hey so don't use this. RabbelLabs, the company actually creating this platform, trains AI models. Jack Dorsey is best friends with Elon Musk and they both advocate constantly for the abolition of IP law because it stands in the way of AI 'growth' (theft). They're banning AI on the platform so they can use it as a clean slate to train more fucking AI. They're also using images of Divine, the drag queen, to push their shit and I guarantee they didn't get permission from her estate.
The DiVine website says that it's made by Rabble.
If you go to their website you can find this:
if you click that And Other Stuff you're taken to an entirely different website that explains what all that 'other stuff' is: five pillars of building Nostr AI.
You have to wonder why they're hiding it, right? Why is it so hard to find? Why register an entirely different domain (it's andotherstuff.com, not like rabblelabs.com/andotherstuff) just to talk about the AI stuff you're doing if you're so proud of it?
Stop simping for billionaires just because they jingle keys in your face, start doing some fucking research.
Guys, I’m crying. 2x12, Spencer and the little magic trick. Hotch tells him that he’s getting some distance with them, BUT in the Hungarian dub he goes, “We’re gonna sell you to the circus.”
Alright, true to my multifandom bullshit, I swiping something I see frequently in the Simon Snow fandom and using it for my current 5+1 fic. It's kind of nsfw, so I'm going to put it below the cut.
No tags because I don't want to make anyone feel pressured, but please please feel free to join and post whatever smutty thing you're working on!
From the fic I'm currently working on. It's essentially five time Spencer dreamed about fucking you and the one time he did. Which that may actually be the title for the fic, I haven't decided.
You roll your body against his and his breath hitches in his throat. He’s almost positive he’s going to pass out, but you seem positive that he’ll be just fine. You place a hand on the back of his head and pull him down, pressing your lips against his in a kiss that’s just as hot as the air surrounding the two of you. Your tongue slips into his mouth like it’s where it belongs, and he’d almost like to argue that is it exactly where it belongs. He can taste the fruity cocktails you’ve been drinking on your lips. He’s not sure how you manage to drink so many and stay on your feet, he feels like he’s drunk already.
When I'll post it, I have no clue. But it's currently my only WIP and I'm at 2.6k words. Which, for having had wrist surgery less than two months ago, I'm happy with it.
do u ever get a comment on a fic thats just so sweet that ur like Maybe slaving over 24k of fanfiction was worth it for user SprinkleTrashcan2012 to leave a three paragraph comment
Holy - not like an angel - but like something worshipped that people will never truly understand.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Summary: Literally just.. munch Spencer worshipping you
Warnings: NSFW content, minors do not interact, oral (fem receiving), brief hair pulling, inaccurate religious comparison, worship kink, glasses reid, munch reid
W/C: 0.6k
A/N: I have not written anything in two/three years, aside from academic papers. Also, I'm not religious, but this still felt a tiny bit wrong.
Inspired by the song Deity by Valeree and no higher being than you
Spencer Reid did not believe in God. He was a man of science, of course. He had seen too many horrors of the world for him to believe that there was someone out there who knew it was happening, and did nothing. Not to mention that religion wasn’t exactly a topic of his childhood. Who would even answer his questions? Not his mother, and surely not his father. This doesn’t mean he hasn’t read the Bible, of course he has. He just doesn’t see it as factual. As stated, he’s a man of science. He didn’t believe in religion.
Then he saw you.
There was something about you that made him question. When Spencer first saw you in the bullpen, he couldn’t look away. The way your hair cascaded down your shoulders. The way the light hits your eyes. The way you carried yourself with such certainty. He’d never had any want or need to get on his knees and pray, but he’d do it if you asked him. He’s quite positive he’d do anything if you asked him to in your cherry sweet voice.
Spencer has stepped foot in churches before, but never before for a Sunday mass. It was often when it related to a case, which also meant that you frequently entered beside him. The sun would cast through the stained-glass windows and light you up in a plethora of colors. Spencer knew he talked a lot. He knew that people often wished he’d just shut the hell up. When he looked at you, he was often speechless. His mind was still racing, but he would be too tongue-tied to spit out what he wanted.
He didn’t need to. Something in your eyes told him that you knew. The kind of high you gave him was something uncomparable to the previous highs he’s known. And you were not something he could possibly build a tolerance to.
When he first kissed you he was positive he had learned what Heaven was. He could’ve died happy with his lips pressed to yours. With his tongue dancing in your mouth. He couldn’t get the taste of you off his mind, not that he’d ever want to. He knew then, his soul wouldn’t settle until he had tasted all of you. He was so greedy for a taste of you. It’s a good thing he didn’t believe in Hell, he knew his greed would’ve landed him a firm place down there.
Between your thighs his mind was silent. There was nothing more to think about than your taste and the way you cried. Your fingers in his hair, your thighs squeezing his head, the way you gasped and fucking whimpered when you were close. This was all he needed in life. This was all he needed from life. He didn’t need a church when he could fall to his knees and pray and worship all the same.
He wouldn’t need another altar, there was a perfect one nestled between your plush thighs. That thought alone would definitely land him in Hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn with his tongue buried in your cunt. His nose rubbed against your clit, his breath fogged his glasses that he hadn’t cared to remove. Why would he? Without them he can’t look up and see your heavenly face.
“Spencer,” you cried in a breathless moan, yanking at his brown locks.
He moaned, his face still buried between your thighs, the vibration of it making you practically sob in pleasure. He moved his mouth to wrap his lips around your clit, his fingers taking his tongue’s place when you whined at the empty feeling. His tongue swirled around your clit, his fingers curled inside you. Above him you trembled, your back arched, your mouth fell open.
The way your body moved as your orgasm hit you was divine. Just as divine as your taste on his tongue. When you came and your thighs clenched around his head he felt holy.
Spencer Reid does not believe in God. He doesn’t have to. He has you.
Early seasons Spencer living to eating you out and moaning n whimpering at how you feel on his tongue, desperately trying to keep himself from cumming from your taste alone.
this. every time you lose someone important, people often say that it won't get easier and it won't go away but you'll find it easier to deal with. (which I've always thought meant the same thing? whatever)
but it's okay if your grief gets easier!! and it's okay if your grief doesn't look like other people's grief!!
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader | WC: 1.6k | CW: Angst, no use of Y/N, mention of cheating, reader was dating a man, crying.| Summary: reader got cheated on - Hotch is there to pick up the pieces
The weight of your phone felt heavier than it should have in your hand as you stared at the screen. The text was still there, glaring at you, a brief, emotionless exchange that had just ended your relationship. You couldn't feel much, not at first. There was shock, a numbness that spread through your body like ice. Your partner had cheated— of all things he had cheated. And it wasn’t even a messy confession or an argument where the truth slipped out. It had been revealed so casually like it didn’t matter.
Your thumbs had moved faster than your brain, sending a few bitter replies before cutting off contact completely. Now, you sat alone at your desk, a dull ache blooming in your chest, your breath shallow. He had taken all the air out of your lungs and drained every bit of hope you had put into him. The thought circled through your mind—I tried. I tried for him. I gave everything, but it wasn’t enough.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling slightly. The words blurred on the screen, and you blinked back the tears clouding your vision. That was it. It was over. You stared at the empty chat thread—his response was short, dismissive, almost as if what had happened didn’t matter. As if you didn’t matter.
You rubbed your hands over your face, trying to swallow the knot in your throat. You were supposed to be working—on a case, of all things—but the walls of the BAU felt tighter than ever. The world outside of this room, outside of the text that had wrecked your day, seemed far away.
As you leaned back in your chair, your thoughts spun—how long had it been going on? Did the moments you’d spent together mean anything at all? The memories felt tainted now, like ink smeared across a once beautiful piece of art. You'd done everything right. You tried to make it work. But it was over. And it was time to face that truth, even though it burned.
It felt like a punch to the gut, that revelation. He had betrayed you in the worst way possible, and all you got in return was a half-hearted apology and an empty text saying it wasn’t a big deal. You should’ve seen it coming, right? But you’d held on, hoping that things could change, that he could change, despite the cracks that had started to show months ago.
The pain was suffocating. You stood up from your desk, pacing the room, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on your chest. But it wasn’t going away. It was just getting worse. You'd loved him, believed in him, and he tossed you aside like you were nothing. He'd broken you in ways you never thought possible, and now you had to pick up the pieces.
Again.
Your thoughts spiraled as you stared out of the window, lost in a haze of disbelief and hurt. You wanted to scream, to throw something, anything, to just feel something other than this emptiness inside. The room felt too small, too confining, and your heart ached like it was splitting in two. Maybe it was. Maybe that’s what happens when you give someone everything, and they rip it all apart.
The glass door into the BAU creaked open, and Hotch’s presence filled the room before you could even look up. He stepped inside, his brow furrowed, as usual, a file in hand. His eyes scanned over you, a practiced intensity in them, as though he was ready to talk about whatever work issue had brought him here. But then, he stopped.
“Are you okay?” Hotch asked, his voice soft but carrying that steady authority. It wasn’t a question he asked often, and when he did, it was because he already knew the answer. He had this way of reading people—of reading you—like any of the case files that came across his desk.
You tried to swallow the lump in your throat, brushing a hand through your hair as you shook your head. You forced a weak smile, but your throat tightened, betraying the façade. “It’s nothing, Hotch. Just… work stress.” You waved a hand dismissively. But the lie tasted bitter on your tongue. The raw emotion in your voice gave you away, and you knew Hotch could see it. He always could.
He stood there, watching you closely, then set the file down on your desk without a word. It was the first time you'd seen him hesitate. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”
You wanted to hide it, to shove the pain down and pretend like you hadn’t just lost someone who wasn’t even worth the heartbreak. But this was Hotch—someone you trusted more than anyone. Your lips parted, and the words came tumbling out before you could stop them.
You felt your walls crumbling, the mask you’d tried to wear falling away as the weight of everything hit you all at once. Your chest tightened, and you tried to hold it in, but the pain surged forward, unstoppable.
“I broke up with him,” you said, your voice trembling. “He… he cheated on me.”
Hotch’s entire body went still. His expression, once concerned, darkened with something else entirely. His jaw clenched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. It was as though he was holding back from storming out and finding the man who had hurt you. “He what?”
You nodded, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I tried, Hotch. I really tried. I wanted it to work, but… it’s over. He didn’t even care.”
The room was heavy with the weight of your admission. You had never seen Hotch angry like this—at least, not for something personal. His dark eyes were clouded, and the controlled, calm leader of the BAU was nowhere to be found. But then, just as quickly as it had come, the anger softened, replaced by something much gentler, much deeper. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush the tears from your cheeks, his touch soft, careful, as if you might break at any moment.
“Did he tell you? Or did you find out another way?”
The look in his eyes was enough to make you swallow thickly. It was protective, fierce, as though he was barely keeping himself together. You hadn’t known it then, but Hotch loved you. And the idea of someone hurting you, betraying you, was enough to make him want to hunt down the bastard who had done it.
“He told me,” you muttered, looking down at your lap. “Like it was nothing. Like I didn’t matter.”
Hotch inhaled sharply through his nose, his hands flexing. For a moment, you could tell he was fighting the urge to walk out and do something rash, something you knew he would regret.
“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, and there was something deeper in his voice, something that made your heart skip a beat. “You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “He didn’t deserve you.”
You sniffed, wiping at your face as you tried to pull yourself together. “I just… I don’t know what I did wrong.”
Hotch shook his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was firm. He moved to sit beside you, his presence somehow grounding in all the chaos that had filled your head. “This is on him. Not you.”
The conviction in his voice made your breath hitch. You stared at him, taking in the intensity of his gaze, the way he looked at you as if you were the most important thing in the world. Your heart twisted painfully. You had never seen him like this before.
“He wasn’t worth your time,” Hotch continued, his tone softening even more. “You deserve someone who will fight for you, someone who will never hurt you like that.”
You could feel yourself breaking down again, the tears coming back, and you didn’t fight them this time. You didn’t have the strength to. Instead, you let yourself fall, collapsing into Hotch’s arms as he caught you without hesitation. He pulled you close, holding you tightly against his chest, his hand stroking your back in soothing circles.
For the first time all day, you felt safe. The ache in your heart hadn’t gone away, but being here, with Hotch, made it bearable. He didn’t say anything more, just held you, and somehow, that was enough.
For a few moments, neither of you said anything. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, and he seemed to understand that you needed the silence.
“I wanted it to work,” you whispered between sobs. “I really wanted it to work.”
“I know,” he said softly, his hand soothing as he rubbed slow circles on your back. “You deserve so much more than what he gave you.”
As he held you, a thought crossed your mind—Hotch had always been there. He had always cared, always looked out for you. And as he held you now, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, you wondered if maybe he had cared more than you’d realized.
You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes, something soft and warm, but it wasn’t pity. It was deeper than that. It was understanding. It was… love.
You blinked, trying to process the moment, but the sadness and exhaustion weighed you down too much to explore it further. Instead, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. Hotch didn’t hesitate.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure why.
Hotch shook his head, his expression tender. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and for a moment, the world didn’t feel so broken. In his arms, you could breathe again, and maybe—just maybe—your heart wasn’t beyond repair after all.
Because even though everything had fallen apart, Hotch was there to help you pick up the pieces. And this time, you weren’t alone.
