#Challenging preconceived notions

[germiyahu]

Like the situation is not black and white. I saw people gang up on a self-avowed non Zionist pro Palestinian Jew for having boundaries when it comes to supporting Palestine. They ganged up on them for saying antisemitism should still be called out and is not necessary to support Palestine.

But when I saw with my own two eyes Palestinians on twitter begging Westerners to retweet and spread shit straight from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion and Mein Kampf, as if that would help free Palestine... I mean no Linda, this is not an example of "not speaking over oppressed people," not when those oppressed people know that certain tropes and canards can be used to target Jews around the world and they know that Westerners are receptive to them.

They are trying to use you and your naivete to collectively punish all Jews in the world. They know they're not powerful enough to kill the Jews of Israel so they want you, their loyal allies, to be radicalized into trying to hurt Jews in the Diaspora. That's the only way a lot of people in the Arab/Muslim world can think of to punish Jews. They do not see a difference between Israeli and Diaspora Jews. This is not spreading awareness, this is not #freeingPalestine, this is not "they're just trying to do whatever they can think of to get the bombs to stop falling on their children," this is just petty spiteful sadism, and they know you'll go along with it, because both of you are antisemitic at heart.

So you do have to be skeptical. You can't uncritically spread things. That goes both ways of course. But since you already interrogate every claim of antisemitism, and preemptively dismiss it as crocodile tears, Hasbara, or thinly veiled calls for Islamophobic violence... that side of the aisle is not an issue for you, clearly. But if you can't even go to the other side of the aisle and clean up house even a little bit, you're not a serious activist.

[heliopauseentertainments]

Thinking about the language fic post, but honestly... I'm more tempted to conlang some stuff together because that's really the best way to actually get underlying language bits to reference. Otherwise it won't make much sense.

Downside: I have too many questions to ask based on the limited information available about the language(s) used by alien robots. I'm not really sure where to start.

I'm not touching on varieties of "speaking hand" yet. Yet. That is a threat.

Let's start with: PHONOLOGY & PHONETICS

For example, question number one: what would any given language spoken by Cybertronians sound like?

There's no reason alien robots should use verbal speech in ways familiar to us, either via human-like vocal tracts even via "verbal" means at all.

Because they are aliens. Because they are robots. Both separate reasons that are somewhat independent of each other.

Some things have to be assumed to be similar as part of the conceit of the material of the material given to us. Material between continuities is quite different so for sanity, lets pick IDW1.

Conceits we're forced to work with:

Cybertronians are repeatedly shown to whisper, shout, and make sounds with their mouths or some sort of vocal apparatus in the mouth/throat area if their mouths have been removed. Therefore, their vocal tract is mostly analogous to ours for most intents an purposes. Perhaps some of the sounds that come out are necessarily different or could have additional features or limitations based on the shapes and motion ranges of their articulatory organs.

Cybertronian speech (for Neocybex specifically) in the original writing of the continuity is rendered in English (under the guise of scifi Universal Translator tech). Sometimes British English varieties, sometimes American English varieties, depending on the writer. While this is a necessary conceit for a comic book meant for an English-speaking audience, this means we don't actually encounter a lot of the sounds (or renderings thereof) of Neocybex and its varieties as it's spoken. This also biases us to understand their cultures through the lens of localization to English (but that's a secondary problem).

Limited stock of Neocybex words are available as a result of the previous point. Mostly we have toponyms (place names), religious vocabulary (the roots of which are usually Latin or Greek and thus could also be seen as the result of localization rather than the original vocabulary), and personal names (many of which are also localized for our convenience). Even legal terminology is translated into English words. We really only get toponyms as a source.

The available word stock is rendered in the English version of the Roman alphabet for the necessary conceit of "writing in English for the audience." That means that sound capture of those Neocybex words is inherently imperfect since it's limited by the writing system. Also as the material is written, we don't know what it actually sounds like (broadly). Romanization is a loose approximation at best.

That makes what their available phonological and phonetic systems look like a bit of a headscratcher.

But we do know one thing for sure.

Windblade can't pronounce /θ/ (the voiceless dental fricative at the end of "earth"). This sound is reportedly difficult to pronounce for Cybertronians and the English toponym of our planet is also not being picked up by their Universal Translator (which amusingly also doesn't work on non-Neocybex Cybertronian languages like Primal Vernacular).

I still have no idea what Neocybex sounds like, but I know it doesn't have /θ/.

Anyway, I'm going to keep pondering this.

I have many more questions.

Are there forbidden syllable structures?

Is it a tonal language to some degree? How is the language timed (mora, stress, syllable, etc.)?

What is the orthography like (because the ones we're given are English ciphers, which is bullshit)? Are there non-verbal components only present in the orthography?

How related to modern Neocybex is Primal Vernacular? Is it the ancestor language? Was it restricted to liturgical use after a certain period?

What is the grammar like? What features are marked and in what way? Does it have grammatical case? Does it have noun classes? Does it mark animacy? Does it use word order to make grammatical meaning?

What is the syntax like more specifically?

What is the morphological typology?

[voice trails off into the distance, still asking questions]

[alstroemerian-dragon]

unfortunately im thinking about nagito komaeda. this is unfortunate because i do not like him. but at least i understand how hes fucking written .

[battlekilt]

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

In the midst of the conflict for the monastery while on Teth, the 501st had been divided from the 212th. Cody had been caught in his own end combative maelstrom. He had to wade through the blinding stream of priority alerts flooding his vision on his HUD that reported the rapid termination of Torrent Company’s members—until there were only two. As mortars crashed around Ghost Company’s movements, blasters zinged past his head, and the wails of his own fallen men, Cody struggled to concentrate. No one would have known, but parts of his consciousness tried to recede back to the sub, while he waited out his ebb of dread. Something told him he might face one of his most feared moments, when the highest priority number would flash across his HUD: #7567. He needed relief from the ache in his chest, an ache so tenacious that it squeezed the blood from his heart like a clenched fist. Ghost had been bugging off when the Clone HUD blinded him and deafened him with the alert: [KIA]—#7567— Had he not been who he was, the galaxy would have stopped rotating on its axis; the stars would have flickered and dimmed, and Cody would have been able to feel the pain in that moment… rather than be who he was. He was a Clone; built to withstand anything— So, he had no choice but to withstand this. Broken though he had been—still, he stood, like the hollowed-out buildings of Crystal City. A testament of engineering; an exhausted monument that needed to come down. No one would have known at the time. No one would have seen it through his helmet. No one would have heard his voice waver or break. His footing never faltered and he never hesitated. He never wavered and kept his focus on the evacuation, on holding the defensive line beside his men—he was dutiful and carried out every expectation. His discipline held. Which was a good thing because the galaxy continued to spin, the planet continued to rotate on its axis, and the war… continued. Nothing would have stopped and given him time to reclaim his breath. Unable to afford it to be stolen, he breathed on through and marched onward. Luckily, it had been in error. When the system updated with an accurate report of the Trooper’s, it had been small… a blip without an alarm to blind him or bind him. It had hardly been enough to make up for that moment when Captain Rex was reported killed in action; when Cody needed for the laws of physics to break—when he needed… he needed to… stop the motion of time and reverse the course of gravity. One moment, Rex was dead… the next, he lived again. It was pain that Cody had never forgotten, even if it later proved to be a false report by the glitchy Phase 1's med-sensors. Yet, his pain had been real, even if a temporary experience for Cody. To this day, the bitter taste lingered in his mouth like sour metal, and his heart had learned the rhythmic march of a broken heartbeat. He had only lived briefly through a taste of such a loss. Time had not rinsed the taste of such grief from his mouth; he knew to be prepared for the bite he’d have to swallow.

[ahalliance]

ooo just stumbled onto a new analysis pet peeve i think . dismissing a character’s actions as “OOC” without even trying to make sense of them

[alexythimya]

For me Kendrick lamar is a glasses icon he literally always has the frames I would pass by thinking they're so ugly and yet!

[zooophagous]

Welcome to art group! We are an inclusive online space for all artists. We are here to learn and grow and most of all support one another!

Here are the rules

-no nudity ever including bare nipples. No not even if it's a Greek statue or an ancient hieroglyph. Nipples and nudity are not art.

-no violence or depictions of weapons or blood. Will this rule extend to photos of generic white people holding spears in their play-pretend pseudo native American garb? Probably not.

-nothing too political, this is art group not debate group! Everyone knows art is only ever aesthetic and carries no political baggage. Don't make people think too hard and for the love of GOD Don't challenge any preconceived notions.

-never ever hint that anything you make could possibly be available for sale, ever. Yes I know this group is about supporting artists but we didn't mean like. Physically in any way.

-No art that makes mod Steve sad :(

-if your art is ugly tag it with a trigger warning

-have fun!

[usa2024election]

VOTE BLUE! No matter what state you're in. Enough people deciding to challenge the preconceived notion of being in a "red state" can make a difference.

[reiderwriter]

💢 At Each Other's Throats 💢

Spencer Reid x female! Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: A previous encounter means that you're not the biggest fan of Spencer Reid, and you go to some extreme lengths to prove that to him.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, Dom! Spencer, but not exactly sub reader , degradation (use of whore, slut), semi-public foreplay, arguing as foreplay etc, oral sex (m receiving, f mentions, too), face fucking, rimming, nipple play, rough sex/ rough play, spanking, slapping, spitting, choking, messy sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, mentions of painful sex/ pain play etc. some possible CNC triggers/ phrasing.

A/N: I couldn't find a gift of Spencer being bitchy enough, so everyone, please enjoy Kyle Orfman from Life After Beth. This one was a labour of love, if love was actually hate. It's 2am. This is obviously not edited, and may never be.

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You knew from reputation alone that you would have a hard time working with Spencer Reid. Perhaps it was the slew of child prodigy articles that popped up alongside his name. Maybe it was even just your preconceived notion of what men with three PhDs, a badge, and a gun were like. Maybe it was the fact that he'd written to you after one of your first professional articles was published in The American Journal of Forensic Medicine and Pathology and told you a piece you'd worked on for 18 months was just plain wrong. 

Either way, you laid eyes on him, and the hatred was cemented. But fuck was he hot. 

He had no clue who you were as his boss introduced you to him, looking between the two of you as if expecting good things to happen. You should've warned him. 

“Spencer, this is Y/N. She'll be assisting on a few cases from this month onwards.” 

His eyes glazed over as he ran your name through whatever roller index of memories he had stored in there. 

“Y/N is a lecturer at the University of Virginia. She's going to be lecturing at the FBI Academy from September onwards-” 

“You! You wrote an article, I wrote to you about it, did you get my le-”

“Yes, I got your letter. I believe you called my writing ‘juvenile’ and my thinking ‘wishful,’ and that if I had any actual field experience, I'd slowly understand how many mistakes there were in my writing.” 

Agent Hotchner took an almost imperceptible deep breath in, trying to hide the fact that this was all new information to him. 

“Well, here I am, Doctor Reid.” 

The man in front of you gaped for a moment, letting his mouth hang open, closing after a few seconds only to open again. Perhaps you'd disorganized that index of his. You hoped you'd set the goddamn thing alight. 

“Shall we get started?”

To say that you'd gotten off to a bad start was an understatement. Your start had been reversed over by a dump truck with no tires. It had been cemented into the ground with no chance of going anywhere but down into the pits of hell. 

Which is, coincidentally, where you found yourself every time you had to engage Spencer Reid in conversation. 

Your first impression of his looks - his incredibly good looks - was that he was even better looking when he was pensive, and unhappy, and being bitchy. He was positively climbable when argumentative, and you liked nothing more than ruining his day, if just for the fact that he'd angrily loosen his tie and pop open his top buttons, exposing the pale white of his neck, and his sharp collar bones, perfectly ready for someone to suck and nip at. 

He was still an ass, however, and you couldn't bring yourself to sink to those depths.

Four cases in, and you hadn't agreed on one thing. You'd caught a serial arsonist, who he had demanded was most likely an office worker, but you'd countered with college student, and you had prevailed there. 1-0. 

Then, unfortunately, you'd lost back to back cases with unsubs in the trucking industry, unfamiliar with and uninterested in the life of the Jack Kerouac type. 

You'd even the playing field at last with a child abduction. And although you knew you'd both been keeping score, you were so genuinely happy for this case to be over. A child was safe at home, and you'd worked so well under pressure (something he had assured you would change your view of your personal forensic psychology theories). 2-2. 

Of course, those were just the big leagues. You'd fought many petty battles, too, as the war waged. 

You'd accidentally stolen his place on the jet, enjoying the long bench seat for a good few naps. A few times, he'd settled in next to you, trying to nudge you out of the chair completely, but you'd held your ground. 

“This is my seat. Usually. There are like 10 other places on this jet to sit. Why does it have to be here?” He'd grumbled into your ear as you gently elbowed him in the side, accidentally, of course.

“There aren't assigned seats. Maybe you have control issues, Doctor,” you cut back, trying to avoid speaking too loud to avoid the ire of the group. 

While you'd enjoyed bickering with - and intellectually besting - Spencer greatly, it did seem that the sentiment wasn't shared by those around you. 

“You can't be serious, right now,” Morgan complained from a seat opposite. “You're seriously fighting over a seat, right now?” 

“It's my seat, Derek, come on, you know it's my seat.” 

The look returned to Spencer almost had you ashamed of your petty actions. 

“I swear they're just taking every advantage to get closer and closer together. Next thing you know, she'll be sitting in his lap,” Emily said from the corner of the plane, so obviously not talking to you that you were almost offended. 

“Ah, young infatuation,” Rossi replied, still ignoring you. 

Reid slinked just slightly away after that, and you weren't sure if you were more annoyed at the comments themselves or the loss of his annoying companionship. 

You wanted him to bother you because it meant you'd succeeded in bothering him. 

You'd had more than your fair share of rather explosive arguments as well. 

“You can't seriously believe that Thomas Edison did more for the field of engineering than Nikola Tesla,” he'd shouted at you at a bar after a case had landed you in paperwork hell, filling out forms and working into the late hours. 

A drink had been suggested, a celebration after solving four straight cases in a row, and you'd gladly taken the chance to unwind. 

“Spencer, we're literally sat in a bar decorated with multiple light bulbs. Look, there's one. Another! Astounding. Thank you, Mr Edison.” 

“And none of it would be possible without Alternating Current, so yes. Thank you, Mr Tesla.” 

Your teammates had long since abandoned you to your petty bickering and fighting amongst yourselves. They'd stopped getting involved when Penelope had tried to mediate your discussion about Doctor Who, which had quickly devolved into New Who vs Old Who. 

You didn't even care strongly either way, you just cared that he did. And however he felt, you were sure as hell ready to take up arms against him. Because it was so fuckimg hot watching him lose his shit. 

You were a grown woman. You could admit that to yourself. You likely wouldn't admit it to anyone else, even if it was as clear as day that you found him unbearable attractive at times. You sure as hell knew that it wasn't a one-way street, from the way his eyes strolled across your body each morning. 

You wondered if there was a section of his brain that was dedicated to memorising everything you'd said, done, and worn since he'd met you. You hoped there was. 

On your fifth and final case with the BAU team, you felt unmatched in your annoyance. 

You were still drawn with Spencer for case breakthroughs, and you felt the need to beat him once again just to nail the point home. He was just stubborn enough to see a 3-2 win as a landslide victory for himself, though you were absolutely going to frame it that way yourself if you managed to be the one to crack everything. 

All sense of teamwork and camaraderie was off the table. 

You had a murderer to catch.

Three women, beaten, assaulted, and tied up. He'd shorn their hair but bagged them up so they were unseen. Then he'd placed the bags on display. The unsub was caught between two extremes, hatred of his victims, and gentleness, protecting their dignity in death by covering them up. 

Obviously, you and Spencer had to decide which side of the debate you were to land on.

“I think we're dealing with a killer without remorse here. It's easier to explain the covering, the dressing of the women as a ritual rather than guilt.” 

He'd finally played his cards, and now it was your turn to passionately wipe them from the table. 

“Remorse? He's cut all their hair off and beat half of them so badly we needed dental to identify them. And in case you've forgotten Spencer, half of them are prostitutes.”

“You're saying he can't feel remorse for killing prostitutes?”

“That is not what I'm saying. Don't twist my words."

“Well, of you'd said something that wasn't nonsensical, I'd have a better chance of understanding what the hell you're trying to say!’

With every line you'd stepped closer and closer to one another, like two boxers in a ring, sizing each other up before a fight. 

You wanted to take his tie and strangle him with it. You wanted to pull him down for a kiss and force him to shut the hell up. 

“Reid, Y/N, both of you take five,” Hotch called sternly from the other side of the room. Guiltily, you both broke away from one another, his hand brushing your side as you took a step back, almost as if he'd meant to grab you before Hotch stepped in. 

Probably to remove you from the room. 

“Take five?” You said, mustering all the disappointment you could as you silently pleaded to stick around. 

“Go back to the motel and get some rest. If you're going to argue like this, I don't need you at the precinct, and I certainly don't need you on my team.” 

You blanched at that, almost taken aback by the harsh words as you silently nodded and quietly walked towards the door, letting it shut behind you. 

Spencer stayed behind, and though you couldn't hear his arguments, you knew he was attempting to reason with Hotch, as well. It evidently didn't work as he stormed out of the room behind you. 

He looked half like a kicked puppy, half like an angry school kid who'd just been scolded by a teacher. 

“Don't look at me like that, this is your fault,” you muttered as you walked away from the room. 

“What? How is this my fault?” 

“If you weren't so goddamn infuriating, we'd be able to get some actual work done.” 

You marched off in the direction of the exit, but he caught your shoulder before you made it that far.

“You're blaming me? This is my job, Y/N, not yours. You get to go back to a cushy little office after this is done to teach the people that are going to end up doing the paperwork that consists of only 2% of our job.”

His finger jabbed at your shoulder as he said the words, and you had to resist the temptation to grab it. 

“Doesn't feel too good to be criticized when you're just doing your job, huh, Spencer?” 

His brows knitted together in a deepened scowl and he took a step forward. 

But there were eyes on you, and whatever confrontation this was, you didn't want to act it out in front of an office full of cops. 

You turned and walked away again, down a seemingly abandoned hall to what looked to be an empty storage cupboard, flinging the light on and waiting the three seconds it took him to catch up with you. 

“What's your problem?” He said, joining you in the cramped closet. 

“You! You're the problem! You're infuriating, and annoying, and most important, you're you!” You poked his chest back, harder than he had earlier, quietly reveling in the feel of his body under your fingertip. 

“Oh, I'm sorry. Would you like me to be someone different? Someone who worships the ground you walk on?” He said, discovering sarcasm for the first time since you'd been introduced. 

“Sure, Spencer, if you can take tour head out of your own ass long enough to worship someone else, then be my guest.” 

With a single push he crowded you against the wall, a hand above your head locking you into position as his other hand held your hip, his own hips joining you at the wall as you sucked in a breath. 

“You're begging to hear praise, right now, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself?” He asked, whispering the words directly into your ear. 

“W-Well, you have me pressed up against the wall like some fucking caveman that needs to breed or die.” You spent half the time you were talking trying to compensate for the stutter, trying not to look weak, that you totally missed the words that came from your own mouth. 

“You think I want to have sex with you?” He asked, chuckling awkwardly, even as his hand on your hip began rubbing circles, his head hanging lower, just inches away from your mouths meeting. 

“I think you'd love nothing more,” you said, finally lifting your hands to his hair and tucking a lock behind his ears. “Such a shame I won't be crawling into your bed.” 

“Is that a challenge?” He asked, and you were taken aback for a few seconds. 

“You want me so fucking bad, you're trying to convince yoursel-”

With a swoop, he cut you off, his lips meeting yours. You gasped and allowed his tongue to enter your mouth, but you came to your senses quickly. You kissed back with all the anger of the last month and all the attraction that had built up since you'd joined the team. Your tongue fought his, your hands tangled in his hair as his pulled them out, pinning them against a wall. But you slipped free and grabbed him again, grabbing the tie you'd wanted to choke him with earlier and not letting go. 

His lips were soft, and his body felt hot pressed against you, and you hated how good he was at all of this, how your body responded to his, how each time you pulled away it was with a small whimper as you begged for more. 

“I knew you wanted me,” he said, between kisses, grabbing your face and tilting it up as he returned his tongue to yours. 

“Oh, shut the fuck up, you kissed me first.” His hands trailed up your hips, untucking your shirt as he pushed his hand under, his cold fingers sending a trail of goosebumps along your skin as you shuddered. 

“I kissed you because you begged me to,” he said, his fingers caressing the bottom of your chest as he tried to press your bra up further. 

You were about to argue back when his lips met yours again, and you were lost in the haze of arousal, leg lifting to his hip to better allow him space to settle against you. 

You grew wilder in your passion, neither of you giving in even for one second as you writhed against each other, begging for satisfaction while denying that you'd ever wanted each other in the first place. Just as it became unbearable, your hands slipping to his belt, ready to pull his cock free and take it, the door opened again. 

“Reid, Y/N,” Morgan said from the doorway as you hastily jumped away from each other. 

You pulled your shirt down quickly, and Spencer stepped behind you, covering up the tent in his pants as you stared guiltily up at Derek Morgan. 

“Hotch sent me after you to give you the keys to the SUV,” he grumbled, making no comment on anything that happened. 

“We were just, um, we were just-” your brain fought for an excuse, but you'd left your brain behind somewhere between joining the BAU and foreplay with Spencer in a closet, so words escaped you. 

“You were just making out in a closet. It's okay, we all know,” Derek said, turning to leave. 

You jumped up, indignant now he'd brushed you off, and followed him out of the closet, an equally shocked Spencer trailing behind you. 

“What do you mean you all know? All know what?” You said, stomping back into the office. 

“That you two are into each other. It's why Hotch sent you away earlier. He didn't want to see the two of you going at it,” he said, pressing the car keys into your hands. 

“We are not into each other,” Spencer shouted back at Morgan as he stalked off, and you glared at him to shut his mouth. There was a crowd forming, and you still didn't need that attention. Not when your hair was matted from seven minutes in hell with Spencer or when his hand had, once again, settled on your hip, pulling you closer into him. 

“Let's go,” you huffed, and finally left the building with Spencer right behind you. 

You didn't talk for the rest of the drive home, even as your brain flooded itself with images of him taking you in the back of the car, your lips around his dick as he drove, him pulling over to bend you over the hood. 

You went straight to your separate rooms when you got back to the motel, though you swore that the walls were thin enough that he surely heard you pleasure yourself, fingers sinking into yourself. You weren't sure if he, too, had his hand wrapped around his cock, or if your brain was just now imagining whatever it liked to spur you on. 

Imagined or real, his moans were delicious, a maddening mix of frustration, exasperation and desperation, whimpers and groans, and small growls until you yourself were cumming, and letting yourself sleep.

You avoided talking, all talking, until the end of the case, even as your head replayed his infuriating words, his moans and the rustling sound of his fingers pressing your shirt up. You refused to talk to him to give his coworkers the validation of arguing with him once more. You weren't into each other. 

You simply wanted to fuck him. You didn't like him as a person otherwise. 

In avoiding him, though, the small taste of release you'd sampled in the closet had your softer parts deliriously wanting more. As much as you hated Spencer, you needed him so bad. 

You'd given him the cold shoulder  but he'd returned it just as quickly, and you were more annoyed not talking to him than you weren't. 

Your last case wrapped up, and you decided it was time to give him what he so obviously wanted. A conversation. 

You sat yourself right back down in his seat as you got on the jet and laid down, pulling his blanket over yourself as you took up the entire space. 

The others shook their heads at you as they walked on, Spencer taking up the rear. His eyes met yours, and he scowled, and you couldn't help but wonder if he'd look like that fucking you, so stern and angry. 

You sighed and pushed onto your side as he stood over you. 

“That's my seat.” 

You smiled in success as you looked over your shoulder. 

“I'm tired, I'm going to sleep.” 

“But that is my seat-” 

“Spencer, you've sat on every seat on this damn plane before, that wasn't your seat until last month, now sit down, shut up and let me rest,” JJ exploded and you suddenly felt bad for drawing him into your argument.  Or you did until you sat up a bit, and he sat himself right down where your head had been. 

“Spencer!”

“I give up…” JJ groaned from the table seats, pulling headphones over her head and shutting her eyes, and the others made to ignore you similarly. 

Not one to be beaten, you pushed the book in his hands off his lap and laid your head down again, now cushioned by his legs. 

“What-” his voice squeaked as you shut your eyes, too, and made yourself comfortable. He didn't push you off, or, heaven forbid, start talking to you again. Shockingly, he adjusted to the position quickly and resigned himself to pillow duty for the six hour flight. 

You, too, shocked yourself by how fast you fell asleep. You woke up with his hands in your hair, stroking your head as he read, book in one hand, you in the other. His hands felt wonderful, raking through your long locks, brushing each errant hair off your face. 

“Spencer?” You said, voice still thick with sleep. 

His hand shot away, and you almost regretted not pretending to sleep for longer, sure that he'd have gone on if you hadn't said anything. 

You straightened and cleared your own throat as you stretched, sitting quietly as you listened to the flight landing announcement. 

“Congrats, Y/N, you've successfully finished your time with the BAU,” Rossi said from his seat opposite you, strapping in for the landing.

“And you haven't been shot, kidnapped, or slapped. That's gotta be a first, right?” Emily joked from the corner. 

You smiled quietly as you strapped yourself down, scooting even closer to Spencer now to get your belt fastened.

Still, you couldn't resist the urge to mumble a retort.

“I'm sure Spencer thought about it a few times,” you sighed, a breath of resignation releasing from your lips dramatically.

The others chuckled, but Spencer sat silently next to you until the jet landed. 

He stayed quiet as he began to pack his things, but it became clear quickly that he was dragging everything out. As the plane emptied, you shot him a curious look, not daring to speak until you were the last two on the plane. 

“You're being slow today.” 

“I've never thought about shooting you or kidnapping you,” he said, voice low and quiet, even though you were alone. 

“It was a joke, Spencer,” you started, so sick of him taking g everything so seriously. You made to walk past him, but as you did, you felt his hand on your waist pulling you back as another hand came hard and fast at your ass. 

“I wasn't finished speaking,” he said as his hand ran over your butt, soothing the pain he'd just delivered. “I have thought about slapping you, though.” 

With that he grabbed his bag and stalked off the jet, not bothering to cast another look behind him. 

Two could play at that game. 

In about the most childish was you could muster, you ran ahead of him, staying three paces directly in front of him as he tried to overtake you. You moved when he moved. You sped up when he sped up. You even stopped a few times, so he'd run into you. 

“Y/N, cut it out.”

“Make me,” you said, throwing a withering look over your shoulder. 

He didn't wither. 

Instead, he grabbed your arm and marched you all the way through the FBI building, down to the parking lot, and into your car. As soon as he had you safely in the driver's seat, he closed the door, pulling off your visitors' pass. 

“I'll return this for you, no need for you to dally.” 

“Fuck you,” you spat out the window as you started the ignition. 

“It's been a pleasure,” he said with a grimace. 

“No, it hasn't,” you said back, wondering how long you'd spend in jail of you just mowed him down then and there. 

“You’re right. It hasn't,” he said, leaning down and into the window so you were now eye to eye. 

“Really? It seems like you got a lot of pleasure out of spanking me earlier. You were certainly experiencing a lot of pleasure when you pushed me up against a wall last week. If it wasn't pleasure, there was definitely something long-”

“Long?” He smirked.

“And hard in your pants.” 

He leaned in through the window, his breath fanning against your cheeks as he whispered into your ear. 

“That was my gun.” 

“And I certainly won't be helping you fire a load,” you said, starting the ignition and pushing him back from the window as you drove away from the FBI and away from Spencer Reid. 

It infuriated him that you'd gotten the last word. You'd spent a month with him and hadn't even given him a chance to show off his good qualities, and then you'd left without giving him a chance to prove himself. 

And, in doing so, you'd told a blatant lie. 

There had been two people in that closet, two people with tongues desperate for contact, eager for battle. You'd been moaning just as much as he had when his hands found your nipples. 

But you'd gotten to drive away without listening to his retort, and it was killing him. 

He sat and seethed at his desk for a while, waiting for the sense of relief that you were gone to wash over him. This had been what he wanted for weeks. Why was he now so discontent? Why did everything feel wrong? 

Abandoning paperwork he knew wouldn't be needed until at least next week, Spencer found your address in the team files, wrote it down, and left his desk. 

When you got home, there was nothing waiting for you. 

It was annoying. You'd spent the last month constantly on the go, always with more work, more cases, more paperwork. You'd killed any apparent gaps with Spencer. 

You could still feel his hands on your ass. You hated to admit it, but in your short acquaintance with Doctor Asshat, you'd grown fond of having him around as eye candy. When he wasn't being annoying (talking, breathing, or generally just being), you could quite happily imagine his head buried between your legs, his tongue lapping up every drop of cum you had to offer. 

There were definitely better things he could be doing with his mouth, in any case. 

Your body felt hot, itchy, and neglected as you got home, running a shower immediately and stepping in. 

The water was hot, and the room steamed up faster than you expected. You washed away the fatigue, and you washed away the dirt of a month of cheap motels.. 

Just as you were about to wash away the memories of Spencer Reid and his stupidly skilful tongue, the doorbell rang. 

It wasn't unusual for you to get visitors at 10 pm, but usually they announced themselves. 

You stayed put in the shower. It was probably a package you'd ordered, and it could honestly wait. 

The ringing, though, didn't stop. Whoever was at your door was insistent. First, the door rang to the rhythm of jingle bells. Then, they moved on to Fur Elise. When they got to Flight of the Bumblebees Levels of bullshit, you couldn't stand it anymore. 

You wrapped a towel around you and pulled the door open wide. 

“Sp- mm?” You said, shocked to see him there, but completely floored by his appearance, and more importantly the two hands he'd planted on your cheeks as he pulled you in for a hot, hard, and fast kiss. 

You pushed him off with a hard slap to his face, and stalked further into your apartment, knowing he'd follow closely behind.

You heard the door slam shut as he made to grab you again, but you stayed just out of reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“I came because neither of us will move on without this.”

“Oh, you need me so much you won't be able to move on if you don't fuck me?” You scoffed, expecting a sarcastic answer to a sarcastic question. 

“Yes,” he said, and your shock at his earnestness gave him the moment he needed to grab at you again. 

This time, though, the tiny towel that had been holding your dignity in place dropped to the floor as Spencer Reid pinned you against the wall. 

“Already fucking bare and wet for me, how well-behaved.”

“Go fuck yourself!” you said, even as his hands cupped your breasts, grabbing and pulling both of your nipples, making you moan.

“See, your mouth is being a bitch, but your body is being a whore.” 

“Just fuck me won't you? No need to run your mouth.” 

“I think we're finally in agreement on something,” he said, pushing you to your knees. 

“What? Sp-” 

In one quick swoop he released his cock from his pants and wrapped a hand around all of your hair as he slid it down your waiting throat. 

As much as you protested, your mouth was wide open, and your hands wrapped around him just as eagerly. 

Holding your head still, Spencer began to talk as he fucked your throat. 

“There we go. That's exactly how I've needed you for the last month.”

You glared at him as you sank your nails into his thighs, gagging on his cock as he picked up his pace.

With two taps on his leg, you requested a moment, and he quickly pulled his dick out of your mouth. 

You coughed quickly, then spat out all of your accumulated drool before looking up at him. 

Part of you wanted to force him down next to you, to make him taste your cunt the way you'd thought about earlier. The other part, the larger part, was excited about him using you. 

He grabbed his dick and slapped your face with it, returning your earlier hit. He was waiting for you to open up again so he could cum down your throat and leave. 

“Open,” he demanded. 

You didn't comply, but you stuck out your tongue, lapping at his tip slowly as you sat on your hands. He held his breath as you kissed the underside of his shaft, making his way to his balls. You reached them and finally sucked them into your mouth, making sure to look up and make eye contact with him as you toyed with his private place.

He didn't argue or complain. Instead he fisted a hand into your hair and dragged you to your bedroom. 

Divesting himself of his pants and shirt, he sat down and, still on all fours, pushed your face back into his crotch. Perched on the edge of your bed, he held his cock up and served himself to you. 

“Well? Get back to it, Y/N.” 

Your tongue found his cock first as his hands massaged his balls, playing with them gently as you licked all the way to his tip then buried yourself between his asscheeks. You licked at the skin between his ass and balls, you tasted every inch of him, and you grew angry that he still hadn't done this for you. 

Against his wished, you rose and spat on his cock, before squeezing it hard. 

“Spencer, are you going to fuck me or are you just going to ruin my makeup?” 

“You look prettier with spit coating your face than you've looked with any lipstick,” he said as you pushed him down onto the bed and grabbed his cock. 

Straddling his waist, you were surprised he.let you sink down onto his cock without so much as another word. You felt him fill you up, one inch, then another until you sat fully sheathed on top of him. 

And then he flipped you over so he was back in control. 

“Son of a bitch,” you muttered as he pulled out and thrust back in. 

“You wanted me to fuck you, I'm fucking you.”

You wanted to argue but all you could do was moan yes as he set a furious pace, thumb and forefinger pinching your clit as you bucked into him wildly.

You couldn't stand too much of this, knowing that you wanted to at least outlast him. You wanted to tell him how pathetic he was for cumming first, you wanted to gloat that he'd wanted you more, that he couldn't resist breeding your hot wet cunt. You knew any more of this, though, and you would instead be on the receiving end of those same taunts. 

Pushing against his chest, you used the last of your strength to flip him over again. He struggled, though, stronger than you were expecting, and you rolled together like that for a few moments.

You almost went crashing to the floor as he fought for control, but he pushed a foot off the bed and held you up with his lower body strength. The new position though forced his cock deeper, to just the right angle, and when he thrust into you again, you did something you'd never done before during sex. 

You screamed your pleasure. 

Your orgasm ripped through you, as painful as it was pleasurable, and you grabbed Spencer Reid by the neck and forced his tongue to meet yours. 

He couldn't complain, too busy moaning about your hot, wet, and now tighter cunt to worry about whether he should be kissing you. 

He pulled back and picked his pace right back up, but this time, you resisted less. Hooking a hand under your legs, he pressed your legs up, pushing his stomach and chest down just above your own as he moved slower but harder. 

You wondered if this was what other wen talked about when they said they wanted someone to beat their pussy up, to use them until they couldn't stand. You didn't think you could even think about walking again for the next month as he spread your knees apart and pinned them to the bed, unloading his cum as deep inside you as anything had ever been.

You didn't even know your body bent that way. 

Panting, he collapsed on top of you and buried his head in your shoulder, mumbling and muttering to himself as he came down from his ecstasy. 

He didn't pull out. He barely even softened as he kissed across the expanse of your throat, thrusting shallowly with each nip, until your body couldn't take anymore. 

He picked a spot and sucked, and licked and bit and soothed as he ended one round, and began another. 

“Spencer-” you said, gasping as he sat up, his cock once again standing at attention, filling you still. 

“No. Stop. Don't talk, we're not good when we talk.” 

You nodded and pulled him back for another kiss, wrapping a hand around his throat and pressing hard as he moaned and groaned into you. 

Still wet and slippery and sensitive from your first attempt, neither of you lasted long, falling to the bed when it was all over with a grunt of overexertion. 

“That was…” you said, stopping there, for once totally speechless.

“That was good?” He supplied, but just good wasn't enough. 

“Yes,” you agreed, though, not willing to let your cunt rule your mind when around him.

Anymore, at least. 

“We should… we should probably never speak again,” you said, even as your hand reached out for his, fingers tangling. 

“Of course. I'll leave, and we won't ever speak again,” he said, stroking your hand with his thumb, bringing your clasped hands to his mouth and pressing a kiss to your hand.

“You haven't left yet.” 

“I haven't.”

“I have nowhere to be tomorrow,” you said. “You don't…”

“I won't leave yet. We might as well enjoy this,” he said, propping himself up on his elbows as he looked over your naked body. 

“We should definitely just get this out of our systems now. What's the harm in that?” 

“I agree. If we're committing to a one time thing, we might as well go all in.”

“Exactly,” you said. 

“Exactly,” he parrotted.

Exactly a year later, the members of the BAU received invitations in the post to your wedding. Because the both of you had convinced yourself that that one time had never ended and never had need to. 

[makingqueerhistory]

What article would you recommend to someone just getting into queer history?

It would really depend on the person and what they are looking for in terms of queer history, but how about we do a choose-your-own-adventure type answer!

Are you looking for a look at how we got to where we are today in terms of queer history?

Read: Magnus Hirschfeld or Maryam Khatoon Molkara

Are you looking to find comfort in the fact that queerness has existed throughout history?

Read: Khnumhotep and Niankhkhnum or Sir Ewan Forbes 

Are you looking to have some of your preconceived notions about queer history to be challenged?

Read: The Golden Orchid Society or Rotimi Fani-Kayode

Does queer history intimidate you because you are afraid of it being a list of tragedies?

Read: The Ladies of Llangollen or Jackie Shane

Do you want to learn about the intersection of queer and disability history?

Read: Lou Sullivan or Victoria Arellano 

Do you want queerness that resonates with lesser-known/discussed identities?

Read: Kristina King of Sweden or Zinaida Gippius 

Are you looking for more information about names you already recognize?

Read: Sappho or Langston Hughes

Are you looking to be pulled into a rabbit hole of queer history?

Read: Edward Carpenter or Xulhaz Mannan 

Are you looking for someone within your region?

Read: Making Queer History by country

Just searching for an odd little slice of queer history to wet your appetite?

Read: Elmyr de Hory or Salim Halali 

Just want to know something new?

Read: Bajazid Doda or Geoffrey Bawa

Just looking for a story to grip you emotionally?

Read: Emmeline Freda Du Faur or Zdeněk Koubek 

I hope you find something in this list that helps!

[gorteaus]

Slight overhaul to the Youpi analysis I posted (had a section or two deleted and reworded some of the post). This is mostly a result of the fact that the articles I linked were like. At least a decade old (therefor would be heavily outdated) and didn't address the fact that defining the behaviors of animals through a man-made concept is something that should be avoided and still falls into the dangerous role of anthropomorphizing animals. So in short, I had to take a step back and re-examine that notion, but figured all I had to do was edit the post and mold it to an entirely different backbone: empathy/compassion, which is something animals do still display and works just as well, so the general idea behind it still could stand.

[evilminji]

You know what I think would be neat?

Loki, the Sky Walker himself, when he fell beyond the trees branches but before that Purple fucker could get him... felt A path, much like the hidden ones he'd wandered for YEARS, and franticly tries to catch himself.

After all, he let go in a moment of incredible emotional distress. But that moment passes. The fear kicks in. The natural, strategist's, "survival at all costs" primal drive starts SCREAMING. You grab for the ledge. Try to STOP your fall.

But~!

What if? What he was FEELING?

Was a Natural Fuckin Portal.

And Loki is no slouch! He manages to change his trajectory. His mind is still in shambles, he's an emotional wreck, mascara probably running, just? Having THE WORST month or so of his life. He's too pretty for this bullshit, he would insist, if he wasn't FALLING THROUGH THE VOID.

He's made some choices.

They may have been ill advised.

Possibly even terrible ideas, actually.

But he's come too far to die NOW. And if his brother's insane adventures and hare brained schemes haven't killed him, then THIS sure as shit won't be putting him in an graves. He refuses to allow it.

He expects to slam face first into alien dirt. At speed. It? Is going to HURT, he knows.

But that is not what happens.

He passes through a yawning portal, into Veridian skys, and slams face first into the back of passing youth. Knock BOTH of them from the sky and through several nearby floating islands.

He nearly gets punched for it.

The boy only stopping, fist merely moments from his faces, when he seems to finally register the state Loki is in. The next thing Loki knows? He's being rushed off Yeti healers. A FUSS is being made.

The youth is strong arming him into being a guest in his... frankly ALARMING home.

Loki likes the Gothic one. She seems like she bites. But the boy's parents BAFFLE him. The boy, "Danny" just? Showed up with him? And declared he was a "visiting Fenton Cousin"? SURELY that can not WORK! Boy, they are your PARENTS, they know better then YOU who is and is not rela-.....

How did that work.

No, HOW DID THAT WORK? Child answer me. And explain the violent cold meats.

Just? Loki, intellectually stimulated, like a cat in a fresh new environment. Removed from stressors. Not the strongest being around by far, but enjoying the challenge none the less. Fulfilling his life long trained role of "king's advisory" in an almost relaxed Highly Sarcastic Uncle On Vacation Who Is Also A Semi-Feral Cat sorta way to this new Child King he found.

Loved and respected for Being Loki. Just Loki. No preconceived notions to fulfill, no roles he must play, just... Be Loki.

Best part? Asgard and Thor and such? Irrelevant! Their own closed system far, far away. He's finally FREE of the shadow Asgard casts. He's taken "starting over in a new country to escape a toxic home life" to a whole new weight class unique just to him. The dude is THRIVING.

And? I bet he REALLY enjoys tormenting Vlad.

@ailithnight @hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @nerdpoe

[ace-with--a-mace]

PLEASE WHAT

[astrologyvas]

mars in the 12th house overlay/synastry

please do not copy or repeat my work anywhere

mars in the 12th house is a mystical, alluring and beautifully contradicting synastry placement.

in this overlay, we have mars, the fiery and confrontational celestial body. when you mix that with the 12th house, being an elusive, murky swamp of reminiscence, there is a lot of conflicting energies. on one hand, the fieriness of mars has the potential to boil out the impurities of the watery house and cleanse them of tainted habits. on the other hand, water can extinguish fire completely.

the first glimpse of this person ignites a spiritual pull towards one another. both, but typically the mars, feel an insatiable curiosity towards the other. it's like a dark, faint-lighted party where they can't take their eyes off each other.

mars in this connection wants to untwine the soul of the house, diving head first into their whirling and opaque waters. however, they quickly realize they need to slow down and restrain their impulsivity in order to be abundant in this connection. the house is cautious of mars, and may be scared away if mars does not tread carefully. trust is very blurred in this overlay, both wanting to be in control of the vulnerability shown to each other.

the house is an oasis of water that mars stumbled upon. mars will need to relinquish its aggressive nature in order to penetrate the shy and mysterious aura the house emanates. mars frantically texting "why are you ignoring me?" while the house is asleep vibes.

how aware one is of their subconscious will be how aware they are of what's going on beneath the surface of this overlay. there is a very passive energy when it comes to disputes and arguments. hidden conflict is a theme because of the timidity of both parties. there is potential for destruction if open & honest communication is not at the forefront of this connection.

mars is almost drowned in the dim haze of the house, causing a tendency for delusion and false impressions. both mars and the house feel like a piece of the puzzle is missing, because of their preconceived notion of who this person is.

this linkage will be a sensual and otherworldly bond. sex feels like you are traveling to astral planes through each other. like you are pulling their walls away, and reaching into the depths of their soul.

it is a powerful coming-together, but if either parties aren't looking or prepared for 12th house activation, it can be just as powerfully draining and cataclysmic.

mars can reach parts of the house that they may not be used to, especially if the house person has an inactive or empty 12th house. it can have the energy of "wait, you noticed that?" after the mars pointed out something the house only ever thought to themselves.

12th house connections are notoriously tragic, as the 12th house itself is a very impenetrable retreat in the natal chart. the house person may initially be full of lust for the mars person, which in time bleeds into insecurity or resentment. this is due to the nature of the 12th house bringing unconscious wounds and trauma to the surface when triggered by someone like mars.

however, this synastry is spiritually elevated and beautifully transcending if the challenging energies are balanced and nurtured. these bonds are meant to trigger change and emotional discomfort.

songs that may resonate:

like a tattoo - sade she - harry styles how to disappear - lana del rey rose blood - mazzy star

[darby-rowe]

hi baby i missed u so much !!!!

would you please do me the huge favor of digging through that diamond mind of yours and find some thoughts on luke and a reader who’s just as talented and charming as him, causing them to butt heads a little bit 🙈

love u so hard dont stress 💕

kaia my love im so happy you're back! i missed u so so so much and i hope you're feeling a lot better :)!!

this is my first time writing luke so i hope u like it ♡

cw fem!reader, not proofread

Luke Castellan, admittedly, did not expect you to have such a fire lit within you

It was you who came up to him and suggested the two of you should spar sometime in the afternoon before dinner

Luke analyzed you, up and down, for longer than you would have liked before agreeing with a cheeky, yet inquisitive grin

He went into the sparring session with a preconceived notion that this was just gonna be a quick one-on-one training session with you — more training, less sparring.

Oh boy, was he wrong!

You showed up with your weapons of choice — your charming smile and your shining aura.

And your sword, too.

Stretching out your limbs, you couldn't help but notice the nonchalant nature of Luke. You quirked an eyebrow.

"Seem pretty relaxed, Castellan," you said, with a challenging edge to your voice. "Woke up on the right side of the cot or what?"

Luke, ever the show-off, flipped his sword around and gave you another cheeky grin. "Just feelin' good, today, I guess," he told you. "Ready when you are?"

It happened in a flash. The two of you engaged in harmless one-on-one combat: dodging, parrying, whipping your bodies around to catch the other off guard, etc.

And then it happened.

You were just too quick for Luke.

When he had his back turned to you mid-spin, your prior training and reflexes kicked in and you pushed him to the ground.

Gently, of course

With a natural swagger, you pressed your foot in between his shoulder blades to hold him down and pressed your sword to the side of his neck.

You were barely even breathing heavy

Luke, however, blindsided by the biggest surprised of the day, just laid there on the dirty, eyebrows furrowed in confusion...

...and embarrassment.

You clicked your tongue and shook your head. "Oof, Castellan," you cooed, mockingly. "Have to admit, not your best performance. However, I am willing to let you try again next time, because I'm such a nice girl,"

Taking your foot off his back, you offer him your hand to help him up.

But instead, Luke stood up on his own, brushing off the dirt and the leaves off of his orange camp shirt.

He gave you a slight scowl. "Next time, I won't go so easy on you,"

You grin at him, eyes sparkling and skin glowing under the afternoon sun.

"I look forward to it, Castellan,"

[ineffablebookgirl]

Good Omens Season 2 will be here before we know it, and I just want to say now... I am going to enjoy it, and it will not be what I expected. We have waited, we shall see, and it will be different from what we have imagined, in one way or another.

Maybe Aziraphale and Crowley will hold hands, maybe they won't.

Maybe Maggie and Nina will be an enemies-to-lovers coffeeshop AU lesbians, maybe they won't.

Maybe we'll get to see Jon Hamm's bum, maybe we won't.

But I trust Neil Gaiman's storytelling gift, and I trust his care for this story and for Sir Terry Pratchett's legacy. I think probably this season will challenge our preconceived notions in some way, because isn't that what Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett always do?

I might be disappointed by this season. Sometimes sequels disappoint. I might be delighted and amazed. Sometimes sequels outdo the first chapter.

I just hope that, if I am disappointed, I don't let that disappointment tarnish the love I have for the book and for sesson 1. I don't think it will. I have gained so much from this story, in its paper and screen iterations, and I've gained so much from being part of this fandom, from reading the incredibly crafted fanfics, from enjoying the extraordinary art, and reading the determined and passionate metas.

A disappointing season 2 should be a wistful smile, not a dumpster fire.

Even though Neil Gaiman has said this season will be gentle and romantic, he hasn't made any promises about who will be involved in the romance, and I hope that we as a fandom can remember that and go gently, with open minds and open hearts. I hope I can remember to go with an open heart, along with all the excitement and the thrill of anticipation of a new season.

Love love love ❤️