck, baby, that’s s-so hot. S-say that again, bub.”

“Keep fuckin me, sir. Just like that. Yes yes yes, sir!”

He fucked you until you were shaking underneath him. Your professor’s thrusts become uneven, leading him to eventually pull out of you and release his load over your stomach. Dipping a finger in the sticky puddle, you licked up the cum off of you until you were clean and you curled up into him. 

“Oh my god, you’re so good.” The professor sighed, kissing the top of your head.

“Yeah, so much better than my dreams.”

You made out for a bit and he pulled you into his warm body to cuddle you more. After spending moments in silence, listening to each other’s breathing, you called out his name, his first name.

“Yes, bub?”

“Can I give you a blowjob?”

“Of course you can.” He pulled you into another kiss. “Let me see what my beautiful girl can do with that mouth.”

Navigation | Fanfic Masterlist | Open Character Masterlist

[reasonsforhope]

Determined to use her skills to fight inequality, South African computer scientist Raesetje Sefala set to work to build algorithms flagging poverty hotspots - developing datasets she hopes will help target aid, new housing, or clinics.

From crop analysis to medical diagnostics, artificial intelligence (AI) is already used in essential tasks worldwide, but Sefala and a growing number of fellow African developers are pioneering it to tackle their continent's particular challenges.

Local knowledge is vital for designing AI-driven solutions that work, Sefala said.

"If you don't have people with diverse experiences doing the research, it's easy to interpret the data in ways that will marginalise others," the 26-year old said from her home in Johannesburg.

Africa is the world's youngest and fastest-growing continent, and tech experts say young, home-grown AI developers have a vital role to play in designing applications to address local problems.

"For Africa to get out of poverty, it will take innovation and this can be revolutionary, because it's Africans doing things for Africa on their own," said Cina Lawson, Togo's minister of digital economy and transformation.

"We need to use cutting-edge solutions to our problems, because you don't solve problems in 2022 using methods of 20 years ago," Lawson told the Thomson Reuters Foundation in a video interview from the West African country.

Digital rights groups warn about AI's use in surveillance and the risk of discrimination, but Sefala said it can also be used to "serve the people behind the data points". ...

'Delivering Health'

As COVID-19 spread around the world in early 2020, government officials in Togo realized urgent action was needed to support informal workers who account for about 80% of the country's workforce, Lawson said.

"If you decide that everybody stays home, it means that this particular person isn't going to eat that day, it's as simple as that," she said.

In 10 days, the government built a mobile payment platform - called Novissi - to distribute cash to the vulnerable.

The government paired up with Innovations for Poverty Action (IPA) think tank and the University of California, Berkeley, to build a poverty map of Togo using satellite imagery.

Using algorithms with the support of GiveDirectly, a nonprofit that uses AI to distribute cash transfers, the recipients earning less than $1.25 per day and living in the poorest districts were identified for a direct cash transfer.

"We texted them saying if you need financial help, please register," Lawson said, adding that beneficiaries' consent and data privacy had been prioritized.

The entire program reached 920,000 beneficiaries in need.

"Machine learning has the advantage of reaching so many people in a very short time and delivering help when people need it most," said Caroline Teti, a Kenya-based GiveDirectly director.

'Zero Representation'

Aiming to boost discussion about AI in Africa, computer scientists Benjamin Rosman and Ulrich Paquet co-founded the Deep Learning Indaba - a week-long gathering that started in South Africa - together with other colleagues in 2017.

"You used to get to the top AI conferences and there was zero representation from Africa, both in terms of papers and people, so we're all about finding cost effective ways to build a community," Paquet said in a video call.

In 2019, 27 smaller Indabas - called IndabaX - were rolled out across the continent, with some events hosting as many as 300 participants.

One of these offshoots was IndabaX Uganda, where founder Bruno Ssekiwere said participants shared information on using AI for social issues such as improving agriculture and treating malaria.

Another outcome from the South African Indaba was Masakhane - an organization that uses open-source, machine learning to translate African languages not typically found in online programs such as Google Translate.

On their site, the founders speak about the South African philosophy of "Ubuntu" - a term generally meaning "humanity" - as part of their organization's values.

"This philosophy calls for collaboration and participation and community," reads their site, a philosophy that Ssekiwere, Paquet, and Rosman said has now become the driving value for AI research in Africa.

Inclusion

Now that Sefala has built a dataset of South Africa's suburbs and townships, she plans to collaborate with domain experts and communities to refine it, deepen inequality research and improve the algorithms.

"Making datasets easily available opens the door for new mechanisms and techniques for policy-making around desegregation, housing, and access to economic opportunity," she said.

African AI leaders say building more complete datasets will also help tackle biases baked into algorithms.

"Imagine rolling out Novissi in Benin, Burkina Faso, Ghana, Ivory Coast ... then the algorithm will be trained with understanding poverty in West Africa," Lawson said.

"If there are ever ways to fight bias in tech, it's by increasing diverse datasets ... we need to contribute more," she said.

But contributing more will require increased funding for African projects and wider access to computer science education and technology in general, Sefala said.

Despite such obstacles, Lawson said "technology will be Africa's savior".

"Let's use what is cutting edge and apply it straight away or as a continent we will never get out of poverty," she said. "It's really as simple as that."

-via Good Good Good, February 16, 2022

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Somewhere to Belong | 1/3 | S.R

Gif does not depict the child’s appearance

A/N - this will be a three parter, written for @imagining-in-the-margins Family Challenge.

Part 2 | Part 3

Summary - You and Spencer have only been dating a few months when he drops the bombshell that he wants to start a family and it throws you into turmoil. And that’s only made worse he meets five year old orphan Wren Briar and is determined to do whatever it takes to adopt her. Even if that means destroying your relationship.

Pairing - Spencer Reid x BAU Fem! Reader

Warnings - found family, very brief mention of past addiction and Maeve storyline, post prison arc, age gap between consenting adults (Spencer is late 30s and reader is mid 20s), typical CM case related stuff, child losing her parents, crying child, arguing, swearing.

WC - 8.3k

Part 1

If Spencer Reid were perfectly honest, he’d never wanted for much his entire life. He’d grown used to just accepting what came his way, never letting his expectations or hubris desire more than he was given. 

Wanting for things only led to great disappointment. For example, wanting a mother who wasn’t sick and a father that didn’t walk out on them. Wanting to not have a drug addiction, or the weight of potentially developing schizophrenia. 

He wanted to not have witnessed his first love being shot to death in front of him before he’d ever had a chance to hold her. 

Maeve allowed Spencer for the first time in his life to want for something tangible. A relationship. A wife. A family. But that was snuffed out along with her life at the hands of Diane Turner’s bullet. 

He’d always liked the idea of having a family, the idea of it almost like a guilty pleasure to the young genius. It seemed so far out of reach, out of the realms of the possible for someone like him to accomplish. 

All he’d ever really wanted was somewhere to belong, something more than his mother could offer him; something deeper than the BAU could provide. Somewhere where he fit like a missing puzzle piece. 

He’d always been an overachiever, never having much trouble reaching the goals he set for himself, but that seemed to be one ideal he would never make a reality. 

He allowed himself the fleeting dream of having a family with Maeve but yet again it had been squandered, the flame of possibility extinguished before it really had a chance to burn. 

He’d spent years watching Hotch with Jack and JJ with Henry and later Michael. He’d witnessed Kate and her niece and then the birth of her own baby. Even Morgan with Hank. And later came Matt with his array of children so large it didn’t seem fair. 

As time drew on Spencer found himself growing more and more resentful towards his friends simply because they had achieved something he was sure he never would. 

And time was ticking on for him, he was much closer to forty now, his thirties slipping away in the rear view mirror, soon to vanish entirely from his vision. 

Perhaps it was his incarceration that put everything into perspective for him; maybe in some twisted way Cat had done him a favour by having him arrested. It was entirely plausible that if he hadn’t gone through that ordeal prior to the case that took place in Woodbridge, Virginia, just fifteen miles outside of Quantico, it may not have ended in the way that it had.   

It was his first day back after thirty days off and admittedly he was grateful to be returning to the BAU. He loved teaching, loved imparting knowledge but it didn’t compare to the rush of fulfilment he got when he worked with his FBI family.

Because that’s what they were, right? Family, at least the closest thing to one Spencer really had. Of course he had his mom, his biological family, but what he had with the team was different. 

In a strange way Emily and Rossi were like the parents, while Matt and Tara were like auntie and uncle and JJ, Garcia and Luke were his twisted siblings. 

Which left you. You who’d joined the team around the same time as Matt not long after his release from prison. You who had slotted into the BAU family as if you’d been there all along. 

You who he couldn’t look at like a sister the way he did JJ and Penelope without it being incredibly bizarre given how attracted to you he was. 

You’d shined a light on Spencer’s dark existence, giving him hope for the first time since Maeve. 

And maybe years ago he never would have even considered crossing that line with a coworker, maybe wouldn’t have even had the confidence to pursue you in the first place. 

But a funny thing happened to Spencer while he was incarcerated. In having his walls completely and utterly torn down, leaving him as little more than a foundation, he was able to rebuild, recraft and manufacture a whole new facade. 

This new appearance was more self assured, the walls he’d erected had locked his old insecurities out in the cold. 

Less was the innocence he’d once possessed but instead replaced by assertiveness. He wouldn’t wait around for what he wanted and hope it would fall in his lap. He would go after it and grab it with both hands.

And that’s exactly what he did with you. 

He’d told you in no uncertain terms that he thought you were beautiful and effervescent and that he wanted to take you for dinner. It wasn’t a question, he didn’t ask if you wanted to go to dinner, he told you that’s what was happening. 

You’d found his confidence to be dizzying and electrifying, and also arousing. You hadn’t even stopped to consider the ramifications of going on a date with your colleague. 

It had been the furthest thing from your mind after dinner, when Spencer kissed you outside of your apartment. You hadn’t given it a second thought when you invited him upstairs where you became privy to the true extent of Spencer’s dominance. 

It had been several months of this and as far as you were aware the rest of the team was none the wiser. 

Spencer lavished you with both expensive dates and also afterwards in the bedroom. He was a gentleman in the streets and a wild animal in the sheets. 

But he wanted more from you than you were able to give, that much became apparent two days ago when you were lying in a post coital bliss and Spencer had mumbled absent mindedly, “I want to have a family.” 

He was on the cusp of forty, it was understandable that he would be thinking of those things. But you were still young, close to fifteen years his junior and a family was the last thing you were thinking about. 

What had ensued had been a painfully awkward conversation which you would have rather had with more clothes on. A resolution hadn’t been reached, the discussion simply ended when Spencer told you he needed time to think and proceeded to leave your apartment. 

And you hadn’t spoken in two days.

With all of it whirring around in your brain you had completely forgotten Spencer was due back today and so when he strolled into the round table room, ten minutes later than everyone else and not apologising for that fact, you tried to hide your surprise by staring at the tablet in front of you.

He took the last remaining seat between you and Luke and flipped open the case file leisurely. 

“Nice of you to join us, Reid.” Emily rolled her eyes as she spoke. 

“Hmm.” He didn’t look up. “What did I miss?” 

“Uh, well, as I was saying,” Garcia shook off his slightly abrupt tone and continued her presentation. “Mister and Mrs Briar are the second couple to be killed in their home Woodbridge, both shot in the head, point blank. A week ago, Mister and Mrs Logan also met the same grizzly fate.” 

“And the police think they are connected? Doesn’t seem like a very specific MO.” Rossi frowned, sitting back in his chair.

“There is one piece of information that ties the two families.” Garcia clicked a button on her remote, casting away the crime scene photos in lieu of two pictures of two little girls. “Both the Logan’s and the Briar’s had a daughter who witnessed the whole sorry thing but were gratefully left alive.” 

Spencer skim read the file in front of him before looking up at the screen and the images of the two kids who had gone through something no child should have to. 

His eyes gravitated to the photograph on the left of a little girl with rosy cheeks and a bright smile. She had curly dark hair and expressive green eyes and Spencer felt as though she was looking right at him, maybe even through him. 

“This is six year old Freya Logan,” Garcia pointed at the blonde girl on the right. “And five year old Wren Briar.” 

Wren, cute, he thought. 

“Woodbridge is nearby, so we’ll work the case from here.” Emily pushed herself to her feet. “Y/N, Tara and I will go to the county police department and speak to the sheriff. Luke, Matt go to the latest crime scene. Garcia I need you to find the kids and get them brought in, they may have seen something that could be of help. The rest of you start digging.” 

Everyone nodded in agreement and started off on their separate ways. Emily mouthed to you and Tara to give her a minute before she left the room. 

Spencer left soon after and without meaning to you found yourself on your feet and following him. 

You trailed him to the kitchen when he grabbed his mug and started up the coffee machine. He had his back to you when you entered behind him but somehow he knew you were there. 

“Why were you late? You’re never late.” Your voice was so unsure, like you weren’t even certain you were allowed to speak to him. 

He turned slowly, leaning his back against the counter as he regarded you with his gaze. 

“I overslept.” He shrugged. 

“You never oversleep.” 

“Yeah because I usually get a decent night's rest. But for two nights I’ve been tossing and turning and when I do actually sleep, it’s fretful at best.” His tone was something akin to frustration, frustration that was clearly directed at you. 

“You can’t just drop a bombshell like that and walk off. I haven’t been sleeping either, Spencer.” You lowered your tone to a whisper in case any prying ears were around. 

“I didn’t realise wanting a family with my girlfriend would be such a bombshell.” He folded his arms across his chest, not being quiet with his words the way you were. At least the coffee percolating helped to mask his voice.

“I didn’t even know I was your girlfriend! We’ve never once talked about what we were, let alone having a family. We’ve been dating for a few months, I’m not sure I understand when this got so serious.” You mirrored him and folded your arms too. 

“Relationships are only ever going to end one of two ways, Y/N. They either eventually run their course or you spend the rest of your life together. I was just letting you know my intentions.” 

“Spencer, I’m still young. Marriage and kids is not something I’m thinking about right now.” 

“Well that's all I think about. And if you don’t want that then there really is no point in us being together. I’m not wasting my time with someone who doesn’t want the same things as me.” 

The coffee machine clicked, its sounds starting to fade out. Spencer turned his back on you and shoved his mug under the machine and hit a button. 

“That’s what this is to you? A waste of time?” You let your arms fall to your sides, feeling the weight of his words crash down on you like a tidal wave.

“You tell me.” He shrugged, not looking back at you. “I’ve made my intentions clear, Y/N. It’s up to you what you want out of this. And if it isn’t a family, then I guess yeah, it was a waste of time.” 

You opened your mouth to speak but closed it again quickly. You repeated this several times as Spencer turned with his mug of coffee in hand. He strolled past you without so much as a glance and you dumbly watched him go. 

You couldn’t even go after him if you tried as soon Emily found you and motioned for you to follow her and Tara towards the elevators. 

***

“She won’t talk to me,” JJ sighed exhaustedly, running a hand through her hair as she looked between Spencer and Rossi. “She keeps asking for her daddy. I think she’d be more open with a male.” 

The three of them stood in the corridor outside of the small disused office where Wren Briar and a woman from social services were situated. Her eyes stopped their back and forth and landed on Rossi. 

“Don’t look at me.” Rossi scoffed. “I’m old enough to be her grandpa.” 

JJ pulled a face that told him she agreed before turning to Spencer. 

“You are around her dad’s age.” JJ gave him a shrug. “And you’re great with Henry and Michael.” 

“And Jack. And Hank.” Rossi added. 

“Boys,” Spencer shook his head. “They are all boys. I have no idea what to say to a little girl. A little girl whose parents have just been murdered no less.” 

“Spence, you’re great with kids. I think she would really open up to you.” JJ was pleading with him with both her voice and her eyes. Spencer always did have a hard time saying no to her. 

He glanced passed JJ through the window and on the side of the five year old’s face. Since he’d seen her photograph this morning he had felt a strange emotion bubbling in his chest which he couldn’t quite place.

Maybe protectiveness? Did he feel the need to safeguard this little girl from harm? And if so, why?

He’d had dealings with hundreds if not thousands of kids in his years at the BAU and never felt like this before. He wanted to cushion her, wrap her in bubble wrap and take away all of her pain. 

But he didn’t understand why. 

He looked back at JJ and sighed louder than necessary to convey he wasn’t pleased about this. 

“Fine, but you owe me.” He rolled his eyes, stepping further forward and taking a deep breath before entering the room.

Her astute green eyes snapped up as the door opened, little eyebrows knitted together as she took in the man walking towards her. She seemed wiser than her years, the way she seemed to be curiously regarding him, sizing him up and assessing his threat level. 

Spencer offered the social worker a smile before focusing back on Wren. He crouched down when he reached where she was sitting on the couch so he was her height. 

She clutched a stuffed toy to her chest which appeared to be some sort of dog, maybe a cow, maybe even a panda. It was a dirty off white with splodges of black and long tatty ears. It was slightly ragged and threadbare and clearly a favourite with this little girl. 

“Hi,” he spoke softly, calmingly. “My name is Spencer, can you tell me your name?” 

Of course he already knew it but he needed an excuse to get her talking.

“Wren,” she sucked in a breath. “Like the bird.” 

“Wow, that’s such a pretty name.” His smile grew of its own accord. “You wanna know something cool?” 

She rolled her thin bottom lip between her teeth thoughtfully before nodding her head, her nearly black curls bouncing around her face. 

“Y-yes.” She whispered.

“Wren’s eat spiders and insects that they find while hopping along the ground.” He wiggled his long, slender fingers towards her and to his surprise and delight Wren started to giggle.

“Eww!” she shook her head frantically. “I don’t want to eat spiders!” 

“I’m afraid with a name like that, you might have to.” Spencer laughed, her innocent giggle sending shockwaves through his whole body. 

It melted him from the inside out, as if he were made of chocolate and her laugh was a hot flame. He wanted a child more than anything in the entire world and it was killing him not to have one.

“Noooo!” She shook her head so frantically it was a wonder she didn’t make herself dizzy.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Spencer lowered his voice, leaning in a little closer to Wren. “If you can help me find out what happened to your mommy and daddy, I promise no one will ever make you eat a spider.” 

She pouted dramatically, her lip jutting out so severely it looked almost painful. She loosened her grip on the stuffed dog-cow-panda, patting its scruffy head before gripping its ears in her little fingers. 

“This is Rover,” she turned him so Spencer could see his face and confirmed it was in fact a dog. 

“Hi Rover, I’m Spencer. Do you eat spiders?” He cautiously took hold of one of the dogs paws and shook it. 

“Eww!” Wren giggled again, wrapping her arms tightly around the dog again and wrinkling her tiny nose. “Dog’s don’t eat spiders.” 

He wasn’t going to argue with the little girl that given half the chance most dogs probably would eat spiders. Instead he nodded in agreement.

“You’re right, I'm sorry Rover.” He half-smiled at the stuffed dog. “Did Rover see what happened to your mommy and daddy?” 

Wren once again held the dog tighter, nodding sadly as her eyes downturned. 

“The man made us go into the closet. I closed my eyes but Rover saw everything.” A tear trickled from her large green eye and Spencer couldn’t stop himself from reaching out and gently brushing it away.

She didn’t shy away from him, didn’t even flinch. And when he moved his hand away she grabbed one of his fingers in her own petite little hand. 

Her fingers wrapped so tightly around the digit, her fear evident in the small gesture. Her eyes were filled with tears making her already bright irises even more vivid. She looked Spencer in the eyes, keeping a firm grip on his finger. 

“He shot them. He killed them. My mommy and daddy are dead.” And with that a damn broke and her tears cascaded down her rosy cheeks. 

She let go of Spencer’s finger and fell into his arms where he knelt on the ground, nuzzling her little face against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt. Tentatively he wrapped the girl in his arms, stroking back her raven head of curls and cooing to her that it would be ok. 

His eyes glanced up towards the window in the door where JJ and Rossi were staring right at him. Wren blew her nose on his tie and he shrugged lightly at his coworkers. 

“Damn, he’s good.” Rossi spoke on the other side of the door. 

“You expected anything less?” JJ smiled wistfully. 

***

When you returned to the BAU later that afternoon with Emily and Tara you were surprised to find the rest of the team, Garcia included, swarmed around Derek Morgan’s old office. 

The three of you approached curiously as the other members gathered around the lone window, clearly staring at something inside. 

“Uh, do we not have a case to be working?” Emily’s voice garnered the attention of the five other agents who spun to face her guiltily. 

You and Tara looked between their faces while they clearly decided who was going to be the one to answer. 

“You need to see this.” Luke spoke with amusement ripe in his voice. 

They parted like the Red Sea to allow the three of you to get to the window. You, Tara and Emily slowly stepped closer until the room beyond was in view. 

On the couch sat Spencer, head forward to his chest and eyes closed tightly. In his lap was a head of dark curls equally as unruly as his own, and a small body curled up next to him, clutching a stuffed toy. Both appeared to be sleeping, Spencer’s limp hand resting on the girl's shoulder. 

“That’s the Briar’s daughter.” JJ filled you all in. “Spence is the only one she would open up to.”

“The social worker got called away and he said he’d stay with her. How long they’ve been like this is anybody's guess.” Rossi added. 

“Isn’t it the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” Penelope gasped happily. 

She wasn’t wrong. It was utterly adorable. And it warmed your heart and froze it in equal measure. Spencer looked so at home with the little girl, it was only then it occurred to you what an amazing dad he would be. But it wasn’t what you wanted. You weren’t ready for a family, for a child, not like he was. 

You took a few steps back from the window, feeling your heart ripping apart in your chest. You were crazy about Spencer, you weren’t ready for your relationship to come to an end. But if this was how he saw his future, you weren’t sure you could be a part of that.

No one seemed to notice you slip away, too busy watching the man and child sleep peacefully. 

***

Wren took a shine to Spencer in the way no one ever had before. Sure he was good with kids, but with her he didn’t even seem to need to try. 

Over the next few days he learnt that she was incredibly smart, smarter than any five year old he’d ever met before. He wondered if her parents ever had her IQ checked because he would be willing to bet she was gifted. 

She was inquisitive, curious about the world around her. At her instance he’d told her more facts about her namesake, moving onto other facts about other animals and then just facts in general. 

She hung off of his every word, asking questions if she didn’t understand and probing for more knowledge. 

She was gentle and kind and even despite the trauma Spencer could tell she was a happy kid. He was sure if anyone could bounce back from an ordeal of this magnitude it was her. Wren was resilient. 

And the more time Spencer spent with her, the more time he wanted to spend with her. 

She liked it when he read to her so he went out and brought a ton of her favourite books and would sit in Morgan’s old office and he would read. 

He brought his chess set in, thinking her curious mind would enjoy the challenge. She did. A lot. Even if she struggled to grasp the game, she was only five after all. 

But his heart swelled every single time she cautiously lifted a piece, looked up at him with her electric eyes and whispered, “can I move this thing over here?” 

He adored the little names she gave the pieces and stopped correcting her after a while. He preferred her names for them anyway. The prawn. The horsy. The pointy head. The pretty Queen and the brave King. 

She also loved cartoons so after a quick lesson from Garcia on how to operate a tablet and download Netflix, he would sit with Wren and let her watch her favourites on the device while she rested her head on his shoulder. 

He held her when she got sad and missed her mom and dad. He let her shed her tears against his shirt and blow her nose on as many of his ties as she needed. 

He had learnt long ago not to want for anything in life but he couldn’t help himself. This small child had in the space of a few days completely wormed her way into his heart and he never wanted to see a day where she wasn’t a part of his life. 

One more couple met the same fate as the Logan’s and Briar’s before they caught the guy responsible three days later. 

Wren clung to him as the social worker tried to get her to leave, small arms wrapped around his waist while she sobbed into his side and begged Spencer not to let her take her away. 

“Spencer, don't make me go!” She sobbed and screamed at the top of her little lungs. “I don’t want to leave you!” 

“Hey now,” he whispered, crouching down to her height and wiping her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “It won’t be forever ok? I just need to talk to Miss Carol real quick ok?” 

“I heard her talking on the phone, they want to take me away from you.” Her little lip quivered and it shattered his heart. 

“Wren, I promise you I will not let that happen ok? You just have to be brave for me and go with JJ for a moment. Can you do that?” He tucked her messy hair behind her ears.

Wren looked up with watery eyes at JJ who was smiling at her from behind Spencer. 

“You like books right, Wren?” JJ held out her hand. “I can read to you. Time will fly by.” 

Wren sniffled and looked back at Spencer who was trying to smile encouragingly at her. She suddenly flung her arms around Spencer’s neck and held him tightly as if he were her stuffed dog. He held her too, praying to gods he didn’t believe in that it wouldn’t be the last time. 

When she let go she reluctantly took hold of JJ’s hand so Spencer could be left alone with Carol, Wren’s social worker. 

Once JJ left the room with Wren, Spencer stuffed his hands in his pockets as he looked at Carol. 

“What’s going to happen to her?” He scuffed his toe on the worn carpet. 

“She doesn’t have any living relatives.” Carol shrugged. 

“So she goes into the system?” Spencer felt his heart plummet.

“I’m afraid so.” 

“She’s been through enough.” Spencer swallowed, his eyebrows furrowed deeply.

“Unfortunately that’s kind of a prerequisite for foster kids.” Carol sighed. 

“What, uh…what if I could take her?” His words surprised even himself despite the fact it wasn’t the first time he’d considered it. He’d been thinking about it pretty much non stop since he met Wren, but this was his first time saying it out loud. “I know I can’t just take her now, I did the research.”

“You did?” Carol frowned curiously at him. 

“Last night.” He nodded. “I mean I’m an FBI agent so presumably the background checks and stuff would be easy and I know I would need to buy a bigger place with a second bedroom but I started looking at places near Woodbridge, so Wren could still be near her friends and go to school.

I know there are applications and home studies that would need to be done and I know it’s arduous and expensive but I don’t care. I know it takes time but I can wait. I can wait if it means at the end of it all she’ll get to come home with me. I’d even quit the BAU so I could be home more often. I teach in my spare time at the university, much more stable hours, no travel. I am willing to do whatever it takes.” He was rambling and he knew it but he couldn’t stop. 

Carol listened intently, taking in his every word and looking at him curiously. 

“Doctor Reid,” she sighed a little. “I’m not sure all of that would be necessary simply to foster.”

Spencer suddenly frowned at her, not angry necessarily but frustrated that she misunderstood his intentions. 

He cleared his throat, stepped forward and removed his hands from his pockets. He straightened his back and looked Carol dead in the eyes. He needed her to know how serious he was about what he was about to say. 

“I’m not talking about fostering.” He shook his head. “I want to adopt her. I want to be her father.” 

***

As it turned out, adopting a child was even more hard work than Spencer ever anticipated. 

That night after his talk with Carol and after promising Wren several hundred times he would see her again really soon, he went home and delved deeper into the ins and outs of this particular venture. 

The easy part was the fact she’d been orphaned and there were no relatives to have to give over parental rights. That was where the simplicity started and ended.

Adopting a child could take anywhere from six to eighteen months. Not to mention the fact it could cost him anywhere up to forty thousand dollars. 

He’d need a bigger home, that much he already knew and a job with more stable hours which was easy enough to achieve. 

He would have to fill out applications, go through home studies and up to thirty hours worth of parental training. He’d need health exams, proof of income, references from several people close to him. 

All relatively achievable. 

But he would also have to undergo a criminal background check. Although he had been cleared of all charges, his time in prison hadn’t been expunged despite Emily’s attempts. He would have to explain that he spent three months in a federal facility for a murder he didn’t commit. 

Also there was the very real possibility that being a single male would hinder his chances of adoption. From what he’d read it shouldn’t be used to discriminate against him, but it certainly wouldn’t be in his favour. 

If the state thought they could place Wren with a family with two parents instead of one, they were more likely to do that than allow a single man in his late thirties to adopt her. 

If there was ever a time for him not to want for something desperately, with his entire heart, it was now. But for the life of him he couldn’t stop himself. 

But the most important thing he needed to do was talk to Wren. 

She might have enjoyed spending time with him, it might have helped take her mind off of watching her parents die, but that wasn’t to say she wanted to live with him. He needed to stop getting ahead of himself. 

He took a personal day from work and drove out to the halfway house she’d been placed in for the time being. If everything went to plan she wouldn’t have to be here too long. 

The second she saw him her entire face lit up, not just her dazzling green eyes. A huge smile plastered on her tiny face and she ran at full pelt towards him. 

Her wild mane of dark curls was tied back into a ponytail and flew behind her with her speed. When she reached him, Wren threw her arms around Spencer’s waist and squeezed him as tightly as her little body would allow.

“Spencer!” She snuggled against him while he in turn enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too, pumpkin.” It was true, he had and it had only been one night. 

She let go of him before taking him by the hand and marching them both over to a nearby couch. She plopped down on it, he now noticed she had Rover dangling from one hand. 

Spencer sat next to her and she shuffled close to him, as though being near him offered her some kind of protection. 

“I don’t like it here.” She whined a little, choking the stuffed neck of her dog in tiny hands. 

“It'll only be for the short term.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “But you do understand that you can’t go home, don’t you Wren?” 

Her bottom lip pouted in that over dramatic way he’d grown used to. Tears sprung to her eyes as she nodded her head. 

“I miss my mommy and daddy.” She sniffled. 

“I know you do, sweetheart.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she rested her head on his rib cage. 

“I don’t want to live here forever.” She whimpered. 

“And you won’t.” He squeezed her gently. “I wanted to talk to you about that.” 

She raised her head so she could look at him, those large, emerald eyes seeing right through to his soul. 

“How would you…do you think you might…” he trailed off, words failing him. “I was thinking, if you’d like to, maybe you could come and live with me.” 

She blinked several times at him, watching, reading him. It was sometimes hard to believe she was only five years old. 

“I can do that?” One of her little eyebrows raised curiously. 

“If you’d like to. Only if you’d like to. But I would love to have you live with me, Wren. Have you heard of adoption?” He tucked another stray strand behind her ear. 

“No.” She shook her head. 

“That’s ok, I can explain it to you.” He smiled softly. “So when a child like you, loses their parents, they need somewhere to go. At the moment you’re in foster care which is temporary. There are foster families you can stay with but it won’t be like your real home. You might get moved around between different families from time to time. 

Adoption is permanent and that’s what I would like. If I were to adopt you I would become your legal guardian…your dad I suppose. You’d live with me at least until you turn eighteen, maybe longer if that’s what you wanted. You’d have a home for as long as you needed one, a family with me. It isn’t an easy process but one I would very much like to go through if that’s what you want.” 

Again the girl blinked him, probably only really understanding half of what he was saying. 

“I had a dad. He died.” She frowned. 

“I know, and I’m not…you don’t have to call me dad. I’m not trying to replace your dad. But I would be responsible for you.” 

“Would I have a new mom too?” Her frown deepened. 

“Uh, no. No mom, just me.” He shrugged. “Look Wren, I think you are a wonderful little girl and I would be absolutely honoured to be your adoptive dad. But I want what’s best for you and if you don’t want that then-”

“Can we play chess if I live with you?” She cut him off. 

“As often as you’d like.” He smiled.

“And will you read me bedtime stories?” 

“Every single night.” His smile grew. 

“Can I have a My Little Pony bedspread?” She started smiling too. 

“I don’t see why not.”

“What about Rover?” She suddenly gasped, clutching the small dog tightly. 

“What about him?” Spencer frowned. 

“Where will he live? I can’t go without him!” She was suddenly beside herself with panic and Spencer couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“It’s a good job I’ve got room for him too then, isn’t it?” 

Her eyes lit up again and sparkled in that innocent way that fed Spencer’s soul. Her lip twitched at the corner. 

“Really?” She bounced a little in the chair.

“Really.” He felt tears gathering behind his eyes. 

“Ok!” Wren nodded. “I think we would like that.” 

Spencer wanted to collapse into tears at those words. If Wren wanted to live with him he would do everything in his power to make that happen.

He knew as he looked at her sparkling eyes and tiny pure smile, he would go to the ends of the earth for this little girl. 

He already loved her with his entire being. And no matter what the adoption process threw at him, he would make it through. He would do it for her. 

***

When he handed his letter of resignation to Emily a week later and explained his reasons for leaving, she’d quite rightly been shocked. 

But she’d also been incredibly encouraging of his newfound love of an orphaned little girl. 

He glowed when he spoke about her, happier than she’d seen him in such a long time. And although she hated to lose him from the team, she knew it was for the greater good. 

The next step was a new home, a family home, one big enough for him and Wren. Between looking at houses and starting to pack up his own apartment, he hired an attorney to aid him in his adoption battle. 

Although it was the more expensive route, Spencer decided to go down the path of independent adoption. It would mean he would have to do the work an agency would normally do but he always had been a control freak. And he was far more invested in the outcome and would therefore work harder to get Wren home. 

He visited her every day. He took books and his chess set and they spent hours together in the halfway home. He showed her pictures of the houses he’d seen and asked her what she thought. 

One in particular was a cute three bedroom suburban home with a canary yellow picket fence and a green front door. Her little eyes had sparkled when she looked at it and she jabbed her finger at the printout. 

“I want to live here.” She got a little shy as she vocalised it. 

He wondered if it was because she knew. 

The house in question was less than a block from the home she’d witnessed the death of her parents in. She probably walked it past it frequently. 

He wasn’t sure that living so close to a place that held so many bad memories for her would be a good idea, but he also thought it might allow her to feel close to the family she’d lost. 

“Really?” He asked tentatively. “Do you know where it is?”

He nodded defiantly. 

“Near mommy and daddy’s house.” 

“And you want to live near their house? Won’t it make you sad?” 

“I'm always sad.” She confessed, pouting her lip drastically. “Except when you’re here.” 

His heart doubled in size, practically leaped right out of his chest. God he didn’t think it was possible to love her anymore than he already did but she kept proving him wrong. 

“You mean that?” He smiled, tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Yes.” She nodded again. “You make the bad go away.” 

His emotions betrayed him and a few tears fell from his eyes causing Wren to gasp. 

“Oh no! Why are you sad, Spencer?” She grabbed one of his fingers in her hand and squeezed it. 

“I'm not sad.” He smiled. “These are happy tears. I’m just…I’m just so happy I met you. I wish I could make everything better for you, I wish I could bring your mommy and daddy back, I do. But I promise you, as long as I’m alive, you have a family ok?” 

With her free hand she reached for Spencer’s cheek and brushed his tears the same way he did to her. Her little fingers were soft and a little damp. 

“I miss my mommy and daddy all the time.” She whispered as though it was a secret. “But I think they would be happy that you want to be my new family.” 

God she was so smart. Way smarter than her years. He really would need to have her IQ tested. 

“I hope so, pumpkin.”

“Why do you call me pumpkin?” She sat back, looking at him curiously. 

“Because I love Halloween.” And I love you. 

“I love Halloween!” She clapped her hands together. “Can we go trick or treating?” 

Spencer chuckled, yet again tucking her rogue hair behind her ears and off of her little rosy face.

“We can on Halloween. But right now it’s March, we have a few months before October.” 

“But can we go trick or treating on Halloween?” 

“Of course, pumpkin.”

Seven months. He had seven months until Halloween. Seven months to bring her home. 

He hoped he wasn’t making promises he couldn’t keep. The last thing this little girl needed was more disappointment. The last thing he needed was more disappointment. 

After that he spent the next hour watching Wren draw pumpkins and witches and ghosts in crayon while he told her facts about Halloween. 

He left with a picture she’d drawn for him. 

It was of the house with a canary yellow fence and green front door. In front of the house was Wren and Rover who was drawn wildly out of proportion. 

And then there was a tall, slim man with crazy curls holding Wren’s hand. 

In the bottom corner she’d scrawled in her childlike handwriting: my new family. 

***

That same day Spencer called his realtor and made an offer on the house in Virginia whilst putting his own apartment up for sale. 

He knew buying a house took time but it was time he didn’t have. He’d sent off his adoption applications and the background checks were in full swing but without the house he couldn’t start his home studies which at minimum took three months. 

At least once the background checks were out of the way he would be able to take Wren out of the halfway home for a few hours at a time, supervised by a social worker of course but it was better than nothing. 

He was prepared for the questions about his incarceration and had already discussed as such with his attorney. He had transcripts from his therapist who had cleared him for duty, citing him mentally sound. 

He had Emily write a letter explaining the whole situation, how he was framed and all the gory details surrounding the case and the proof of his innocence. 

He also had letters regarding his character from people who knew him well and could vouch for the fact he would be a great dad. One being from BAU co-founder David Rossi, a name that garnered respect everywhere he went. 

And in the capacity as a mother, Jennifer Jareau who talked at great lengths about how Spencer was the worlds greatest godfather to her boys and how amazing he was with them. 

Emily, Rossi and JJ were three great people to have on his side. 

He’d done everything he could for the time being and for the most part it was now just a painful waiting game. 

His house sale and purchase seemed to be moving smoothly so in his free time when he wasn’t teaching and he wasn’t with Wren, he continued packing up his apartment so he would be ready to get into his new house the second the sale was finalised. 

His apartment was mostly boxes these days, sad, taunting boxes filled with his possessions while he waited for the phone to ring. 

On his last visit to see Wren she’d told him exactly how she would like her new bedroom so some boxes contained flat pack furniture and paint cans. 

She wanted her walls to be orange and when he’d frowned and asked her why she simply replied, “because pumpkins.” 

He couldn’t very well argue with that. 

He managed to talk her down from a bright and garish orange to more of a burnt autumnal colour. She picked out her bed along with a My Little Pony bedspread, and wardrobes from magazines Spencer had shown her and he’d purchased strings of pumpkin shaped fairy lights. 

At her insistence, he’d also brought a dog bed for Rover. 

He may be jumping the gun, wasting his money on such things when he still had a long road ahead of him before he’d be able to take her home. 

And there was also the very real possibility he may never be able to take her home. 

Honestly, Spencer couldn’t let himself think of that. If he let himself consider that outcome he would crumble. 

In such a short space of time Wren had become his entire world and he couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t lose her. 

He was packing up the last of his books when there was a knock at his apartment door. 

He spun to look at it, boxes piled so high it was like a labyrinth just to get to it. He frowned, mentally trying to ascertain a path but coming up empty. 

“Uh, who is it?” He called, trying to clamber closer.

A stretch of silence met his ears and in the meantime he stumbled over a box and narrowly avoided landing head first in another. 

“It’s Y/N.” You spoke eventually, sounding exhausted. 

He closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. In all the stress surrounding him, he hadn’t given you a second thought. 

Fuck, I messed up. 

“Uh the door should be unlocked.” He called back and a moment or two later it opened.

You took a step inside, eyes quickly scanning the disarray in the room before finding Spencer’s face, poking out from between two piles of boxes. 

“Marco,” he joked but you didn’t laugh. 

“Were you ever going to tell me you quit the BAU?” You folded your arms over your chest, staying put by the front door. “And moving by the looks of things. Was I going to be the last person to find that out too?” 

“I’m so sorry.” He shrugged meekly, knowing he owed you more than a simple apology. “Everything is happening so fast. I needed to move quickly, the faster I get things sorted the faster she can come home with me.” 

Your frown deepened and he could see the confusion rolling off of you in waves. 

“What are you talking about? Who’s coming home with you?” 

He inhaled sharply, exhaled heavily. Of course Emily, Rossi and JJ knew of his adoption plans but he had asked them not to tell the rest of the team. If it didn’t work out he didn’t want them to be privy to his failure. 

But truthfully he expected them to spill the beans. He knew you’d all have a lot of questions regarding his sudden departure from the team and thought at least one of you would get it out of them. It appeared not. 

“Well, uh, I’m in the process of trying to adopt a little girl.” He shrugged and braced himself for your reaction. 

Your arms fell to your sides and your eyes doubled in size as you glared at him as though he’d told you he was going on a killing spree and not that he was adopting a kid. 

He supposed both would be equally concerning. 

“I’m sure I didn’t hear you right.”

“No, you did.” He tried to step closer to you but he seemed to have boxed himself into a corner quite literally. “You remember the couples that were killed in Virginia? I kinda bonded with one of the kids. Wren. Wren Briar. She’s in a foster facility at the moment but I’m working on adopting her.” 

Somehow the more he explained the less you understood. 

“Are you serious?” You scoffed. 

“Very.” 

“Jesus Christ, Spencer.” You shook your head in disbelief. “You bonded with a kid on a case and now you want to bring her home? Play happy families with a child who lost her parents?” 

“Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.” He tried to shuffle between the piles of boxes but was once again thwarted. 

“Do you realise how insane that sounds?” Your tone was incredulous. 

“Why does that sound insane? She needs a family and I’ve always wanted one.” He frowned at you. 

Of course he understood why you may be concerned but he hadn’t expected this reaction. 

“So you meet someone, you get married. And when the time is right you start a family.” 

“I have tried that! I’ve tried it the “normal” way and that’s never worked out for me. I am thirty nine years old, I don’t know how much longer I can wait.” He was growing angry. 

“So you’re just skipping to the end? Spencer this is not how you dreamed of having a kid!”

“No, you’re right, it’s not!” He suddenly raised his voice, shoving over a pile of boxes in his way so he could get closer to you. “I dreamed of having kids with Maeve and then she was killed in front of me. Then I dared to dream of having a family with you but you shot that idea right down. It’s not ideal, I am aware of that. But goddammit I love that little girl and I will give her a home. I will be her family and she will be mine.” 

“Spencer,” you softened, his eyes wild and scaring you a little. “She’s what, five? She’s already on her way to becoming a fully realised human being. Her personality is already formed, she’s had five years of life where you weren’t a part of it and you just expect her to fall seamlessly into the role of your daughter? Have you ever even considered how hard it’s going to be for her? She lost her parents, they are dead. You really think you can just swoop in and pretend to be her father when she watched her real dad die?” 

“Get out.” He spat harshly. “Get the fuck out of my home.” 

“Spencer I-”

“No, don’t. If you’re not going to be helpful then you can leave.” 

You shook your head in sadness at him, sighing deeply. 

“I might not be ready for a family right at this second but I didn’t once say I wouldn’t want one someday. But you’re so determined to rush this, to skip to the happy ending. We could have had that one day.” 

“That’s not good enough for me.” He finally lowered his voice. “I’m in love with you Y/N, I know I’ve never said that before but I am. And I don’t want to wait to start a family because I love you. But if we don’t want the same things then we have no future. I’m adopting Wren, no matter what it takes and if you can’t be happy for me then walk away.” 

And without another word, that’s exactly what you did. You walked away. 

In another scenario, maybe even in another life you would have told him that you loved him too. 

Instead you simply walked away. 

[machineryangel]

Haven't seen anyone talk ab it but Twin Drums studio (the majority of its core team of nine are Black, female, and queer) is developing a (successfully kickstarted!) Afro-fantasy game called The Wagadu Chronicles and I'm rly excited for its launch and you should check out their links

"This is a very personal project [...]" Twin Drums' founder and creative director Allan Cudicio explains. "For me, that meant looking back at my career realising how hard I had to fight just to get some Black characters in the games I was working on, or to get the artists to have an African-inspired setting and not the 40th European, French/Venetian inspired setting. It was very much a personal fight I had to go through."

"The game is political," Cudicio continued, describing the game as 'immersed in a Black, queer positive source'. "Too often we hear in our industry 'We don't do politics', which is fascinating. It's better to embrace what politics you have and for us it's anti-colonial, it's feminist, it's anti-ableist."

"[The Wagadu Chronicles] is an African-inspired fantasy sandbox MMORPG, so you travel through this African-inspired world, doing what you could call life skills: farming, fishing, crafting," Cudicio said. "It also has combat, mostly PVE, inspired by single player turn-based RPGs. Community is very important. Every village you see in The Wagadu Chronicles has been created, nurtured and expanded by communal efforts, which again is inspired by traditions of the continent. (x)

Wagadu removes the lens of medieval European influences in fantasy by being based entirely on African mythology. “A lot of games is nonconsensual killing and getting rewarded for it, whereas in Wagadu, and with nature, it’s about consent,” explains Cudicio. “That’s like traditional Yoruba hunters of the south of Nigeria. When they hunt, they chant a blessing and ask permission for the animal. In some cultures, you also ask for forgiveness or thank them afterwards. I think it’s important to rethink hunting not as something that’s very Western and capitalist — which is about the domination and destruction of nature — whereas in African societies it’s about balancing and respecting it.”

Suffice to say, being set in an African fantasy world also means players will only be able to play as Black characters, with a large selection of African names to choose from. “I know if people have that freedom, then white players will be lazy and just pick white people, and not challenge themselves, and then the setting will not be Black anymore,” says Cudicio. “To keep Wagadu African, there needs to be an artistic direction to say, like, this is a Black world, so everybody who plays has these features.” (x)

There have been black people in fantasy previous of course, but often their stripped of any tangible African influence. “I think what happens is you get very Western fantasy with people painted black, basically. There’s metal armour or a French looking knight, just with an afro or black skin. It’s good, it’s better than nothing, but we need to move a step further. It’s a very Eurocentric blackness.” (x)

[evidence-based-activism]

Is male circumcision as harmful as female circumcision? I have had multiple discussions about this, but someone said that certain types of FGM are equally or less invasive than MGM

Hi! No, no it is not.

Male circumcision

So, the big question about male circumcisions is if it's ethical or not. A while ago, I would have said, no definitely not, since it's a violation of bodily autonomy. However, someone has since pointed out to me that we do a lot of things to infants (and children) that are technically violations of bodily autonomy.

We consider this morally acceptable because we are providing some intervention that they (the children) are not capable of either requesting or refusing on the basis of it's benefits outweighing the harms. The best example of this, in my opinion, is vaccines. We give children a lot of vaccines because we know that they have (and do) substantially lower the chance of the child getting sick and/or dying from a preventable disease. In this case, the minor violation of bodily autonomy (vaccination of a child) is permitted because waiting until they are able to give their consent would introduce a substantially larger risk of harm.

How does this relate to male circumcision? Given this framework, we could accept male circumcision if (1) there are benefits to the procedure, (2) the benefits outweigh any risk of harm, (3) waiting until the child is able to consent to the procedure is not feasible (i.e., some significant portion of the benefits would be lost).

There is some mixed evidence for these three claims. Evidence in favor includes:

There are a number of reviews [1-3] by the same team that provide support for all three points. In particular this review [3] directly reviews the evidence of "arguments opposing male circumcision", debunking each one in detail. However, the fact that they are all by the same team is less encouraging. The evidence here is substantial, but there's a potential for bias.

That being said, the American Academy of Pediatric [4] also concludes that the "health benefits of newborn male circumcision outweigh the risks".

This Cochrane Review (essentially the highest quality evidence) [5] found male circumcision substantially reduces acquisition risk of HIV by heterosexual men and that incidence of adverse events is very low.

And this review and meta-analysis [6] found the same reduction for HPV.

Evidence against:

This review [7] suggests the benefits of male circumcision may not apply in North American countries

This article [8] claims the same for developed countries in general

This commentary [9] claims the same, suggesting that "from the perspective of the individual boy, there is no medical justification for performing a circumcision prior to an age that he can ... choose to give or withhold informed consent himself"

That being said these papers have also been challenged by advocates for male circumcision [10] and even opponents [9, 11] recognize that the rates of complications are very low, and the rates of serious complications even lower. In addition to that, complication rate was greater for older children [11], which provides support for the third point I highlighted above (i.e., waiting until they are older may introduce more harms than benefits).

And all of that being said, if the procedure is done, it should absolutely be done with some form of pain relief. Thankfully, it appears that the vast majority are performed in this fashion [11].

In the end, there is strong evidence supporting male circumcision for infants in developing countries. There are research gaps concerning if these benefits apply to developed countries (i.e., little work has examined this population specifically), which indicates a need for such research. That being said, with the extremely low complication rate and moderate evidence of benefits, there also isn't a strong argument against the procedure.

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Female Genital Mutilation

Comparing this to female genital mutilation (FGM) will highlight just how egregious such equivalencies are.

First, a brief detour into biology. Men and women have various embryological precursors that develop into either male or female sex organs. These are called biological homologues, and they are roughly (although not perfectly) comparable. For example, an embryo has the gonad which, during sex differentiation, develops into the ovary in women and the testicle in men [12].

This framework allows us to make some rough comparisons between male circumcision and FGM. For example, it's likely that the "less invasive" form of FGM you were referred to is type 1A [13]. In this type, only the clitoral hood is removed. Both the clitoral hood and the foreskin develop from the prepuce, as they are homologous structures. Notably, even here, male circumcision and FGM type 1A would still only be homologous if (1) FGM type 1A has a similarly low risk profile as male circumcision and (2) male circumcision actually provides no benefits to the infant.

For the first point, we have little to no data on the complication rate of type 1A FGM, specifically because it is essentially never performed in isolation [14]. This is – almost entirely – a theoretical form of FGM. Despite this, even if it were more common it doesn't necessarily follow that the procedures would have a similar adverse effect profile. In fact, one of the most common arguments against male circumcision involves the numerous nerve endings in the glans (head of the) penis, generally in reference to how the foreskin "protects" the penis head or "preserves sensitization" (neither of which are proven assertions). But while the glans penis and glans clitoris have a similar number of nerve endings in absolute terms, the clitoral head is much smaller and therefore much more densely innervated [15]. As a result, it would be much more likely for the removal of the clitoral hood to result in irritation than the removal of the foreskin.

And for the second point, I've discussed the mixed literature on the topic in developed countries. However, most FGM is performed in developing countries (although certainly not exclusively so) [14], and in this context there is strong evidence of a health benefit to male circumcision and absolutely no health benefit to FGM.

To complete the comparisons between FGM and male circumcision in terms of homologous structures [12, 13]:

Type 1B involves the removal of the clitoris with the prepuce (clitoridectomy). This, anatomically speaking, would be similar to removal of (minimally) the penis head.*

Type 2 involves partial or total removal of the clitoris and the labia minora, with or without excision of the labia majora. This would be roughly comparable to the removal of the penis head, mutilation/cutting/removal of penile raphe (underside of the penis) with or without mutilation/cutting/removal of the scrotum.*

Type 3 is infibulation, or the narrowing of the vaginal orifice with creation of a covering seal by cutting and apposition the labia minora and/or the labia majora, with or without excision of the clitoris. There is no direct comparison for men, as they do not have a vaginal orifice or any similar structure.

Type 4 is all other mutilation/anything that cannot be categorized as above.

*Note: these comparisons aren't perfect due to differences in how the homologous structures are arranged. For example, removal of the penis head would also impact the urethra, whereas removal of the clitoris would not. That being said, these comparisons are far more accurate than between FGM types 1B - 4 and male circumcision.

To further drive home the differences, FGM results in substantial, severe health complications (unlike male circumcision) and has absolutely no known health benefits (possibly unlike male circumcision). These articles [16-21] go into great detail on this; the complications range from: infection, incontinence, infertility, severe and sometimes chronic pain, pregnancy complications, PTSD and post-traumatic symptoms, other psychiatric disorders, greater risk of STDs, and death.

There is no evidence of any benefits.

---

Conclusion

Hopefully, it's clear that male circumcision and female genital mutilation are in no way comparable.

The opponents of male circumcision often suggest that any violation of the bodily autonomy of infants is morally wrong, but this fails to consider the nuanced situation inherent to infant-hood and early childhood. They are physically and mentally unable of consenting to or refusing any medical procedure, which is why we have a – generally recognized – moral caveat to this principle that allows caregivers to act in the best interests of the child, particularly when waiting for the child to grow older before allowing any intervention would increase the risk of harm. (Childhood vaccinations and, really, any other medical procedure done on children, are other examples of this.)

It's possible that future research may indicate that male circumcision is not associated with benefits in developed countries. (This would remove male circumcision from the category of procedures described above.) Even then, however, it would not be comparable to FGM due to the vastly different complication rates.

I hope this helps you!

References under the cut:

Morris, B. J., & Krieger, J. N. (2013). Does male circumcision affect sexual function, sensitivity, or satisfaction?—a systematic review. The journal of sexual medicine, 10(11), 2644-2657.

Morris, B. J., Kennedy, S. E., Wodak, A. D., Mindel, A., Golovsky, D., Schrieber, L., ... & Ziegler, J. B. (2017). Early infant male circumcision: systematic review, risk-benefit analysis, and progress in policy. World journal of clinical pediatrics, 6(1), 89.

Morris, B. J., Moreton, S., & Krieger, J. N. (2019). Critical evaluation of arguments opposing male circumcision: A systematic review. Journal of Evidence‐based Medicine, 12(4), 263-290.

Task Force on Circumcision, Blank, S., Brady, M., Buerk, E., Carlo, W., Diekema, D., ... & Wegner, S. (2012). Male circumcision. Pediatrics, 130(3), e756-e785.

Siegfried, N., Muller, M., Deeks, J. J., & Volmink, J. (2009). Male circumcision for prevention of heterosexual acquisition of HIV in men. Cochrane database of systematic reviews, (2).

Shapiro, S. B., Laurie, C., El-Zein, M., & Franco, E. L. (2023). Association between male circumcision and human papillomavirus infection in males and females: a systematic review, meta-analysis, and meta-regression. Clinical Microbiology and Infection, 29(8), 968-978.

Bossio, J. A., Pukall, C. F., & Steele, S. (2014). A review of the current state of the male circumcision literature. The Journal of Sexual Medicine, 11(12), 2847-2864.

Frisch, M., & Earp, B. D. (2018). Circumcision of male infants and children as a public health measure in developed countries: a critical assessment of recent evidence. Global public health, 13(5), 626-641.

Deacon, M., & Muir, G. (2023). What is the medical evidence on non-therapeutic child circumcision?. International journal of impotence research, 35(3), 256-263.

Moreton, S., Cox, G., Sheldon, M., Bailis, S. A., Klausner, J. D., & Morris, B. J. (2023). Comments by opponents on the British Medical Association’s guidance on non-therapeutic male circumcision of children seem one-sided and may undermine public health. World Journal of Clinical Pediatrics, 12(5), 244.

Shabanzadeh, D. M., Clausen, S., Maigaard, K., & Fode, M. (2021). Male circumcision complications–a systematic review, meta-analysis and meta-regression. Urology, 152, 25-34.

26: The Reproductive System . (n.d.). In Anatomy and Physiology (Boundless) . LibreTexts. https://med.libretexts.org/Bookshelves/Anatomy_and_Physiology/Anatomy_and_Physiology_(Boundless)/26%3A_The_Reproductive_System

Abdulcadir, J., Catania, L., Hindin, M. J., Say, L., Petignat, P., & Abdulcadir, O. (2016). Female genital mutilation: a visual reference and learning tool for health care professionals. Obstetrics & Gynecology, 128(5), 958-963.

WHO, U. O. (2008). Eliminating female genital mutilation: An interagency statement. World Health Organization.

Shih, C., Cold, C. J., & Yang, C. C. (2013). Cutaneous corpuscular receptors of the human glans clitoris: descriptive characteristics and comparison with the glans penis. The Journal of Sexual Medicine, 10(7), 1783-1789.

Utz-Billing, I., & Kentenich, H. (2008). Female genital mutilation: an injury, physical and mental harm. Journal of Psychosomatic Obstetrics & Gynecology, 29(4), 225-229.

Klein, E., Helzner, E., Shayowitz, M., Kohlhoff, S., & Smith-Norowitz, T. A. (2018). Female genital mutilation: health consequences and complications—a short literature review. Obstetrics and gynecology international, 2018(1), 7365715.

Iavazzo, C., Sardi, T. A., & Gkegkes, I. D. (2013). Female genital mutilation and infections: a systematic review of the clinical evidence. Archives of gynecology and obstetrics, 287, 1137-1149.

Berg, R. C., & Underland, V. (2018). Immediate Health Consequences of Female Genital Mutilation/Cutting (FGM/C).

Sarayloo, K., Roudsari, R. L., & Elhadi, A. (2019). Health consequences of the female genital mutilation: a systematic review. Galen medical journal, 8, e1336.

Reisel, D., & Creighton, S. M. (2015). Long term health consequences of Female Genital Mutilation (FGM). Maturitas, 80(1), 48-51.

[someone-will-remember-us]

The multi-billion euro pornography industry must be “targeted” to end a culture of violence, degradation and increasing misogyny in Ireland, a report has warned.

Women’s Aid, which commissioned the report, is urging the Government to address “consistently high” levels of sexual abuse linked to porn in Ireland.

The research found that porn featuring verbal degradation and extreme acts such as choking was now mainstream and freely available online.

Such consumption of sexually violent content is affecting healthy sexual development and behaviour in adults and teens.

It was also leading to sexual violence, unhealthy relationships and hostile misogyny and it compounded gender inequality, the report noted.

Ruth Breslin, the director of The Sexual Exploitation Research and Policy (SERP) institute, was co-author of the report alongside Dr Monica O’Connor.

Ms Breslin said progress on sexual “consent” was “being undermined by boys’ sexual expectations of girls”, which was “moulded by pornography”.

“Girls have been groomed by pornography to submit to acts that they do not want and do not enjoy,” she said.

“In shaping boys’ sexual scripts, pornography has taught boys that women, and therefore girls, have limitless sexual appetites, a high tolerance for pain, sometimes say ‘no’ when they mean ‘yes’ and enjoy ‘aggressive sex’, which includes physical violence, sexual assault and verbal abuse.”

Most (81pc) of the 18 to 25-year-olds surveyed as part of the research said pornography was increasing young men’s interest in seeking rough or violent sex. Three-quarters agreed that pornography made children and young people vulnerable to requests to share intimate images and videos.

Further, 71pc said the Government and technology companies needed to do more to protect children and young people from pornography exposure and should act faster to support survivors of image-based sexual abuse.

In the poll, 81pc of all respondents said they wanted age-appropriate sexuality and relationships education in schools, with a focus on the negative consequences of being exposed to porn.

Sarah Benson, CEO of Women’s Aid, said: “This study now clearly confirms that the vast majority of pornography does nothing to promote healthy sexuality, equality and intimacy, but is instead creating a conducive context for violence and degradation, particularly of women and girls.

“This is directly relevant to our work, as women contacting Women’s Aid for support have identified their partner’s use of pornography as a component of the sexual coercion and abuse they’re enduring.”

The study, called Facing Reality: Addressing The Role Of Pornography In The Pandemic Of Violence Against Women And Girls, underscores the damage porn is also doing to victims of sex trafficking, including children and ordinary Irish women and girls.

In its research, Women’s Aid urges the Government to “tackle an unregulated multi-billion euro pornography industry”.

It said it was vital to examine practical and effective measures to “target the business model of a wholly unregulated international industry with an appalling track record of exploiting vulnerable people, including children, for profit”.

“There have been successes in other jurisdictions, such as the US, with class action suits on behalf of trafficking victims and successful appeals to financial institutions, providing vital infrastructure to the pornography industry,” the report said.

“The potential to build on or leverage these actions to reduce the impact of the industry in the Irish context should be considered.”

Women’s Aid said it was encouraging that porn was challenged in the Government’s third national strategy to prevent and combat domestic, sexual and gender-based violence.

However, Ms Benson said explicit images could still be shared without consent by partners or former ones and even used for blackmail and coercion.

This could affect a “survivor’s well-being, mental health, employment and social connections”, the report found.

Although the Harassment, Harmful Communications and Related Offences Act 2020 had “created much needed offences in relation to image-based sexual abuse”, the charity said prosecutions took time. Yet images were “available and can be shared and re-posted”.

There was “an opportunity to protect children and adults alike with the current Online Safety and Media Regulation Bill”, the report said.

“The proposed Online Safety Commissioner must be provided with the power to issue immediate take-down orders in cases of image-based sexual abuse specifically,” it said.

Studies on men’s attitudes and behaviours have found a strong link between the consumption of violent pornography and attitudes supporting violence against women and misogyny.

The report was funded by Community Foundation Ireland.

(archive)

[astrosouldivinity]

𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙢 𝘾𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙪𝙚𝙙…

☆ Capitalism resembles a game of appearances. Like a chess match, we play this game on an imaginary social hierarchy where we get placed with or without our consent. Our value is often determined by superficial factors such as wealth, attractiveness, racial factors, heteronormativity, and anything else that brings forth privilege.

☆ Over the next 19 years, the transit of Pluto in Aquarius will analyze and ultimately dismantle existing social constructs. Pluto, the planet of transformation, rebirth, and regeneration, will be in the sign of Aquarius, which embodies innovation, humanitarianism, and the collective consciousness. Are you ready for change?

⋆˙⟡Preparation: Pluto in Aquarius

☆ Pluto in Aquarius transit encourages you to embrace change and stay open to transformation. Here are some steps you can take to facilitate a smooth transition-

1. Embrace Change: Acknowledge that transformation is inevitable. Stay open-minded and adaptable to new ideas and perspectives.

2. Reflect on Social Constructs: Consider the societal norms and structures in your life. Identify which ones no longer serve you and think about how you can contribute to positive change.

3. Cultivate Innovation: Engage with new technologies, ideas, and ways of thinking. Explore creative outlets and innovative solutions in your personal and professional life.

4. Focus on Community: Strengthen your connections with others. Get involved in community-focused activities or humanitarian efforts that align with your values.

5. Educate Yourself: Stay informed about important social issues and community innovations. Knowledge can empower you to become an effective advocate for change.

☆ Lastly, remember to stay grounded. Engaging in grounding practices that help you stay centered, such as yoga, nature walks, or other forms of physical activity, can be highly beneficial. Additionally, developing your emotional resilience will equip you to handle challenges more effectively. Practices like mindfulness, meditation, and journaling can help you process changes more smoothly.

Capitalism Part One:

[beatmyfeet]

Dominated man, The psychology course all women should take

Empowering Women: Harnessing Confidence for Pleasure and Mutual Benefit

In an age where the traditional norms of gender dynamics are continuously being reevaluated, it's important to consider the advantages of personal development and confidence-building among women. While the term 'dominance' can carry a negative connotation, in the context of a consensual relationship, it can translate into a positive experience for both parties when handled appropriately.

The potential benefits are multifold. For women, learning to assert themselves can boost self-esteem and provide a sense of empowerment. This doesn't necessarily mean exhibiting control or superiority over men, but rather, understanding their desires and communicating their own effectively.

Enrollment in workshops or courses aimed at building self-assurance and assertiveness can be beneficial. These programs can help women to better express themselves, understand their desires, and set boundaries, which can lead to more fulfilling relationships and experiences.

Simultaneously, men can also benefit from this shift in dynamics. It provides an opportunity to challenge traditional gender roles, explore new experiences, and deepen the understanding of their partners. It can be a liberating experience for men, freeing them from the societal expectations of always needing to be in control.

In this light, dominance can be seen as a means to achieve mutual pleasure and satisfaction, provided it is based on respect, consent, and understanding. Dominance in this context isn't about overpowering or manipulating another person, but about confidence, clear communication, and mutual respect.