#what is he enabling exactly?

[laufire]

I never fail to roll my eyes when people say alfred is the one who put up jason's memorial in the case (I never fail to roll my eyes when people act like alfred, and not bruce, is the source of the bat clan's problems, period).

first of all, that memorial is painfully in-character for bruce, lbr. second of all, I'm gonna go blue in the face if I have to explain one more time that alfred has zero authority over batman-related matters (and a few others) in that household (bruce's household; the pater familias' property). third of all that was a throwaway moment written by geoff johns of all people (remember how he butchered jason's backstory with the teen titans), in a justice league cameo issue, where alfred was explicitly trying to get jason to look at bruce with better eyes, and thus likely to have lied out of his ass (iirc this is soon before bruce pulls the stunt of taking jason back to his place of death to trigger any repressed memories so. lol).

most importantly, remember batman: underd the hood? THEE jason todd run? issue 641 to be precise? how, after jason's identity (and living status) is confirmed, alfred asks bruce (because it is bruce's decision!) if wants him to take the memorial down? and bruce refuses because jason being back "doesn't change anything at all"?

[yardsards]

"they never dated but they ARE exes" is such a funny relationship for two characters to have. very awkward relationship to have irl tho

[pagesofkenna]

I'm sure someone's already said it, but Astarion has big Travis Matagot energy. every time he does that slutty 'hm?' when I'm trying to talk to him I get knocked over by it

[wonder-worker]

"In reality Richard III invented a Woodville scare as a screen for his own conspiracy"

-A.J Pollard, "Richard III and the Princes in the Tower"

[theriverdalereviewer]

everyone jumping to team kamala we will never experience true freedom in this country

[the-busy-ghost]

Warning- this is a very petty post, but I think I'm entitled to at least one petty, pissed-off reaction every time I finish a classic novel that hit harder than I expected so take this as my quota for the year.

Also spoiler warning for a book that came out over a century ago but still, I didn't know the plot going in so don't want to ruin it for anyone else, if you haven't read it shut your eyes. (Also Local Tumblr User Going Wild Over Book Published a Hundred Years Ago That Everybody Else Already Read should probably be categorised as akey part of indigenous tumblr culture at this point).

Anyway I just finished the War of the Worlds and in between studying I've thinking about Themes and Motifs as you do, and idly looking for further analysis. I then accidentally ran into an article called 'A Quiet Place II Succeeds Where the War of the Worlds Failed' and:

Now I haven't seen any of the Quiet Place films, this is not a rant against them and of course everyone is entitled to their own opinions. But re: the ending of The War of the Worlds, I have to ask, did this guy somehow miss, uh, the entire point of the book or am I just utterly insane?

[animezinglife]

Babes, come get your spicy romance novel love interest. He's cooking up a storm in here.

[notanotherinfjblog]

ENTJ: Wait, you know Professor XY (an ENTJ)? I love his papers, they are always so straightforward and clear. They are so good!

INFJ: Yeah, he taught at my old university. It‘s always so funny to watch ISFJ become a little fanboy when he talks about his work because I know all the beef that people have with him.

ENTJ: Like what?

INFJ: You see, my old university was very laid back when it came to hierarchy and formality and all that. But then there was him who didn‘t bother to learn other people‘s names before they had a PhD.

ENTJ: Okay, but to be fair, you don‘t learn the names of your students. Why would you?

INFJ: I do.

ENTJ: What? How? I‘m not going to make them wear name tags and go around in a circle asking each of them who they are. I don‘t care.

INFJ: Well, I do. I want to know who I‘m talking to. And since I‘m asking them to address me by my first name, too, it just seems fair.

ENTJ: … what?

[vulpinesaint]

encouraging literacy and gender nonconformity in my coworker’s little toddler son who likes dresses by getting him a little fancy nancy book for his birthday

[rainbowgothdisaster]

okay ngl i kinda fucking hate the "harley is at fault for her actions bcuz joker didnt make her do it he just manipulated her"

like if you wanna say harley is at fault for her actions you gotta find a different way to word it bcuz that way just raises like 100 different red flags and also contradicts itself

[inthesecretgardens]

whenever I see people say Matty was her twin flame 😒

[igotpapercuts]

oh fuck i miss knox :(((

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

i love when you have a pair or group of characters in any situation and people look at them and go "ah this one is clearly The Normal One. unlike these other people" and then they proceed to prove them immediately and passionately wrong

[snekdood]

anyways if nick fartez and any of his skeevy fans are spying on me online I needja to know this: no one will ever love you or like you or fuck you and its all your fault bc your a nazi. the only way you'll ever get anything is if you rape someone and you and I both know that doesnt mean shit except how desperate you are to stick your dick in someone and how much you're willing to violate people who actively dislike you and would never be around you if it was their choice. it didn't hafta be this way but you decided being a ugly skeevy nazi was more important than anything, which is sad. honestly jump off a cliff, save yourself the time.

[arosnowflake]

[Image one: screenshot from Princess Tutu, showing Fakir and Ahiru in their bottom-of-the-lake pas de deux, Fakir saying to Ahiru: "Everyone is scared, of returning to their true selves."

Images two and three: screenshots showing Fakir writing while Drosselmeyer interferes. The first shows Ahiru's face, as a duck, overlaid on a lake, the second Fakir trying to stop his hand from writing, with great difficulty. Drosselmeyer's voice-over says: "Duck would live on in the prince's heart as Princess Tutu and not as an ugly little duck." End description.]

There’s a huge focus in tutu of defying fate but something I love is how again and again the characters choose to embrace Drosselmeyer’s tragic ending.

Even after learning Tutu can never be with the one she loves, Duck still puts on the pendant. Rue chooses to put on the black shoes and become Kraehe though it makes her miserable. Never once does Fakir consider leaving Mytho’s side, knowing it will most likely lead to his gruesome death. Even Mytho chooses to receive his heart and return to the story, inviting the capability to experience tragedy into himself once more.

Why cling so hard to these tragic fates?

In the eyes of the characters it’s better to immerse oneself in another’s bitter role than be stripped to the ugly, naked self. It’s like Fakir says: everyone wants to be given a role to play and no one wants a story to end.

Sure, Fakir could've left mytho’s side and likely lived, but without the legacy of The Knight be left with only Fakir. Better to be a doomed knight than a frightened young boy unable to protect those he loves and terrified of losing anyone else.

Likewise with Rue though It hurts to be Kraehe, without the security of a princess, she’s just a hurting, abused girl who could never hope to catch the attention of a prince.

Drosselmeyer even encourages Duck to let herself disappear in the lake of despair so she could live on in memory as Tutu rather than as a simple duck. This theme is taken to the extreme: even death is seen as preferable to true vulnerability.

Princess Tutu follows a cast of teenagers deliberately hurting themselves to hide from their fragile, vulnerable side. They'd more readily accept a gruesome fate than face themselves in the mirror.

[pathologicalreid]

in an arrow heart | s.r.

in which Spencer finds himself distracted by you during an otherwise routine outing to O'Keefe's

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: fingering, public-ish intimacy, they're in a locked bathroom, in a bar but doesn't mention alcohol, praise kink, softdom!spencer, oral fixation, teasing, lowkey pwp word count: 1.7k a/n: short and simple and just what the doctor ordered. i'm prescribing a spencer reid fingering fic.

The small circles that Spencer’s thumb rubs on your thigh are making your head go fuzzy. It’s the same sensation that you think you’d have if your head was being filled with helium, your head feels light and airy. His hand is splayed out on your thigh while your body is tucked in the corner of the booth, a wall on your other side, there’s no one to see your torture.

Chewing on the inside of your lip, your boyfriend watches Morgan as he tells the story of how exactly he managed to strike out at the bar. Spencer isn’t even looking at you as his hand moves, periodically squeezing your thigh.

You shift in the booth, lifting your thighs from the leather seat, ignoring the way your bare skin sticks as you try to pull the skirt of your dress down. “Are you okay?” Emily asks from across to booth, raising a defined brow at you curiously, “You look flushed.”

“Oh,” you respond, your face warming even more, “Do I?” You hum, giving Spencer a pointed look before answering Emily’s question, “I’m fine. It’s warm in here.”

Emily frowns in response, but JJ nods in agreement next to her, so she seemingly drops the line of questioning. The silence enables Spencer to lift your dress and place his palm back on your inner thigh, the warmth of his skin searing your own. This time, he spares a look down at you, and you nod softly in response.

If you wanted him to stop, all you had to do was let him know.

Spencer doesn’t move his hand any further up than your mid-thigh, the fabric of your dress half covering his hand as he continues to tease.

It’s not until you have to cover up a whimper with a cough that you try to excuse yourself to the bathroom, having Spencer get out of the booth seat so that you can walk to the back of the bar, turning the corner into the restroom.

You’re not sure what your plan is now, shaking out your hands with nervous energy as you pace around the dark blue-tiled bathroom. You yelp when the door swings open, covering your chest with your hand as if it could slow the pounding of your heart as Spencer sneaks into the bathroom.

He locks the door behind him before cupping your chin with his hands and bringing your lips to his, the kisses are almost heart-wrenchingly soft until they ease into the world of desperation.

It appears as though a week and a half away from you was more than Spencer could handle, the way he gently pushes you toward the wall makes it that much more obvious as you sling your arms around his shoulders and kiss him back. Interrupted only by you shrieking when one of you sets off the automatic hand dryer.

Your surprise morphs into laughter when you realize what the noise is, giggling up at Spencer, you ruffle his hair affectionately, “Hi.”

“Hey,” he says, dropping another kiss to your lips.

Letting your hands drop to your sides, you hum into the kiss, “What did the team think about you following me into the bathroom?”

Spencer shrugs in response, pressing soft kisses along your jawline, “Emily’s convinced you were going in here to throw up, she’s the one who insisted I go.”

You gasp slightly when his hand moves up to your breast, “Do I look like I’m going to throw up?”

“You look beautiful,” Spencer says, skimming his palms down the soft cotton of your sundress, lifting the fabric, and letting it flutter back down to your thigh. “I missed you,” he murmurs, resting his hand on the crook of your shoulder and kissing you, soft, open-mouthed kisses that function solely to leave you wanting more as his other hand ghosts over your body.

You sigh contently against his mouth, a gentle moan escaping your lips when he slips his tongue into your mouth, swiping it along your lower lip. “I missed you,” you repeat in kind, “Ten days is too long.”

It was a non-complaint, really, something you’d bemoan over while his mouth was pressed against yours, but nothing you’d ever hold against him. Besides, time apart just made the reunion that much better.

“Spence,” you whisper, knowing he’s waiting for you, waiting for you to cue him into what you want. “Will you touch me?”

He smiles against your lips, nodding softly as his hand lifts the skirt of your dress, his fingers tentatively hovering over your panties. “What made you so needy?”

You roll your eyes, peering up at him through your mascara-covered eyelashes, “Asshole,” you breathe, your chest deflating when he cups your cloth-covered core.

“Ah,” he says, “Strong words from someone who wants something from me,” he says, his eyes flashing deviously at you, gold shimmering under the warm light of the bar bathroom.

He increases the pressure of his hand and you moan in response, but you try to cover it up with speaking up, “I have fingers of my own,” you retort.

Pulling his hand back, you try not to pout at the loss while he smirks at you, “It’s not the same and you know it.”

Unfortunately, he was right, but you could use that to your advantage, raising your eyebrows, you hum curiously, “Why don’t you show me then?”

If there was one thing Spencer could never turn down, it’s a challenge, so it doesn’t come as a surprise when his hand slips beneath the waistband of your panties and swipes a finger through your folds, his other hand coming up to push your shoulder to the wall so that your legs don’t have a chance to give out from under you. “I can tell you missed me,” he whispers gently, his tone almost a coo in your ear as you nod helplessly. “All this from just one touch of the thigh,” he continues, spreading your slick over your cunt with his fingers.

A soft whimper escapes your lips when Spencer’s index finger firmly presses to your clit, the gentle pressure bringing that airy feeling back to your head. One touch might’ve been an understatement, but you’re in no position to correct him. “Spence,” you sigh his name.

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he says, rewarding your speech by slipping a finger gently into your throbbing pussy. The digit slowly swirls around your wet hole before withdrawing and moving back in with a second finger.

The stretch of your cunt makes your breath hitch, your head dropping to Spencer’s shoulder so you can use the fabric of his dress shirt to muffle your moans. The tile in the bathroom only bounces the strained noises from you and the wet squelching caused by Spencer’s fingers fucking into you.

As his middle and ring finger continue thrusting, Spencer cranes his neck so that he can press gentle kisses to the side of your neck. He nudges your head up so that he can use his spare hand to pull down the front of your dress, flipping over the cups of your bra so that he can massage your breast.

Your head spins while you feel him everywhere, “Oh, shit,” you gasp when he pushes his thumb against your clit, the bundle of nerves nearly buzzing with a pressure that you desperately needed to release.

Spencer hums, “My pretty girl,” the vibrations of his lips against your skin made your walls clench around his fingers. He was gently sucking at your chest, leaving little hickeys across the otherwise unmarred skin.

His thumb swipes over your clit, the movements perfectly timed with the thrusts of his hand.

“So good,” he praises you softly, “Letting me play with you in the bathroom, baby. You’re so fucking pretty when you need me,” he says, unrelenting in his ministrations.

A low whine comes from your throat, and you nod, “Ah, Spence,” you whimper, tilting your head back as you gasp for air, the dizzy feeling in your head coming crashing down as you cum. His free hand covers your mouth, muffling your moans so that you don’t alert any passersby to what is happening in the bathroom.

Your legs shake beneath you as Spencer holds you up, his hand slowly withdrawing from your panties, and you respond exactly how he wants you to when he holds his fingers in front of your mouth, enveloping his third and fourth finger within your lips and gently sucking your own slick from his digits. He gingerly presses a kiss to your forehead before taking his hand back.

He crouches down to the floor, gently tugging at your underwear and sliding them down your legs, you step out of them, your face hot as you watch him fold the damp fabric and slip them in his back pocket.

Softly, he cups both of your cheeks with his hands, skimming the pads of his thumbs over the high points, “Are you alright?”

Taking your lip between your teeth, you nod a little dazedly, “I’m not feeling well,” you murmur, a sly smile growing on your face, “I think it’s time for us to head home.”

He washes his hands, muttering something about the efficiency of hand dryers before he opens the door to the bathroom, gesturing for you to walk out in front of him. His hand on your back guides you to the table.

“Hey,” JJ frowns, “Are you feeling alright? You look a little green,” she observes, watching Spencer as he gathers your things.

Shaking your head, you shrug, “Might’ve been something I ate, we’re gonna call it a night,” you explain to the rest of the group, not even evoking a suspicious look from them.

Emily nods in what she probably thinks is absolute understanding, “Let us know how you’re feeling in the morning. Garcia was talking about going to a farmers market.”

You glance over at Spencer, wondering if he already has plans for you tonight, but you nod anyway. Waving goodbye to everyone before your boyfriend nearly drags you out of the bar, ready to get home.