#Thorough Analyses

[majestativa]

Herod’s palace rose up like some Alhambra on slender columns iridescent with Moresque tiles, which appeared to be bedded in silver mortar and gold cement; arabesques started from lozenges of lapis lazuli to wind their way right across the cupolas, whose mother-of-pearl marquetry gleamed with rainbow lights and flashed with prismatic fires. The murder had been done; now the executioner stood impassive, his hands resting on the pommel of his long, bloodstained sword. The Saint’s decapitated head had left the charger where it lay on the flagstones and risen into the air, the eyes staring out from the livid face, the colourless lips parted, the crimson neck dripping tears of blood. A mosaic encircled the face, and also a halo of light whose rays darted out under the porticoes, emphasized the awful elevation of the head, and kindled a fire in the glassy eyeballs, which were fixed in what happened to be agonized concentration on the dancer. With a gesture of horror, Salome tries to thrust away the terrifying vision which holds her nailed to the spot, balanced on the tips of her toes, her eyes dilated, her right hand clawing convulsively at her throat. [...] The dreadful head glows eerily, bleeding all the while, so that clots of dark red form at the ends of hair and beard. Visible to Salome alone, it embraces in its sinister gaze neither Herodias, musing over the ultimate satisfaction of her hatred, nor the Tetrarch, who, bending forward a little with his hands on his knees, is still panting with emotion, maddened by the sight and smell of the woman’s naked body, steeped in musky scents, anointed with aromatic balms, impregnated with incense and myrrh. Like the old King, Des Esseintes invariably felt overwhelmed, subjugated, stunned when he looked at this dancing-girl, who was less majestic, less haughty, but more seductive than the Salome of the oil-painting. In the unfeeling and unpitying statue, in the innocent and deadly idol, the lusts and fears of common humanity had been awakened; the great lotus-blossom had disappeared, the goddess vanished; a hideous nightmare now held in its choking grip an entertainer, intoxicated by the whirling movement of the dance, a courtesan, petrified and hypnotized by terror. Here she was a true harlot, obedient to her passionate and cruel female temperament; here she came to life, more refined yet more savage, more hateful yet more exquisite than before; here she roused the sleeping senses of the male more powerfully, subjugated his will more surely with her charms – the charms of a great venereal flower, grown in a bed of sacrilege, reared in a hot-house of impiety.

— Joris-Karl Huysmans, Against Nature, transl by Robert Baldick, (2003)

[saintobio]

gojo, akemi, and sachiro all snuggled together in one giant bed, with sachi nestled close to auntie ‘kemi who’s softly singing him to sleep, while dada satoru watches them both, holding them in his arms and feeling this warmth in his heart at the sight of their bond >>>

[soverane]

something something half-blood (?) khaenrian native something something cursed; doomed by the narrative and yet—something something cleansing fire (ignis purgatorius) something something betrayal, backstabbing, getting away with it without consequence something something Should Be Corrupted/Cursed But Isn't (see: hilichurls; dainsleif), or at least Not Quite something something a glitch in the matrix

i'm no genshin lore expert but judging by what we know of her from (1) fatui harbingers' voice lines about her; (2) other characters' voice lines about her; (3) her still incomplete character description; (4) bits of lore scattered around fontaine that don't explicitly say it's her but they do fit her description well that it can't be unintentional; and (5) her design—the glitches, the dark-stained arms, etc.—there is CLEARLY something 'wrong' with arlecchino. something is 'off,' something is 'glitchy,' masked by a flawless exterior.

[troperrific]

/ ekuoto chapter 53 spoilers and mild rant/

Mild bitch and moaning under the cut. If you wanna know why I had mixed feelings about this chapter, here you go. You've been warned.

Now, it’s time to bitch and moan about my worries over how the story will go. If you don’t wanna see that, you’ve been warned.

So. First of all. No “Masses of Trash- Part 2”. Meaning it’ll be in a future arc.

It could be a good thing. I understand that letting Mr. Priest fall to his anger this soon could not be the best writing decision. Maybe we will see him snap and, as it’s been often discussed and “foreshadowed” within the story, lash out against innocent people or even people he cares about.

Or… it could be a bad thing.

Meaning, Mr. Priest will never commit any “sin” and will remain the pure shounen protagonist who doesn’t really have any flaws.

…Sorry, did that sound salty? Because I’m trying to hold back, but it is what it is.

Let me explain.

The biggest fear I have regarding this manga, is that the author will go with the safe route and never have Mr. Priest have any serious flaws or commit any “bad actions” for the sake of having a “likeable” and “relatable” protagonist in the form of a “perfect, innocent victim”, while (slightly) demonizing characters that are traumatized but comparatively flawed, like Dante or Leah or even Virgil.

(Points at Mr. Priest and Leah's narrative parallels and being slowly built as foils. Also points at Leah sitting in Judas' position at the "Last Supper" panel during the Leviathan arc. Points at Dante being lumped with Abott Nicholas and *probably* Belphegor in Mr. Priest’s “flashbacks” when Aria told him a kid shouldn’t be fighting a Demon Lord. Begs the reader to dissuade my fears.)

And that would, inadvertently, create a “Good Victim vs Bad Victim” message within the story.

In a fucking manga about Christianity.

You can understand why I don’t want that.

For example:

The difference on how Mikhail treated the Witches and on how he treated Mr. Priest.

One has his destruction likened to a child’s tantrum and a call for help. Which it is, and I’m so glad it was treated with this amount of empathy.

The others, however, were basically told “cool story, still murder” and “hmm, maybe you should try harder to be happy?? I mean, look at Mr. Priest, he suffered more than you and he’s not evil, he’s a good victim, maybe you should be more like him???”.

Yeah, yeah, I understand that the two situations are different: the witches have been killing many people and serving the Demon Lords for who knows how long, while Mr. Priest hasn’t killed anyone so far, he even held back at the end of the Asmodeus’ arc and didn’t hurt anyone innocent, a sad past doesn’t justify blah blah blah

It’s not about justifying this or that, but about the empathy the narrative gives to its characters.

It has, so far, given all the sympathy and empathy it could towards Mr. Priest. Even when he gets overly violent. Which is great!!

But sometimes it feels like it’s less so towards other characters. Mr. Priest’s violence can feel very dismissed sometimes as something that can be easily forgiven or that is very justified, while the violence of others, even more sympathetic ones like Dante or Leah or even Leviathan will be called out, even if briefly, by the narrative or another character.

Of course, maybe I’m worrying too much. Most of these examples could be (and probably are) just the opinion of other characters, like Mikhail treating the witches and Mr. Priest differently or Imuri and other characters often excusing Mr. Priest’s violence as righteous, justified and utterly forgivable.

I really do hope that’s the case, because after so much talk about systemic violences and the effects of trauma, pushing the sort of narrative where characters like Mr. Priest and Imuri will get a happy ending (possibly without acknowledging any of their flaws or where all the acknowledged morally questionable actions will be done by other characters) just because they’re “innately better” than the rest of the cast (the sinners) will really, really upset me.

This might seem a tad emotional overreaction (and to an extent, it is) but Shounen manga, especially action ones, are infamous for their mediocre writing. Hopefully that’s not the case with ekuoto.

If I had to summarize, I guess, I’d be:

Let Mr. Priest go apeshit and fuck up for real, sensei, you coward.

And then let the narrative continue to give him the empathy it’s given him so far. And let it be given to other characters as well.

Because if it’s just going to be yet another story about how only the “Sinless” get to be loved, who get to be happy…

Especially after all this talk about how we can't always make the perfect decisions in life... how no one is free from making mistakes and hurting others...

Then what was the fucking point?

[nthropoid]

Welcome, art enthusiast. It is I- Jacobs Atrington. Here with another one of my famous vernissages. Help yourself to the cheese-platter and take in these- if I dare say- thought provocative pieces.

Cheers, babygirl. 

[wonder-worker]

Analyses on the propaganda faced by Elizabeth Woodville during her life are actually so subpar and lacking, tbh. Slanders and accusations against her are either reinforced and reiterated or (to a lesser extent) debunked and dismissed; but they are rarely if ever properly examined as tools that constructed a narrative around her, and how that narrative actually framed her. Most examinations I’m reading are so incredibly generic and limited. Lot of times, people don’t even recognize the propaganda against her for what it is, and this includes several of her own well-known historians. If it is acknowledged, it’s usually stated matter-of-factly with its “meaning” taken for granted. Other times, it’s regarded as purely politically-motivated, ignoring the inherently political nature of all propaganda and how it is always reflective of the societal beliefs and biases of its period. Often, Elizabeth is absorbed into general discussions of her family rather than examined in her own right. Other times, she is deprioritized in favour of analysing what was being said about her husband. Both of these approaches are fundamentally misleading: it was Elizabeth who was always placed front and centre when it came to slanders; she was the one primarily framed as an instigator and disruptor.

I didn’t really realize how frustrating it was until now, when I’m trying to answer an ask on it but can’t find any concrete, thorough examinations on the same. Arlene Okerlund, David Baldwin, Susan Higginbotham and Gemma Hollman are all frustratingly generic and matter-of-factly rather than analytical. Baldwin, Higginbotham and Hollman uncritically ascribe to the popular idea that Elizabeth “usurped” Richard of his Protectorate; Baldwin even believes that she plotted against Henry VII and her own daughter and was imprisoned for it. Derek Neal doesn’t discuss or even mention the contemporary propaganda she faced at all in his analysis of her queenship. A.J Pollard, despite the fact that his “Elizabeth Woodville and her Historians” chapter dedicated to examining the propaganda against her, completely ignores how she and her family were slandered and degraded by Warwick and jumps straight to Richard III’s campaign against her, even though lots of Richard’s amplified defamations were inspired by Warwick’s; his analysis is thus very incomplete and fragmented. Pollard also traces the rise of her femme fatale image to the 18th century when in fact it was prominent from the 16th century (eg: Vergil in the 16th century? Habington in the 17th? Etc, etc), and when its basis lay in the slanders she suffered during her life - this isn't highlighted nearly as much, and it's led to a host of historians uncritically repeating Pollard's assertions without actually double checking with the actual sources that Pollard has in fact gotten wrong. John Leland, in his chapter “Witchcraft and the Woodvilles: A Standard Medieval Smear” (which I assumed, judging by the title, would analyse how the rhetoric of witchcraft was used against them) literally ends up arguing that actually, Elizabeth did use “astrological magic” against Richard III and that Richard’s charge against her was “at least partially true, and less likely to have been a purely political invention”, meaning his violent and defamatory reaction to them was “natural”; he also argues that it’s plausible for Jacquetta to have “used image magic” to enable her daughter’s marriage to the King.

Lynda Pidgeon is all over the place: apart from her disingenuous claim that the Woodvilles’ status “was not really an issue” (tell that to the classist propaganda against them, or the fact that Croyland and Mancini and Waurin noted how people were opposed to Elizabeth for her ‘humble’ origin, or the fact that she objectively WAS the lowest-ranked queen prior to her marriage till date which DID affect how her actions were perceived), Pidgeon is also incredibly assumptive and tends to minimize the impact and power of Elizabeth and her family in the name of defending them (particularly in the immediate aftermath of Edward IV’s death: her claim that “chronicles writing shortly after Edward IV’s death suggest that the real power around the throne belong to men such as Hastings” is very clearly contradicted by the very chronicles she references). Her view on Mancini is overly simplistic, seeming to think that he “exonerates” Elizabeth even though he literally does the opposite, emphasizing her “humble birth”, how she stole the treasury, how she usurped Richard’s protectorate, how she murdered Clarence and drove Richard away from court, and how she “controlled” the kingdom and the king. A complex examination of how Mancini was simultaneously aware that Richard was slandering the Woodvilles while unwittingly and unknowingly absorbing the propaganda himself is nowhere to be found in her work. Pidgeon also seems far less interested in examining Elizabeth in her own right and instead spends longer detailing how the propaganda she faced was similar to Margaret of Anjou’s (a simplistic and limiting statement in itself: the slanderous propaganda both queens faced was not unique to them or their time but was instead very common and convenient rhetoric against medieval women; comparing them purely to each other is very limiting) In any case, the comparison is wildly misleading: Elizabeth and Margaret were both accused of certain “standard” defamations but their differing status and nationality, along with the accusations of witchcraft attributed to Elizabeth, make the framework of the propaganda they faced very different. Pidgeon’s statement “such slanders were required to meet political necessity” is accurate but nonetheless misleading: making the propaganda Elizabeth faced out to be purely politically motivated utterly disregards the misogynistic and classist culture it reflects and taps into, which deliberately sought to shape her reputation as we know it. It also ignores that Elizabeth, due to her comparatively lower status, would be – and was – vulnerable to a very different kind of propaganda than any of her queenly predecessors. It also ignores the fact that while they may have had some similar slanders, the effect was drastically different and significantly worse in Elizabeth's case (eg: both were accused of adultery, but Margaret was accused through rumors while Elizabeth was formally declared an adulteress in Parliament, the first Queen of England to have been declared so. All ten of Elizabeth's children were also officially bastardized, something Margaret's son was decidedly not. It's not the same thing, y'all).

J.L. Laynesmith is comparatively better, but even she is very inconsistent and selective: she examines some aspects while attributing others to gossip, politicking or the assumptions of “later writers” rather than contemporary ones. In “The Last Medieval Queens”, she spends pages dissecting how negative perceptions of Margaret of Anjou’s foreign family impacted her image through the lens of xenophobia but does not afford Elizabeth the same analysis in terms of how her gentry family impacted her image through the lens of classism, instead highlighting their positive practical effects in court. It’s an entirely different line of analysis altogether that gives readers a very misleading impression. Similarly, in her chapter “Telling Tales of Adulterous Queens in Medieval England”, while she mentions the fact that Elizabeth was accused of bewitching Edward IV into bigamy/adultery, she only spends a few short paragraphs on this and ultimately even those centres around Edward IV (even though Elizabeth is clearly framed as the instigator by the Titulus Regius itself), a sharp contrast to her pages-long in-depth analysis on the defamations faced by Margaret of Anjou. For Margaret, Laynesmith’s analysis is focused on the social culture of the period and how it tied into her actions; for Elizabeth’s, it’s merely regarded as the political “rhetoric of dispositions” and is thus not analysed beyond that. It’s odd, and I wonder if it's because there was a legality to Elizabeth's situation that wasn't present with her predecessors? Edward of Lancaster and Edward IV were both rumoured to be bastards, but Elizabeth Woodville's children were legally bastardized. Several former queens and noblewomen (Margaret of Anjou, Cecily Neville, etc) were accused of adultery; but Elizabeth was legally relegated to the position of an adulteress and concubine by a statute from Parliament. The sexual accusations she faced were "officialized" in a way that they simply weren't for any English queen before her, and so I think that in the process of debating whether the legal accusations were true or not, the social accusations - namely, the misogyny and classism - are overlooked. I've noticed something similar for Eleanor Cobham: both women had similarly anomalous and comparatively lower statuses, and both were deposed in a manner that was unprecedented. Yet it's mostly the "political" angle that's emphasized in both their cases, when it should be the opposite - they were the ones who suffered the most extreme effects of contemporary slanders, when the law was used to turn the rumours against them into devastating realities. As far as queenship goes, Elizabeth's in particular needs to be emphasized more because it fundamentally broke the pattern of slanders uses to condemn queens and set a whole new horrifying precedent (ie: official accusations).

Katherine J. Lewis's epilogue in "Kingship and Masculinity in Late Medieval England" is by far the most ignorant and ridiculous of them all. Apart from the fact that her primary source is Commynes (who all historians agree is highly unreliable and caricatural when it comes to English affairs) and the fact that she spends a disturbing and frankly disgusting amount of time talking about Edward IV's weight, her analysis on Elizabeth Woodville is terrible. It's not the focus of her book - thankfully - and it's understandable that she wouldn't be analyzing her in depth, but what she does say is bizarre. She mentions the unconventional aspects of Elizabeth's origins, but completely divorces them from her queenship and how it was perceived, instead writing that she was merely "accepted" by the nobility and that she fulfilled "the role of the beautiful, submissive and fertile wife with distinction." (Not only is this a vague, gendered, dismissive and tasteless way to talk about any historical woman, it completely ignores the political and public aspects of queenship and the unusual governing authority Elizabeth was given - yes, even compared to Margaret. But what do I know?), and that "Edward could demonstrate that his rule comprised a restoration of the gendered norms which had been so damagingly inverted by Henry and Margaret." This is ... a very odd statement to make, imo. Apart from the fact that Edward IV's mother was literally described as being able to "rule him as she please(d)" in the early years of his reign, and the fact that he married a woman "whose origins broke all established conventions for English queenship" (which would have certainly NOT given anyone the impression of a restoration of gendered norms lmfao), Lewis's analyses completely ignores the gendered and classist criticism levelled at Elizabeth by her own enemies and detractors during her tenure as queen consort and dowager queen. Elizabeth was framed as a transgressive and aggressive woman; her and Edward's marriage was viewed as unconventional with her being accused of "controlling" and ruining both her husband and the kingdom; female authority was also criticized with her ("As for the government of the kingdom, he (Edward V) had complete confidence in the peers of the realm and the queen" / "It was not the business of women but of men to govern kingdoms ... let him place all his hopes in his barons"), etc. Lewis's examination primarily revolves around perception, so I fail to understand why she seems utterly ignorant of how Elizabeth was perceived? Both Margaret and Elizabeth's reputations were primarily shaped by propaganda + political circumstances rather than reality, after all. The differences were: the angles they were judged by that were interwoven with misogyny (classism & witchcraft/xenophobia), the fact that Elizabeth's Woodville family were slandered and destroyed right along with her, and the legality of the accusations against them (both were subject to rumours of sexual impropierty, but in Elizabeth's case, they were turned into legal realities, an unprecedented humiliation that none of her queenly predecessors had to endure) Similarly, Lewis focuses on how the Titulus Regius frames Edward and completely ignores how Elizabeth is the one framed as the instigator of sexual misconduct and tyranny: she bewitched him. Bigamy is the effect; Elizabeth and Jacquetta's witchcraft is the cause. It's odd that the propaganda, false accusations and misogynistic perceptions against Margaret are all thoughtfully analyzed; but the propaganda, false accusations and misogynistic perceptions against Elizabeth are ignored and disregarded entirely. Obviously, Lewis's book is not about the Yorkists, she is under no obligation to write a thesis on any of them. But then...why bring them up at all? Idk. Like I said, the propaganda used against Elizabeth tends to get dismissed entirely by some people which is extremely misleading when it comes to her actual life experiences. Idk.

[ssweetleaf]

doll parts.

summary: you agree to let dr crane experiment on you for ‘scientific purposes’.

jonathan crane x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, based on this ask here <3, dub-con, clit play, fingering, overstimulation, kinda innocent!reader, doctor kink, jon being a condescending ass, unprotected p in v

˖ ࣪⭑

When you agreed to let Dr Crane experiment on you, you certainly hadn’t had anything remotely crude on your mind. A few tests, you thought, maybe he’d take your bloods— anything to help his scientific studies along and you agreed to be his little guinea pig for the day.

So, when he had you undress and get upon his silver operating table, it was quite the shock.

“Push your knees up to your chest,” he hummed, having you hold them in place while he analysed your pussy, “gotta make sure these tests are thorough, don’t wanna miss a thing.”

Jonathan ran a knuckle through your folds watching them flutter around his digit and coat it in your sweet slick, clit throbbing in anticipation just waiting for his touch.

“D-Dr Crane,” you stuttered out, finding it hard to keep your mewls choked down when he used a thumb and forefinger to spread you open, inspecting you even deeper. “I don’t think this is appropriate.”

You didn’t notice the flicker of a smirk that lifted his mouth before he pouted at you, mocking you, though you had no idea.

“But you said you’d let me experiment on you, sweetheart,” he cooed, using his other hand to pat at your thigh, attempting to somewhat calm your heavy breaths and wide eyes. “It’s for scientific purposes, you know that.”

You bit your lip, unsure.

“For science?” You repeated hopefully, staring at him with glistening eyes, eager to help the young scientist in any way, even if it did mean touching your most private parts.

“For science.” He nodded, “now be a good little patient and let the doctor carry on with his tests.”

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded anyway.

“O-of course, doctor.”

You resumed your position, chest already heaving from the tense atmosphere, peering down at his trailing hands when they squeezed at the fat of your thighs.

Jonathan’s thumb and forefinger parted your pussy lips, opening you up for him and exposing the pretty little pearl of your clit. With his other hand, he pressed his thumb to it, rubbing in figure eights, watching your facial expressions and how they changed with such simple touches, soft whines escaping the confines of your throat.

His eyes flitted back to your cunt, watching your arousal seep with each circle of his thumb, your hole clenching, desperate to be filled.

So he did just that and slipped a finger inside you, curling the digit upwards as it hit the base of his knuckle, and he smirked when you gasped at the sudden intrusion, your wetness just letting him slip right in, having him easily add another finger on his outward thrust.

“Oh, doctor,” you breathed, clenching hard around his fingers, the crude squelching causing your cheeks to burn.

“How do you feel, dear?” He asked, the tips of his fingers prodding at the spongy wall of your g-spot.

“F-feels good,” you managed to choke out, bashfully meeting his smug gaze. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

A virgin, he thought. Of course you were, pathetic little lamb— with the way you shivered from just his words alone he should’ve known. Hell, it made him harder, cock growing and forming a tent underneath his slacks, throbbing hotly and just begging to be released.

“I’m so glad to hear it, dear,” he cooed, reaching up to pat at your cheek with his palm, a little too hard, though you were sure he didn’t mean a thing by it.

With each passing moment, your belly started to tighten, growing warm and tingly, butterflies were flapping around and you felt like you needed to pee.

“Dr Crane, I feel strange,” you pouted, tears threatening to ebb over your waterline, it felt so good, but so unfamiliar.

“Just let go, darling,” he said, “this is what I was hoping for— my tests are going absolutely splendidly.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm rushed over you, your slick gushing along his fingers and down his wrist, your pussy clenching and spasming around his still prodding digits and you heaved out sobs. The feeling was so intense, so good, you hadn’t realised anything could feel as good as what Jonathan had made you feel.

“Say thank you, dear, it’s only polite.” He was smirking, though you somehow mistook it for a smile.

You nodded your head, staring at him with big, glassy eyes.

“Of course,” you breathed, “thank you, doctor.”

You had started to settle, your breathing and heartbeat evening out, until Jonathan’s thumb pressed to your clit once again, rolling and playing with the sensitive nub.

You whined out, you didn’t think you had it in you to go again. You grabbed onto his wrist, clawing at his skin and gasping into the stuffy air.

“In our agreement you said you’d take whatever I gave you, correct?” He spoke, an unoccupied hand grabbing at your cheeks, your lips jutting out into a pout.

You nodded, eyes wide like saucers and you shifted from all the fondling to your poor clit.

“Am I correct?” He repeated, much more stern that time, his jaw clenching and eyes narrowing from underneath his lenses.

“Y-yes, doctor.” You nodded.

“Well then,” he muttered, letting go of your face, directing his attention to your quivering cunt. “You’ll be a good girl and do just that.”

Quickly, another orgasm approached, simply by him playing with your abused little clit, urging you to cum for him and watch your hole quiver around nothing.

One after the other, over and over again, you came around his fingers and on his hand, your body heaving and jolting from the constant painful pleasure, he had to restrain you with a hand to your stomach, pinning you to the table and forcing you to ride out each orgasm.

Jonathan’s cock was painfully hard, and he reached down to palm at himself, smirking when he caught you staring, pussy fluttering at the sight.

“Now for my last experiment,” he pulled at his belt, tugging it from the loops and unzipping his fly, grasping at his cock, he pulled it from his briefs, pumping himself a few times, little beads of pearlescent pre-cum dripping from his tip.

You were babbling, completely inebriated from his touch— he was so long, and just the right amount of thickness, veins protruding along either side and underneath, his tip a pretty shade of red that had your mouth watering.

“Let’s see if you can take this, hm?” He mocked you, pouting down at your pathetic form, tears streaming down your cheeks, long lines of mascara staining your skin all the way down your neck. “M’sure you can— been so greedy for everything I’ve given you so far.”

He tapped his cock against your pussy, the wetness splashing up against your thighs, the obscene sounds of your sopping cunt had you blushing.

He pushed into you without a warning, to the hilt with no resistance, your creamy pussy letting him slip right inside, the mushroomed head of his pretty cock nudging at your spot so deep inside, even his fingers couldn’t reach.

Oh, you felt so full.

“Such a good little patient.” He groaned. “On second thoughts, I might need you to stay overnight— get a much more thorough examination.”

[larrythefloridaman]

If you're still doing character bingo. Cosmic 🖤

.........................................................................

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene I: The Suspicious Scheme)

The three times you sense something strange when everyone pairs you with Spencer, and the one time you understand why.

Part warning: Definitely inaccuracy in autopsy procedures and Spencer’s educational background, it’s hard writing a genius Words: 5.6k (not proofread, I’ll do it when I have the time so please excuse me if you see any mistakes) A/n: I tried to make this part shorter but I gave up. I hope you don’t mind reading more😌

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

I. The Forced Partner

There was usually a system when Hotch paired the team up, a method to his leadership that balanced skills and personalities to get the job done efficiently. But as Spencer and you were directed to the autopsy room together, you couldn’t help but wonder if Hotch was pushing his luck—or preferably yours.

It was weird. Two weeks had gone by since the last case where he had to witness you both sparring, and you would’ve thought he’d keep you apart. Yet here you were, together again, stepping into the cold, sterile room. 

The faint smell of antiseptic filled the air as you pulled on your gloves, the latex snapping against your wrists. A woman in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, turned to greet you and Spencer. She extended a hand. 

“I’m Dr. Nina Patel, I’ll be overseeing the autopsy today. You must be from the BAU.”

You nodded, shaking her hand firmly. 

“Agent Y/N Y/L/N, and this is Dr. Spencer Reid,” you introduced, gesturing towards Spencer, who offered a brief nod and a tight lip smile in greeting. Dr. Patel returned the gesture and motioned for you both to approach the table. 

“Our Jane Doe was found early this morning in an alleyway downtown," she explained, pulling back the sheet to reveal a woman appearing in her late thirties. "There are no apparent injuries, and no ID was found with her.”

Spencer stepped closer. "Any indication of the time of death?" 

"Preliminary estimates put the time of death at approximately eight hours before she was found."

You watched as she started pointing to various parts of the body. 

"She was also found with her clothes in perfect condition. It’s possible she was placed there post-mortem."

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Could suggest transportation from another location.”

You moved to the head of the table, examining Jane Doe's hands and nails. "No defensive wounds," you added. "She didn't fight back, or more likely, wasn't conscious during her final moments."

Dr. Patel nodded as she considered your observations. “It’s plausible that a strong sedative was used, which would leave minimal to no struggle marks. We’re running some tests as we speak.”

Spencer chimed in quickly after that. “The Unsub might have used succinylcholine, or even benzodiazepines,” he suggested. Then, turning toward you with a condescending tone as if simplifying it for your benefit, he added, “They’d metabolize quickly and would require a toxicology screen to detect definitively.”

You rolled your eyes.

“That’s impressive, Dr. Reid,” Dr. Patel remarked, her eyes lingering on him a moment longer than seemed strictly professional. You narrowed your eyes at her. “Did you study pharmacology formally, or is this a passion of yours?”

“I actually did a bit of formal study during my Ph.D. programs.”

“Oh, really? What did you study?”

“Chemistry and Engineering. Pharmacology intersects quite a bit with those fields, especially when looking at biochemical reactions.”

Dr. Patel seemed genuinely impressed. “That’s quite a formidable educational background. No wonder you’re so thorough with your analyses.”

You could feel a knot tightening in your stomach. Her admiration was professional, sure, but the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way her voice dipped just so—it was a tone you recognized all too well.

She was flirting with him.

You watched them, your gaze sharp and assessing. Although it wasn’t like Spencer to notice her advances; he was smart, yes, but his brilliance often left him oblivious to the layers of personal interaction that didn’t involve textbooks or theories. And Dr. Patel, with her easy smile and obvious interest, seemed to have her focus on him rather than the body lying between you.

You cleared your throat, louder than necessary.

“Can we continue?” 

Dr. Patel seemed to catch your eye, her expression shifting back to professional as she nodded. “Of course.”

She resumed her explanation, detailing the various findings and pointing out subtle indicators on the body that might have otherwise gone unnoticed. Spencer listened intently, his gaze shifting between Dr. Patel and you, noticing the subtle tension in the room, but didn’t comment.

It wasn’t until you had all the information you needed—and after you caught one last flirtatious look from Dr. Patel directed at him—that Spencer finally spoke up.

“She seems nice,” he remarked as you both stepped outside the building, heading toward the parking lot.

You shrugged. “Sure, if you say so.”

Spencer glanced at you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. “Am I missing something?” 

You looked over at him, debating whether to explain, before you finally sighed. 

“It’s just... she seemed a bit more interested in you than the case,” you said, trying to keep your tone light but failing to hide your slight irritation.

And then he noticed it. The subtle tension in your voice, the way you avoided his gaze, the underlying frustration—it clicked. “Wait, are you... jealous?”

“No, I’m not!” You replied quickly, then softer, “I’m not.”

“You sound like it.”

You scoffed. “No, I sound like a friend trying to remind you that we have a case to focus on.”

“Oh, so now we’re friends?”

“I meant that in the broadest, most professional sense of the word.”

“Right,” Spencer replied sarcastically. “I didn’t realize jealousy was part of professional behavior.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you snapped. “Stop making it into something it’s not.”

“Sure.”

“Reid.”

“Y/L/N,” he shot back in the same flat tone.

Dear God, why was he so infuriating? How he had this ability, this perfectly annoying talent to get under your skin without seeming to try was beyond you. You both stared at each other for a while, until finally, you broke the silence with an exasperated sigh.

“Let’s just go,” you muttered, brushing past him.

You walked a few steps ahead, trying to shake off his words. It was absurd. The very idea was ridiculous when you were focused on the case, on solving the mystery—nothing more.

You were not jealous.

II. The Unavoidable Flight

“I’m telling you, she was definitely flirting with him,” you said, your voice a mix of disbelief and annoyance as you and Penelope made your way toward the plane. “It was so obvious, the way she kept looking at him, the tone of her voice. I mean, does professional decorum mean nothing anymore?”

“Why are you acting so surprised? Wonder Boy is actually quite the catch,” Penelope responded. “He’s not my type, but he clearly has admirers.”

Your eyes involuntarily drifted toward the man in question, who was walking a few paces behind, engaged in conversation with JJ. He was casually gripping the strap of his satchel bag, laughing at something JJ had just said. You narrowed your eyes.

“Well, I don’t understand what they see in him.”

“It might be that genius brain of his—totally irresistible to some.”

“It’s annoying, is what it is,” you grumbled, quickening your pace as the plane came into view.

Penelope responded with a sly grin. “You know what you sound like?”

“What?”

“Like someone who’s maybe a little jealous.”

You frowned, hating how she was the second person to conclude your irritation with something else. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. You seem unusually focused on how others interact with him.”

“I’m focused on maintaining a professional work environment,” you defended, trying to keep your voice even as you approached the steps of the plane. “Not about… whatever you’re implying.”

“Fine. If Dr. Patel makes her move and actually calls him, what would you do?”

Your eyes widened. “What? Who did you hear that from? Did he tell you? When did she call him?”

“Hypothetically, oh my god,” Penelope laughed, stepping onto the plane as you followed, slightly flustered. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if it happened, what would you do? How would you react?”

You paused at the entrance, processing her question. “I’d do nothing.”

“Nothing? Really?”

“Yes, I’d do nothing because I’m not jealous.”

“That’s what any jealous person would say.”

You narrowed your eyes at her as you walked past the entrance, and when you caught her making herself comfortable on the long couch by the front, you quickly made your way to the back of the plane.

“Hey! Where are you going?”

“To find a spot where my supposed jealousy isn’t your inflight entertainment,” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I knew you were jealous!”

“Supposed jealousy!”

Her laughter trailed after you, ringing down the narrow aisle as you navigated through the plane, bypassing Rossi, who was typing away on his phone, and Hotch, who sat across from him with his eyes closed, leaning back against his seat. You walked further down the aisle until you spotted an empty spot at the very back of the plane, looking very isolated and inviting.

It was perfect.

“Garcia! That’s my usual spot,” Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed through the plane as you made yourself comfortable in your chair.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him standing over Penelope, a hand gesturing toward the seat while his other hand clutched his bag.

“But it’s so comfortable,” Penelope responded, settling deeper into the plush seat. “Come on, Reid, I don’t travel as much as you do. Let me have it.”

Spencer paused, his initial protest fading as he took in Penelope’s exaggerated comfort. “Where would I sit?”

“You can sit…”

You quickly closed your eyes. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t–

“Over there! There’s an empty spot in front of Y/N.”

You were going to kill her.

You sank deeper into your chair, hoping to avoid any forced small talk or, worse, awkward silence with him. Maybe if you were lucky enough, he’d pick another chair—perhaps next to Hotch, or Rossi, or—

A cough interrupted your thoughts.

“I know you’re pretending to sleep.”

Reluctantly, you opened one eye, peeking at him.

"Mind if I sit here?"

For a moment, you considered ignoring him, but the look on his face told you he wasn’t going to let it go. You rolled your shoulders, giving up the pretense, and sat up straighter.

“Actually, yes, I do mind.”

He raised an eyebrow but lowered himself onto the seat anyway, clearly unfazed by your objection.

"Reid,” you warned him. “I’m serious.”

"I know you are.” His eyes briefly swept around the cabin as he settled into the seat across from you, placing his satchel bag on his lap. "But every other seat is taken. Unless you want me to stand in the aisle for the next few hours?"

You rolled your eyes, letting out a resigned sigh as you crossed your arms. "Fine, but I'm reserving the right to nap, and you're reserving the right to not disturb that nap."

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

He leaned forward in his seat. “Do you know that you snore when you sleep?”

You gasped. “I do not!”

“You do. You sound like a little chainsaw.”

You gaped at him. The idea of a rough, grating noise being associated with you was almost laughable, and yet here he was, completely serious. You were unsure whether to be amused or offended.

“A chainsaw? That’s what you’re going with?”

“Well, considering the average chainsaw operates at around 90 decibels, I'd say it's an appropriate comparison."

“Don’t make me throw you off the plane.”

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. “Just so you know, certain sleep positions can actually help reduce snoring. Maybe you should try—ouch!”

You nudged him with your foot, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make your point clear. He rubbed his leg and glanced up at you with a wry expression.

“Consider that your first and only warning,” you stated firmly before closing your eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.

“See, your position is all wrong, if you slightly elevate your—”

“Good night, Reid.”

There was suddenly a moment of silence, the kind that feels almost tangible, stretching out in the small space between you. Then, you heard it—a slight, barely audible chuckle.

You wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you, the sound so faint that it seemed it could easily be a figment of your imagination. But no, there it was again, a soft, amused sound that had you frowning even with your eyes closed.

“Good night, Y/N.”

Maybe you were already dreaming.

III. The Lock-in Incident

“Y/N,” JJ’s voice chimed from behind you while you were gathering a stack of folders on your desk. “Can you take these down to the filing room? Spencer’s already down there reorganizing some of the older case files.”

You eyed the thick folder in JJ’s hands. When there wasn’t an active case, the team often spent time organizing and maintaining the archives. As tedious as it was, it was a necessary task, and normally, you wouldn’t mind lending a hand.

But the sound of his name made you pause because working with him in a confined space seemed very much unappealing.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Aren’t you going there?” She asked, her gaze shifting to the folders in your hands.

Internally, you groaned. Yes, you were headed there, that had been the plan. But now that you knew Spencer was there, every step towards that cramped, paper-stuffed room felt like walking into a minefield.

“Maybe you should go down there instead.”

“I can’t,” she responded, already adding her folders to your pile. “I’ve got to finish my other reports before the end of the day.”

Your eyes glanced over to Derek’s desk across from you. “Morgan?”

He turned over a page in the file he was reading, not even looking up. “Sorry, Pretty Girl, I got my hands full with this case report.”

“Oh, come on.” You stormed over to him, desperation edging into your voice. “I’ll do you a favor—anything you want.”

Derek glanced up, finally giving you his attention, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, but I really can’t. This report’s due in an hour.”

Frustrated, you glanced over towards Emily’s desk, hoping for a backup, but groaned when you saw it was empty.

You finally sighed, feeling the weight of your options—or lack thereof—settle on your shoulders. You gathered the heavy folders in your arms, the paper edges digging slightly into your skin. It was just a few hours, you reasoned; you could manage Spencer. He could be insufferable, but you had your own ways of being equally annoying.

With a deep breath, you headed toward the filing room, mentally preparing yourself. He was already busy sorting through a pile of disorganized paperwork when you got there, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I have more work for you,” you announced in a sing-song voice.

Spencer looked up, his eyes scanning the sight of the hefty folders in your arms. “Nope. They’re yours, not mine.”

You paused, leaning on the table filled with sorted files. “Are you sure you want me to do this by myself? Because, you know, I might just rearrange what you’ve already organized here. It would be a shame if all your hard work got… scrambled.”

“Don’t even think about it,” he quickly warned. “Hand them over. I’ll do it myself.”

You moved closer and placed the folders next to his neatly arranged stacks, deliberately nudging them just enough to seem accidental.

“Really?” he said, a hint of exasperation in his tone as he carefully realigned the folders you had nudged. “You know, we could actually get this done much faster if you’re not acting like a child.”

“Oh, please. Like you’re the mature one.”

“At least I’m trying to get the job done, not make it harder.”

“Maybe if you weren’t so uptight about every little detail, it wouldn’t be so hard,” you shot back, grabbing another stack of files to sort.

“I’m not uptight. I’m precise. There’s a difference.”

“Sure there is.”

Spencer opened his mouth to retort, but before he could get the words out, the sudden sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the cramped room. Both of you turned around simultaneously.

“Did that just…?” He began, stepping towards the door and trying the handle. It didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, more forcefully this time. “Great, it’s locked.”

“What?” You walked over, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “Who the hell locked it?”

“I don’t think anyone did. These old doors… they stick. It’s probably just jammed,” Spencer explained, though his voice carried a hint of doubt.

Yeah, right, you thought, your skepticism growing. Despite his logical explanation, you couldn't shake the feeling that this was more than just a coincidence. The timing was just too perfect, and you had a sneaking suspicion that someone might have been behind this.

But then the reality of the situation sank in. Your immediate concern shifted to the fact that you were trapped here, with him, until someone realized you were missing. The prospect was both frustrating and daunting.

“Look, let’s just keep working,” he suggested. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can figure out how to get out of here.”

You nodded, though a part of you wanted to argue. “Fine. But if we’re still stuck here by the time we’re done, you’re explaining this to Hotch.”

“We’ll get out, don’t worry.”

“Let’s hope you’re right.” You picked up a folder from the pile, flipping it open to look over its contents. “How do I do this?”

“Sort them by case type first, then by date within each type.”

“So, this one would go under…?”

“Unsolved homicides,” Spencer replied, taking a quick peek at the document you held open. “And make sure it’s in chronological order with the others.”

You moved to the designated shelf, sliding the folder into its appropriate spot before returning to grab another. “Wait,” you opened the file, your eyes scanning the page. “I think this was my first case.”

You read through the document and nodded.

“Yes, look, it’s the one where the Unsub was targeting families with children,” you reminisced, your mind going back to the time when you were still new to the job. “That was such a hard case. Remember how I couldn’t stop crying? And how Hotch had to debrief me because I was still shaking even after we made the arrest?”

When you were met with silence, you looked up to see his back facing you, seeming too busy as he organized his files. You closed the document in your hands and walked back toward the shelf.

“Of course, you don’t remember,” you muttered under your breath. “Why would you even remember?”

A twinge of disappointment settled in your chest, even though you hated to admit it. It was stupid, really, to expect him to recall every little detail from the past, especially when it had to do with you. But just as you turned to grab another file, Spencer’s voice stopped you.

“October 19, 2011.”

You paused, turning slowly to face him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

“The date you started working here,” Spencer said, still focused on his task. “You wore a black blouse and the brightest shade of red on your lips.”

You blinked, trying to understand what he was getting at.

“The case was in St. Louis,” Spencer continued, now looking up to meet your gaze directly. “Your first field assignment. You told Hotch you were ready, but the case really got to your head.”

You found yourself at a loss for words, realizing what he was trying to do.

“You cried when you came back from talking with the victim’s family. You cried when the second victim was found. You cried when we finally caught the Unsub.”

You continued to stare at him, not knowing how to process his words.

“You also cried when I sat beside you on the plane.”

He remembered.

The realization struck you hard, almost like a physical blow. A part of you had convinced yourself that he barely noticed you, that any memory involving you was erased from his mind. But here he was, recalling not just any memory, but your first week when you joined the team, right down to the color of your lips.

“You…” The frown on your face deepened. “You remembered.”

There was a pause as he looked at you, his eyes carefully assessing your reaction. “It’s hard not to."

You held his gaze. Sometimes you wonder what would happen if you were still on good terms. Would you smile at him now? Would you tell him that, yes, you also remembered how he allowed you to lean on his shoulder during that flight back home, despite the awkwardness of your first meeting when it seemed he’d rather keep his distance?

You shook your head, looking away from him. It was wishful thinking. Letting yourself dwell on what could have been would only lead to another heartbreak. You had learned to protect yourself, to keep your distance, because hoping for a return to those days would only make the present hurt more.

“Right,” you said, trying to keep your composure as you gripped the folder in your hand. “I forgot you have an eidetic memory.”

Spencer didn’t say anything, but you could feel his eyes on you, a quiet, lingering gaze that you felt more than saw. The room suddenly felt incredibly small, the walls seeming to close in around you as your fingers fumbled slightly with the papers, grabbing another file.

You needed to get out of here. You needed to regain control. The faster you finish your work, the sooner you can escape him.

IV. The Table For Two

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you?” You pressed, arms linked with JJ as you both walked down the sidewalk, your stride matching the quick tempo of your rising irritation. The accusation in your voice was clear, but JJ just offered a casual shrug, avoiding direct eye contact.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe it was an accident?” Your skepticism was palpable, and you watched as a small smirk played at the corner of her lips. “That the door coincidentally locked itself when we were both inside?”

“The doors are old,” she said, keeping her gaze forward, her steps even and unhurried. “You know how it is, sometimes if you even just shut them too hard, they jam. Could happen to anyone.”

Her tone was too nonchalant, too practiced, and you tugged on her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Right, and I suppose it was also just chance that the door closed by itself?”

JJ paused, finally facing you with a raised eyebrow. “I didn’t do it.”

“Then somebody did.”

“Y/N,” she replied, her smile broadening in a way that only heightened your irritation. “Nobody did.”

You groaned, resuming your walk as you pulled her along. “You guys are so annoying.”

JJ laughed. “How did you get out of there anyway?”

You sighed, the memory of the escape bringing a frown to your face. The entire time you were locked in that room, you had done everything possible to avoid talking to him, focusing on shuffling through files and pretending to be absorbed in the work.

After what felt like an eternity of awkward silence and strained small talk, you both gave up trying to ignore the situation and started moving around the cramped space, phones held high, desperately trying to find a signal. When you finally managed to get a single bar, you quickly dialed Penelope, who answered with her usual upbeat tone, clearly amused by your predicament.

"We had to call Garcia to let us out,” you said, your tone dry. “She found the whole thing hilarious."

JJ's laughter grew as she imagined the scene. "She would have loved that. Probably made her day to rescue the two of you."

“She’s already teasing us about it.”

Her laughter slowly died down as she gave your arm a light tug. “Did anything happen while you two were in there?”

You hesitated, recalling the awkward silence, the shuffling of papers, and that brief, tensed exchange. “Not really,” you admitted. “We just tried to organize the files without screaming at each other.”

“But did you talk at all? I mean, really talk?”

“Jennifer,” you warned, the tone of your voice hinting that she was treading on uncomfortable territory. The thought of delving deeper into what had—or hadn’t—happened in that room was not something you were eager to talk about.

“I know, I know, it’s complicated,” she conceded. “Just thought it seemed like a good opportunity to maybe clear the air between you two.”

“Well, you thought wrong. There’s nothing to talk about.”

JJ looked at you skeptically, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through your defenses. She seemed on the verge of pushing further, but then her phone rang, interrupting the moment. She glanced at the screen and sighed, giving you an apologetic look. "Hold on, I need to take this. It's Will."

You nodded and watched as she stepped a few feet away to answer the call. You waited and tried to give her privacy, but it was hard when her words were clear as you listened to her talk, and the more she spoke, the more you narrowed your eyes at her.

“…right now… sure… no, it’s fine… I can be there in ten… of course, honey...”

You crossed your arms when JJ finally ended the call and turned back towards you.

"I need to head home,” she said, a bit too casually. “Will got called into work unexpectedly.”

Suspicion started to creep in as you processed her words. The timing was impeccable—a little too perfect. You both were supposed to meet up with Penelope and Derek for dinner, and it was almost guaranteed that Spencer would be there too, considering Derek had taken it upon himself to drag him along at any given chance under the pretense that ‘the kid needs to go out more’.

But the thought of JJ bailing on you on such short notice seemed out of pocket, even for her.

"Really, right now?" you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. She shifted on her feet, her smile a bit forced. “Is everything okay?”

JJ nodded, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—something that looked more like amusement than guilt. "Yeah, I just need to get home to the kids. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

The more she spoke, the more your suspicion grew. Her demeanor seemed too casual, almost rehearsed, as if she was trying to assure you while simultaneously eager to leave. It felt like she was in on some inside joke that you weren't aware of.

“Well, if you really have to go…”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.” JJ flashed a quick, almost relieved smile and gave you a hurried kiss on the cheek. “Have a good time tonight, and fill me in on all the details later.”

“Details? What details?” You called after her but she was already walking away. “JJ! Why do I have to fill you in the details?”

She simply waved a hand without turning back, leaving you standing there with a growing sense of unease. You slowly resumed your walk, taking out your phone to call Penelope but stopped in your tracks when you saw a message from her, sent five minutes ago.

Hey, Sweetie, so sorry I can’t make it to dinner tonight! Something urgent came up. Have fun without me :)

Your stomach dropped as you read the message. First JJ, and now Garcia? It was starting to feel like you were being abandoned, or worse, you were being set up. You glanced around, half expecting to see Derek lurking in the shadows with a mischievous grin, orchestrating this whole fiasco.

It wasn’t until you arrived at the restaurant and spotted Spencer alone at the entrance, trying to avoid any immediate contact with the other patrons, that you realized your suspicion was confirmed. The pieces clicked together almost too neatly, and the man seemed as surprised to see you as you were to see him.

His discomfort was evident as he adjusted his stance, gripping the strap of his bag, eyes darting to you as you approached him.

“Morgan’s late,” he announced as a greeting.

“He’s not coming,” you said, unable to keep the annoyance from creeping into your voice. “And neither is JJ or Penny.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” you replied with a sigh. “But it’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?”

"What is?"

“That we’ve been set up,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “They’re not coming, and I’m willing to bet they never planned to.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together. “You think they did this on purpose? Why would they—”

“Come on, Reid,” you interrupted. “They’ve been nudging us to talk for weeks. What better way than to leave us no choice?”

Spencer’s gaze hardened slightly. “I don’t need to be manipulated into having a conversation,” he said sharply.

“And you think I do?” You retorted. “I’m not exactly thrilled about being tricked into a dinner date either, if that’s what this is supposed to be.”

“It’s not a date,” Spencer replied quickly, almost defensively.

“Well, that’s one thing we agree on,” you snapped, then sighed, trying to rein in your temper. “Look, I don’t want to argue. Let’s just forget this ever happened and go home.”

There was a pause as Spencer looked around, his eyes settling back on you. “You want to go home?”

“You don’t?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I mean, we’re already here. Might as well stay and eat. It’s not like I have any better plans.”

You blinked, taken aback by his response. A part of you had expected him to jump at the chance to escape, but here he was, suggesting you to stay.

It seemed like a bad idea. The tension, the potential for awkward silences, the possibility of yet another argument—it all pointed to leaving being the better option. But against our better judgment, you found yourself considering his suggestion more than you wanted to admit.

Maybe it was the hunger gnawing at your stomach, or perhaps it was the realization that leaving now would only make things more awkward the next time you saw each other. Dinner with Spencer was the last option you’d choose, but it was better than coming home to an empty fridge.

“Fine,” you finally said, brushing past him. “But you’re paying.”

Spencer looked momentarily surprised but then nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked into the restaurant, but immediately stopped in your tracks when you took in the setting. This wasn’t just a restaurant, it was a place designed for dates. The realization made you pause as you looked around the room in horror.

The dim lighting cast a soft glow on polished wood and fine china, while a gentle melody played subtly in the background, setting an unmistakable romantic mood. Just as you were taking in the scene, a hostess approached with a warm, inviting smile. 

"A table for two?" 

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks as you realized how the evening was poised to look. Turning slightly to gauge Spencer's reaction, you found him even more flustered, his face turning a shade redder as he stammered a response. "Uh, yes, that's—um, that will be fine."

The hostess nodded and led you to a small, intimate table near the window. Spencer fidgeted with the strap of his bag as you both sat down, his eyes darting around the room before finally settling on you. "This is... not exactly what I expected.”

You took the menu from the hostess before she left you both alone. “I’m going to kill them,” you muttered, shaking your head.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit extreme.”

You sighed, flipping through the menu without really seeing it. “They’re always meddling. They don’t know when to stop. I'm also convinced that being locked earlier was also part of their plan. And this—this is just so...” 

“Annoying?” He offered.

“Infuriating,” you emphasized, throwing your hands up. “It’s infuriating. And embarrassing. And—”

“And yet, here we are,” he cut in, feeling the same way. Spencer paused for a moment, then leaned in slightly, sending you a pointed look. “You know, maybe we should just give them what they want.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s a fact that humans are generally satisfied when they get what they want. And since what our friends want is for the two of us to get along, maybe we should just... pretend that we do.”

“Reid,” you pressed, mirroring his posture as you leaned forward. “They don’t want us to just get along. Look around us. They want us to really get along.” 

Spencer paused, considering your words, his gaze lingering on the candlelit table and the other couples around, deep in conversation. He seemed to realize the full extent of the setup, the romantic undertone that wasn't simply incidental but intentional.

“You’re right,” he finally responded, leaning back in his seat. “Forget what I said. It was stupid.”

You studied him as he opened the menu, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his face. He was right. Not only was it stupid, it was crazy. Pretending to be civil with him was one thing, pretending that you shared some kind of unspoken, lingering feelings was another thing. The mere thought of it made your heart race, but you couldn’t tell if it was from anxiety or nervousness.

You quickly shook your head. It was ridiculous. How could you even begin to pretend to have feelings for someone with whom you shared such a complicated past? How could you act like there was something more between you when the reality was so different?

The whole idea was far-fetched, almost laughable. You couldn’t imagine yourself romantically involved with him, even if it was just for pretend.

[majestativa]

In contrast to the bacchant of Dionysos, whom the imagery associates with figures of Maenads along with their exuberant escort of Satyrs and Silenoi, we must distinguish what Euripides calls a “bacchant of Hades” (Haïdou bakchos) who is compelled by the rabies of a frenzied madness, Lussa, to dance while playing a tune of terror (Phobos) on the flute.

— Jean-Pierre Vernant, The Medusa Reader, transl by Thomas Curley & Froma I. Zeitlin, (2013)

[archaeologicalnews]

3,500-year-old burial of Nubian woman reveals 1 of world's earliest known cases of rheumatoid arthritis

The 3,500-year-old pockmarked skeleton of an ancient Nubian woman could be one of the earliest known cases of rheumatoid arthritis in the world, scientists say.

Archaeologists discovered the woman's skeletal remains in 2018 while conducting excavations at a cemetery located along the bank of the Nile near Aswan, in southern Egypt. Analyses revealed that she would have stood around 5 feet (1.5 meters) tall, been around 25 to 30 years old when she died and lived sometime between 1750 and 1550 B.C. The researchers published their case study in the March issue of the International Journal of Paleopathology.

Because the skeleton was so well preserved and contained most of its bones, including its hands and feet, the researchers were able to conduct a thorough osteological analysis of the remains. Read more.

[thesimsresourceofficial]

Addressing the Recent Changes to TSR's Artist Program

Hi everyone,

I’m writing today to address the recent changes to TSR's Artist Program and the concerns that have been raised by members of our community. We understand that these changes have caused a lot of frustration, confusion, and disappointment. We want to provide full transparency about why these decisions were made, how they affect our current and future artists, and what this means for the TSR community moving forward.

Firstly, I want to apologise for the way the restructuring of the Artist Program was handled. I acknowledge that the communication our artists initially received could have been better. It was always our intention to follow up with support, feedback, and advice, which we are doing now. The communications for a loss of badge at TSR is structured, and I understand how this has created confusion and hurt. Please know that we are committed to maintaining an open line of communication with these former artists, we have been following up with all artists affected, and we will continue to support them in any way we can.

Why These Changes Were Necessary

TSR’s Artist Program, which has been home to nearly 200 talented paid artists, had not undergone a thorough evaluation in years. This lack of oversight led to a situation where the program became financially unstable and exposed to significant risk. Without proper management and planning in previous years, the program was not sustainable. If we hadn’t addressed these risks, it would have jeopardised the long-term viability of the program, threatening our ability to fairly compensate artists and sustain the community that depends on their creativity.

It’s also important to highlight that these financial constraints had prevented us from inviting new artists, promoting Select Artists or increasing pay for current artists, leaving over 100 talented creators waiting for up to 3 years for an opportunity to advance. 120 Artists have now finally been promoted, rewarded and acknowledged for their outstanding contribution to TSR, but unfortunately their achievements have been overshadowed by information spreading online.

Why This Was Done

The changes we implemented were not easy, nor were they taken lightly. The difficult decision to let some artists go was made to ensure that the program could continue to operate sustainably and support the 120+ artists who remain with us. Many of these artists rely on TSR for their livelihood, with some coming from countries where the additional support they receive from TSR is vital.

As part of our thorough evaluation process, we assessed the performance of each artist by analysing the value they brought to the platform relative to the investment made in their work. This included reviewing metrics such as engagement with their content per dollar spent. We deeply appreciate the work of our artists, but the financial outcomes unfortunately did not align with the investments that were being made, and we had to make difficult decisions based on these findings to ensure the overall sustainability of the program. In doing so, we were able to fairly compensate all remaining Artists.

Addressing Misinformation

We want to address the misinformation that has been spreading online. Some are claiming that more artists were let go than actually were. In reality, a number of the artists included in these rumors were not let go—they left on their own terms a few months ago. Furthermore, several of the artists who were let go had been inactive for longer than the agreed period and were fully aware of the terms they had agreed to. Some of the named Artists are actually still with us, and have been caught up in this for no reason at all other than by assumptions or a lack of research. It’s important to clarify that this is not a traditional job where someone is “fired.” TSR is a user-generated content platform that compensates artists generously based on their performance on our site.

Spreading incorrect information hurts the 120+ artists who are still part of our community. These creators have continued to pour their time, talent, and passion into their work, and they deserve your support too.

The communications with the former artists ensured they would still be paid for all remaining works they have done with us. It also included that if circumstances ever change, they would always be welcome back as an artist. We do not forget the hard work that has been done, and we do care.

Looking to the Future

Our evaluation process was thorough and took into account numerous factors, including each artist's contribution, consistency, quality of work, and the community's engagement with their creations. We are committed to maintaining a program that is fair, transparent, and supportive of our artists.

Moving forward, we will continue to refine the program to ensure it remains financially viable while fostering the incredible creativity of our artists, to prevent situations like this from happening again. We are also dedicated to providing a community where artists can thrive, receive the recognition they deserve, and be part of a vibrant, supportive environment.

Conclusion

This has been a challenging period for everyone involved, but we believe these changes were necessary to secure the future of TSR’s Artist Program. We remain committed to our artists, our community, and the values that TSR stands for. We hope you will continue to support our artists as we work to build a sustainable and thriving platform for creators.

Thank you for your understanding, your support, and your dedication to the TSR community.

Sincerely, Queenie, Creative Ops Manager, The Sims Resource

[kexing]

i want to take a moment to thank the creators that blessed our bl fandom in 2023. we’d be nothing without your stunning gifs and edits, touching fanfics, thorough analyses and hilarious memes.

thank you soooo much for blessing us every day with your endless effort, dedication, love and amazing talent! and may we see each other in 2024 ❤️

@taeminie @seatawinan @loveisactivated @jimmysea @guzhu-furen @gunsatthaphan @daymork @alexshenry @dragonsareawesome123 @itsallaboutbl @seatawinans @baek1nho @yohankang @spicyvampire @mymycorrhizae @athousandbyeol @blmpff @wanderlust-in-my-soul @sparklyeyedhimbo @pranpats @milkpansa @raypakorn @ahxu-laowen @forcebookish @forcebookcorner @morkofday @chinzillas @seajimmy @selenophiles92 @dimpledpran @i-got-the-feels @bengiyo @benkaaoi @25shadesoffebruary @mooninagust @moonkhao @smittenskitten @respectthepetty @thisautistic @elliebirdwrites @earthfluuke @pharawee @khaotunqs @pranink @gabrielokun @piningintrovert @ahxiang @taikanyohou @zhaozi @markpakin

feel free to add your favorite creators to this post! let’s spread the love!!!

[znoots]

Tom Riddle headcannons Part 2.

Puzzles / board games.

• enjoys certain puzzle like games like chess , sudoku, even mahjong solitaire. Mainly games that get his brain thinking. I’d also think he’d be the type to play the crossword puzzles at the back of newspapers.

• will gladly partake in any puzzle games if you find more . I think he’d have ago at unsolved murder mysteries though it’s more like he walked in on you trying to solve it and ended up joining in.

It would go roughly something like this:

“What’re you doing”

“I’m trying to solve this murder mystery wanna join?”

“I’m busy maybe later dear”

Though after watching you kerfuffle about, he eventually puts his work aside to help you.

Watching you struggle was amusing to him because he had been watching you play and already knew half of the character links while you were practically losing sanity trying to work out the links between the characters and answers.

He makes his way over to you sitting beside you and starts to analyse the situation. After some back and forth conversation from him you start to understand some of the patterns.

It’s from then you realise how good he is with puzzle games.

He’d probably buy a set himself and it eventually becomes a guilty pleasure.

• your date nights are probably more inside activities than outside. Of course the occasional trip to hogsmeade but in general you’d probably be inside playing a board or puzzle game.

Chess : You mainly came across him playing chess as a relaxer or stimulant to keep his mind at bay. He’d play by himself moving both white pieces and black pieces.

And it’s from there you also learnt how to play.

The scenario probably went something like this :

If you already know a bit about chess

You walk into the library finding his usual spot, he’s usually somewhere deeper in the library to avoid commotion or unwanted attention.

You walk up behind him giving him a slight hug when you look over his shoulder to see him playing chess.

He’d be moving the pieces quite rapidly so it took you some time to understand why he was moving certain pieces to certain places.

You’d ask him questions while he’s playing and he’d give you a brief explanation.

You nod and continue to watch him play until he finishes or eventually averts his attention back to his books.

“Can I play against you perhaps?”

“Sit.” He said extending his hand to a seat

Tom is definitely good , to say the least and often you’d be stuck or move your chess piece to a position where he’s able to easily counter it.

After some short matches , he’d probably give a book on chess so you can play by yourself while he studies next to you.

He glances over every once in a while to see how you’re doing making some adjustments and explaining why he’d move certain pieces to certain positions, he also does this mid match so you have a better understanding of why.

Eventually he incorporates a Fischer clock to see how you work under pressure. He’d also do this to strengthen what you already know and how to play your pieces smartly.

Though if you don’t know anything about chess

Then he’d try and be more thorough while explaining.

It probably takes you a while to adjust but after a few sessions you eventually grasp the concept.

His play style would be more laid back trying to accommodate you as best as he can to the game.

Your sessions usually go something like this :

“No you can’t move that there.”

“Why the hell not”

He rolls his eyes moving your piece back and explains why.

“Ohhhh ok”

“…You’re moving the pieces wrong again”

“I thought I could move my Knight there?”

“No darling look”

This basically goes on back and forth until you eventually understand the basic rules.

He probably finds you reading the chess book he gave you in lesson to which he smiles at.

Though he realises how determined you are to learn when you genuinely start bringing it everywhere with you. And I mean everywhere.

To breakfast , to lunch , dinner. In lesson your probably asking him about certain moves and the limitations of the pieces to which he answers but eventually tells you to shut up and focus before you fail the class.

He even saw you attempt to take it to the bloody bathroom once to which he snatched it out your hands.

“That isn’t necessary is it.”

“🤗😙”

He’d buy you a chess board so you can grasp how to play against yourself and how to counter certain moves.

You may even get yourself a Fischer clock to truly test yourself though this doesn’t happen after a longggg while. You instead jot down where your pieces move to for future plays.

He truly didn’t expect you to take it as seriously as you have but he’s honoured either way. He finds it quite adorable how you’re willing to spend so much time just to end up getting checkmated after moving a piece wrong, but he’s commending you for trying either way.

It takes some time to learn how he plays and how to beat him but if you do win against him he’s definitely proud of you. He feels a twinge of warmth when he sees how happy you are.

[scarlovebot]

DIRTY HANDS

Natasha romanoff x female reader

Summary: Natasha is taken back by your dominant attitude

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧

as the moonlight travels, a welcoming soft glow shimmers through the slight ajar curtains.

Beams of light pour into the almost silent bedroom, painting golden waterfalls across your Pictionary walls.

As the sunlight beams into your dazed eyes, squinting in satisfaction as the day has begun. With a slight groan escaping your lips, you unlace your hands turning swiftly to face the person who made everyday worth it.

you gaze upon the sleeping women in front of you, setting yourself the task of analysing every inch of her beauty.

the way her messy red hair framed her sharp jawline perfectly, making you melt right there and then.

Running your fingertips over the sight on display, tangling each finger into her locks, the softness reminding you of her tenderness.

her rough and bruised lips telling a thousand stories, some of which your yet to have heard. The assassin snored softly, whimpers eluded only leaving your mind to wonder, what she was dreaming about.

Natasha was a women who knew of her power, making those in her presence scramble to leave as quickly as possible.

But not you

Within the first couple encounters between the two of you, it’s was undeniable that the widow was meant to come into your life.

deep down inside, under all those battered layers you could see just how much she wanted to be loved. And in that moment you made a vow to be her constant, conveying the intimacy she craved and adoration all the time.

falling out of your daze, meeting with glistening emerald eyes which could easily be lost in.

Your hands found warmth, caressing her rosy cheeks then moving upwards to wipe away the sleep which littered around her sparkling globes.

the women hummed in a low tone, her voice still croaky from slumber

“are those hands cleans детка?” she questions with a risen eyebrow

Great, our soft moment was ruined with her dirty thoughts.

Your mouth agape

“Seriously Natasha, you’re worried about the cleanliness of my hands when you know exactly where they have been” proceeding to roll your eyes in fake annoyance.

The women had no right to make such a comment, she’s the one who’s draped over the bed in little to no clothing. At least you had the decency to cover up, even if it was a pair of Natasha’s underwear.

Although you knew she didn’t mean to be snarky, you decided to have your fun.

Using your dirty hands to roll over and push away from Natasha, finding a seat on the edge of the bed, only to leave her eyes staring at your naked back.

With a huff and puff, you placed both hands either side of the soft cotton sheets, in line with your hips with the intention of leaving the bed to further on the day.

before even testing out your leg strength you were violently pulled back down, your head nestling into Natasha’s torso.

A loud squeal escaped, followed by childlike giggles

you really couldn’t hold it together for 5 minutes.

“I’m sorry, I love your filthy hands” she spoke

Biting your lip, you question “is that so? Then why don’t you get your hands this filthy?” pointing at the women’s bare chest emphasising the fact that your always the one to end up with the dirty mittens.

Natasha’s eyes widen with torment, she secretly loved it when you’d become dominant. Even if it was for a short moment of time.

Her soft hands trail around your chest, she took this time to think about the situation: was it really her turn to quite literally get on her hands and knees at your beg and call?

At this point you felt pleasure with her softest movements, you liked to treat Natasha as a princess so realistically, you don’t mind doing what she wants.

The women decided with an answer, moved with quick intentions.

grasping your muscular shoulders and pinning you underneath her in one motion.

She was a women of many talents

“тигр, I assure you that my hands will need a thorough wash after this…”

The remaining hours of your day were left locked away in the bedroom, and from that point onwards Natasha vowed to always clean her hands.

[fossilprep]

There's a lot this article touches on, but the parts about fossil preparation are kind of in poor taste. I'll go over some of it under the cut.

There's a reason we usually don't publish on things we prepare. They say it right here - we can literally, whether purposeful or accidental, modify fossils as we see fit. We could imitate pathologies or create marks with air scribes or picks that are misinterpreted as pathologies, remove or obscure parts of a fossil that may be diagnostic, etc. (Of course we don't endear to do these things, they're just possible).

Whether through inexperience or poor dexterity some budding preparators can cause damage that only someone with a trained eye could notice. Preparators aren't always required to be trained in the sciences or have thorough anatomical knowledge, and thus can reconstruct things wrong, without scientific guidance. Like filling holes where there's supposed to be… holes! Like a fenestrum or foramen, for example. This is why we have references, but more importantly, we do the minimum unless instructed to do otherwise by a supervisor or exhibits team - one of a few scenarios where a curator can rightfully step in.

This is why we're trained to preserve almost any bone we see. Often there are small isolated bone chunks hovering in matrix that are thrown in a box with the specimen. A lot of pieces can't be reattached because they're too weathered or of indeterminate origins (“IBF’s” for short).

"Creating" something "artistic" is another way of implying we're making it up as we go.

If someone hands me a fossil and tells me to look at this "multimedia sculpture", I'd be confused. It's a fossil, not an art project.

Academic fossil preparation is fundamentally a scientific endeavor that also requires artistic abilities, but not creativity. We use various methods that are tried and true (and sometimes experiment with new ones) to expose an element from matrix.

The act of preparing a fossil is not providing new data. The fossil itself is the data. We just make it available. That being said, if we provide measurements, take and analyze samples of the matrix for various analyses, then that's providing valuable data. Would that warrant an authorship? Maybe.

This raises another question though. If anyone who worked on a fossil gets an authorship, then can authorship compound?

The person who found the fossil but didn't do anything with it afterwards - just dug it up and sent it to the lab, for example. Do they get to be an author? On our field crews we have up to 30 people over the whole season. 30 coauthors and 99% of them are not scientists.

The collections manager who just painted a number on it, catalogued it, and put it away?

How about the curator who allowed a researcher access to the collection who didn't collect any data but just answered some emails and opened the drawer for it to be studied?

The land owner who gave you permission to dig?

Finally, the preparator who just exposed it from the rock. They do more science inherently than the others, but if no parts of the scientific method were conducted and no data was produced (save for the fossil simply being brought back into the world), do they get an authorship?

tl;dr We don't need authorships for the act of preparing fossils unless we provide data and go through the scientific process (like what's usually required for any authorship). Many parts of the process is not science. Just acknowledge our work in your paper and we'll be more than happy.