#I call them my sapphic strike team

[spooky-activity]

Squad

[sflow-er]

Interesting thoughts by @bluedalahorse!

Considering Nils mentioned not wanting to be the first gay CEO (Tim Cook who?) and implied that he would be known as such, I'm inclined to think the Polstjerna family company is something with a bigger presence than, say, Bragé Investments. And obviously something that his parents (or at most his grandparents) got very rich off of. Could be one of the export sectors that took off after the early 1990s depression - services, IT industry, telecommunications...? I feel like they could totally be in global telecommunications, but is that too close to what you imagine his partner Jonas doing?

Does anyone else have any ideas to share for the Polstjernas?

I would also like to state here that my fic-background-turned-hc for Walter is that he's from Jönköping, and his family company is in a more traditional line of industry (in my main series of fics, his great-grandfather was an industrialist who bought and renamed a company just in time for the postwar boom). They have since outsourced the manufacturing abroad but the HQ is still there, possibly logistics as well. Oh, and it may be from his mother's side since Henry's dad had recognised his last name and asked if Henry knew his family.

(My hc involves his bio dad having died when he was either little or not born yet and his stepdad being a sort of trust fund baby who was happy to stay home with the kids when they were little. This kind of role model may not be super compatible with Walter's misogynist nonsense in S2, but that could also just be comphet, for example.)

Now, when it comes to Henry, Stella and Fredrika...

What they will be doing could depend quite heavily on their family background. Like, if there's a lot of wealth there, their parents probably don't work as such, apart from sitting on the board for some companies and/or charitable work/fundraising. If the money is old enough, they may not even be involved in the actual operations of the family company. Although if they are part of the aristocracy, they may be more hands-on in managing their ancestral estate, as we heard from August when he was still planning to go to Alnarp and modernise Årnäs.

We know for a fact that Henry is a nobleman with a family estate, so that will probably be his "job" after his dad. But he can definitely invest his money in other things as well, and buying a football team would suit him very well!

There was also a page floating around from an early version of the script, where August referred to Stella and Fredrika as being copies of their mums (I don't remember the exact wording) before pointing to Felice as modern nobility. It's also clear their families have been going to Hillerska for a while.

This kind of makes me suspect they might be noble too or at least old money, and I'm not sure how to read their potential interest in working a paid job. Stella in particular strikes me as not super motivated after cheating in the exam in S1...but I think your idea for her is really intriguing! It could be charitable work as well, and an anti-bullying focus is definitely an area where she has something to contribute.

I like your idea for Fredrika as well, and I think she must have already had some growth to feel ambivalent about scoring the job through her mother!

Personally, I don't have any hcs for Fredrika whatsoever, and I don't know if I have any set hcs for Stella either. But in the fic I am currently working on, Stella is a self-published poet! Or at least that's what she likes to call herself; in actuality, she and Henry co-founded a publishing company to put out her first book of Sapphic heartbreak poems that she had written in the late stages of her and Fredrika's relationship and after their breakup. Neither of them actually works at the company, but they co-own it and have put out more of her books since then. The poetry is critically acclaimed and Stella is well-known in Certain Circles, but she couldn't live off it if she wasn't already rich.

Thinking some more about the futures for minor Hillerska kids on the bus this morning:

I now associate Henry strongly with his love of soccer/football thanks to @sflow-er, so I can see him rather happily owning a soccer team.

Do we have any thoughts about what line of business Nils’s parents are in? I want Nils to start his own company in a similar field as his parents but do something radically different in how he runs the business, such that it causes awkward fighting at holiday dinners. Nils’s partner works in tech or cybersecurity. Nils’s partner’s dog works in Being A Good Girl Who Deserves A Treat.

Stella gets involved in some sort of youth-empowerment work with an anti-bullying focus. Her (former) mean girl status (because she’s had like 7-10 more years to grow as a person, and this work is part of her attempt to atone) means she has helpful insight into the bullies’ mindsets.

Fredrika I imagine studying art history in university and getting pretty passionate about it actually? She has a junior curator job at a museum where her mother is a big donor; she knows it’s her mother’s donations that got her through the door and tries to hide how ambivalent she feels about that. She has perhaps grown less than Stella so far in some ways (and more in others) but her reckoning is on the way.

That’s it for the moment. Thoughts and additions always welcome!

[reidyoulikeabook]

the battery was dead

Ship: GN! Reader x Spencer Reid

Warnings: Mention of case-typical violence (more specifically, a bomb), told from Spencer's perspective and he experiences anxiety about reader having been harmed (they're okay though!), Spencer's self-deprecating thoughts, general mood of anxiety throughout, stressful team situation, big feelings of guilt, very much hurt/comfort.

Word count: 1.6k (i did not intend for this to be this long but it's basically a whole thing)

A/N: This is not what I intended to write today but my brain's on a whole hurt/comfort vibe apparently so here we are: something I wrote all in one go in about half an hour. Oops.

Everybody was in different places when the bomb went off. Spencer was with Derek, in an SUV headed uptown. The explosion was downtown. Where you'd been headed. Alone.

The geographical profile had indicated he wouldn't strike downtown. The geographical profile that he had made. The geographical profile that the team had trusted, that the team had based their assignments off, that had led Hotch to conclude it was safe to send you downtown alone.

"Garcia," Derek answers, putting her on loudspeaker and glancing at Spencer who could be pictured and pasted into the DSM-V as the definition of anxiety right now, "Garcia tell me you can patch everybody through."

"I'm trying," She rambles, her voice pitching upwards, "I'm patching ___ through now I'm trying their cell."

Spencer's leg bounces. It bounces so hard it's a miracle the velocity of it doesn't send Derek veering right across the road. He scratches at his neck. There are no words to be said. No words in any language in the world can describe the fear coursing through his body as he hears Garcia scramble, pressing keys and typing and he's only vaguely aware of Derek's hand coming to rest reassuringly on his bouncing knee, managing to still it just a little bit.

"___ will be fine," He reassures him, "Just fine. I promise. It's not your fault kid, you couldn't have known, how would you have known?"

"It's my job to know."

His tone is bitter, angry, and he feels even worse for it because it's not Derek's fault. Derek is trying to help. Derek is trying to be kind and somehow that's worse because he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anybody's kindness right now and he can't get your face out of his mind. How you'd smiled at him before walking out of the door of that precinct and how it might be the last time he ever got to see you smile and it was all his fault. All his fault.

His stomach is in knots. Garcia's practically smacking her precious equipment in her hurry and then the line goes mute.

"Garcia?" Derek asks again, "Garcia are you still there?"

There's a beat of silence and then the background noise returns, "I'm just trying ____'s cell."

What's taking so long? She could have tried by now. He's never known Garcia to be slow at her job and even though it feels like time has stopped. Fractured like a mirror, throwing off pieces, and he's trapped inside a piece that has all of the horror and guilt he's ever felt in his life staring him in the face. But she can work faster than that. Why isn't she working faster than that?

It all becomes clear as he hears her clack again. Then your voice floods the line.

"You've reached SSA ____ ____ of the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Please leave a voicemail, or if you're calling regarding an urgent matter then please direct your calls to SSA Aaron Hotcher at the following number-"

"Maybe she's already on the phone," Derek suggests, cutting over your recital of his number, "Maybe her line's already busy. Right Garcia, is her line already busy?"

"I can't tell."

She's lying. Spencer knows she's lying and it knocks him sick. He practically wrenches the handle to the window off in his quest to get it open. The cold air pours in and he feels worse. He can't allow himself to bask in any feeling of comfort when you're God knows where.

He can't let himself think like that. He blinks hard, shaking his head as if he can physically remove the images from his brain. They flash through, his neurons defying him as they keep picturing you in worse and worse scenarios, and he can't breathe.

"Pull over," He directs Derek, wrenching off his seatbelt before Derek even manages to get the car in park.

Somewhere amidst all of it, Hotch has been patched through.

"We're convening downtown. Our presence has been requested at the crime scene."

Derek is saying something to pacify him. Or he's telling him something. He can't tell because his head is swimming and then Derek is squeezing his shoulder, physically pulling him back into reality.

"Kid. Listen to me. You're not helping anybody getting yourself all worked up like this. We need to focus. We've got to work this through."

He nods. He nods because Derek is right. They do have to work this through. Even though they would be better working this through without him because he's the one who made the profile that was wrong and his contributions clearly can't be trusted and-

"Put your seatbelt on. Talk to me. Let's talk through how it could have gone wrong."

Derek's voice strikes just the right balance between commanding and reassuring. It always does. So he does it. He clips in the seatbelt and starts to ramble, discussing avenues they haven't explored before, suggesting why he could have been wrong. He's never doubted himself like this before, and it's an uncomfortable feeling. What's more uncomfortable is the realisation he's never failed you like this before.

They pull up to the crime scene. Derek scrambles out of the car, but he pauses for a beat. It's only when Emily opens the door, that he's pulled back into reality again.

"Spencer," She says, "Spencer, come on."

There are SUV'S everywhere. They've tried to contain the scene as much as they could but they needed the bomb squad, needed paramedics, needed FBI.

She's walking him somewhere and he's frantically searching around him, frantically trying to orient himself. It doesn't help that it's dark, gone midnight by now, and the street lights were taken out in the initial explosion. Most of the lights come from torches, or headlamps that people are wearing. It's not enough, he can barely make out Emily let alone find your face in the crowd.

And then he hears it. His name. Your voice.

You found him.

"Spencer," You call, and he can't possibly turn around fast enough.

He barely has before you come crashing into his arms, cinching them tightly around him. He practically scoops you off of the ground, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you as close as he can possibly get you to his body, inhaling the familiar scent of your shampoo and there's tears coming out of his eyes, tears of relief and fear and-

"Spencer," You tell him, sniffling, "Spencer you're kind of crushing me."

You let out a little laugh, and he lets out one too. But it's puffy, practically just air. He releases his grip a bit and you lean up, your arms looping around his neck and playing with the baby hairs situated at the nape of it.

"Spence I'm okay, I'm right here," You reassure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "I'm right here."

You are right here. He can hear the pound of your heart, he can smell your perfume, he can feel you playing with his hair in a way that tickles but is so comforting, so domestic, so reassuring that you still love him despite his fuck up, that he couldn't bring himself to tell you to stop even if he wanted you to.

He doesn't even know he's still crying until he speaks, his voice wavering as it manoveurs past the lump in his throat, "I-Garcia tried calling you. You didn't answer your phone."

"The battery was dead," You tell him, "I plugged it in in the car and next thing I know I'm getting pulled over. I got brought straight here when I told them I was FBI and I tried to borrow somebody's phone to call but they cut off cell reception here in case there was a second bomb."

He swallows. He can't say anything else, can't do anything else. He manages to open his eyes, and you lean up, apparaising him. You thumb at the tears on his cheeks, a kind of softness and love entirely exclusive to you filling your eyes along with a couple of tears. You don't look at him like you're angry. You don't look at him like you're disappointed. You look at him with a kindness he's entirely undeserving of at this moment in time and the thought spurs two more tears out of his eyes.

"What's wrong?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper, "Spence what's wrong?"

"It was my fault," He chokes, his head dipping a bit, too ashamed to make eye contact, "I made the profile. I was wrong. I sent you here, I-I sent you directly into danger."

"It was a copycat," You tell him, "It was a copycat, he didn't get away in time and got caught up in the blast. Our guy is smarter than that, so they think this guy tried to imitate it. It's not your fault. You couldn't possibly have known, you can't profile a person you don't know exists."

The revelation is like foam on a petrol fire. It quells the pain in his chest, the one that had maliciously licked at him, igniting all his own wounds and insecurities.

It wasn't his fault.

He holds onto you even tighter, burying his face in the crook of your neck, "Thank you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For being okay."

"I'm always okay," You tell him, your voice nothing but sincere, "I'm always okay because I always have you."

With that, the fire is out. You reluctantly wiggle out of his arms, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. He's not okay yet. Not entirely. It all still feels surreal, and he knows it'll take a long time for his heart to settle down. But you're here. By his side. And that's enough for now.

In fact, with you? That's enough for always.

-

Permanent Spencer tagslist:

@ssa-m-187 @reidingmelodies @cyanide-mustard @shesalatesh

@sapphic-prentiss @geostarr @kathrynisadogperson @rem-ariiana @spoonielivingfree @starsandshit90 @spencerreidat3am @takeyourleap-of-faith @calm-and-doctor @averyhotchner @muffin-cup @purplewaterbottles082 @reidsnose @wheelsup @ellesgreenaway @sunlitspence @spencerreid9 @drspencerreidd @reiding-recs @bauemily @cmily @retrxbarnes @jhillio @txmhoelland @spenxerslut @amoeebaa @veridianluv @sad-bitch-h0ur @reidtome @converse-spence @randomfavtingswall @bethc54 @sebstan-is-the-man @justanothercrazyfangirl @eli-side-blog @vntgreid @reidmeastory @reidemandweep @ggublerss @s1lverhand @cigarette-day-dread @newtmyheart @i-understood-that-reference @willowrose99 @v-is-obsessive @awesomebooklover17 @youarethereasonimsmiling @xhopingthis-worksx @agentdilf @spencerreidsconverse @nomajdetective @brown-eyedshell @randomficsandshit @bvttercupbby @thatsonezesty13 @spookydrreid @kurtuinna @loverboyspence @jswessie187 @sammicabrera @idontwantyourcookiesthanks @sweetandsunny @reidstulips @midnightstan @stylesstreet @iamhowieson @reichelhache @screennamealreadyused @joyclubie @mrs-dr-reid @measure-in-pain @slaytherinthoughts @inlovewprentiss @citlalireedus @love-you-to-saturn @drayshadow @makailaa @idonotexiste @hercleverboy @disasterwriter @kuolonsyoja @thosecriminalminds @sun-flower-seed @singularityjc @adanae91 @uwu-queen-420 @broken-stardust

Link to join tagslist!

[artificialqueens]

But, I'm a Choir Girl? (Trixya) - thevortex (6/14)

AN: thank you to  @trixya-monsoon for being beta for a bit of this. My grammar isn’t great, thank you for teaching me your english ways.

But, I’m a Choir Girl? Part 6 of 14

Their hot, heavy breaths created misty puffs around them, as they continued their embrace. Tongues hot against each other, a warm welcome compared to the bitter cold that was biting at their cheeks. Trixie remembered her time back at her high school, how Kyle would thrash his tongue wildly against her’s and how he would graze his tongue along her neck like a dog. Now, Katya, was different. She was patient, teasing, longing out the finish. Her tongue played gently across Trixie’s, her smoker’s breath mixing with Trixie’s bubblegum to create an alluring combination that had Trixie’s mouth watering. Katya’s hands were placed in the dip of Trixie’s waist, pulling the girl onto her lap, making Trixie smile demurely into the kiss. Katya left her place at Trixie’s lips and scattered small delicate kisses across the freckles on her cheeks, making her giggle. “What if someone comes outside?” Katya shrugged. “Then they’ll see what a pretty pink sight you are.” Her lips moved from Trixie’s cheek to her neck, the soft buds of her lips puckering against the tender skin under Trixie’s ear. Trixie bit her lip and moaned softly, barely above a breath. She tugged gently at Katya’s top. “I’m serious Katya.” “Mhm so am I.” Katya growled in between little nips and gentle sucks of Trixie’s skin. Trixie giggled, battling off the thoughts in her head about how much she should not be doing this, nor enjoying it as much as she was. She wrapped her legs around Katya’s waist, pulling herself in closer to her, arching her back and neck so their bodies were pressed together, and exposing more neck for Katya to explore with her tongue. Her breath was raspy, as Katya found her sweet spot near her pulse point, sucking gently, leaving a trail of small red marks that were going to be a bitch to cover. Trixie resisted the urge to rip Katya’s clothes off, knowing that would be a step too far and would possibly cause her to catch hypothermia. “This is so bad of us Katya.” Trixie sighed, rocking her hips forwards. Katya wrapped her arms around her, bringing her closer. “Mhmm it’s criminal malysh. I’m such a bad girl.” Katya’s deep voice and her Russian accent almost had Trixie creaming on the spot. She squeezed her eyes shut, burying her face into the crook of Katya’s neck, breaking the seal between Katya’s lips and her neck. Trixie rocked her hips again, her moaning muffled. The two girls were craving the friction, and Katya grabbed Trixie’s butt, dragging her to meet her, both of them whimpering softly at the unbearable contact. They were both so desperate, but reality set in. “Trixie we’re going to miss dinner.” “You could just eat me instead?” Trixie couldn’t quite believe what she was saying. She would never have let herself say anything so compromising against her good Christian values, but every inch of her skin was screaming to be touched, every part that was being touched set aflame by Katya’s lips. Trixie would have given anything to be perpetually tortured like this. “Later, I promise.” Katya pulled Trixie back to allow them both to clash lips once more before finally departing, leaving only cigarette butts and wanton wishes behind.

The would-be couple did not think through their arrival to the dining hall. Their hair somewhat bedraggled, cheeks rosy, lipstick smudged. Not to mention they didn’t stagger their arrival. Chests still heaving, they sat down together, gaining knowing looks from the other patients. Mrs Edwards didn’t seem to bat an eyelash. They said grace, both Trixie and Katya glad to have an excuse to touch each other again. Trixie couldn’t quite believe the development herself. The first day fancying her wildly, knowing they could never be. The second day getting so irritated with her she would’ve done almost anything to avoid the girl. Now they were on the third, and all she could think about was how soft Katya’s lips were against hers. She sighed. “So, Katya, you ran off in quite a hurry. Everything alright ducky?” Jerick asked. “Da, I am okay. Parents are not the nicest. Especially Russian parents.” “That sucks. You should try Jewish parents. Considering the Nazis hated both gays and Jews you’d think they’d form an allegiance. Nope. Guess not.” He sighed and picked at his food. “Oh Trixie, you have a bit of red…” He pointed at his cheek. “..right there.” Trixie blushed furiously and grabbed a napkin, frantically rubbing at her skin to destroy any evidence of her previous antics. Jerrick’s eyes flitted between Katya and Trixie a few times, before they widened, and suddenly decided that his food was more interesting to gawk at than the two girls. Katya couldn’t help but snigger as she took a forkful of spaghetti into her mouth.

Once all of the patients had been dismissed to their rooms, Trixie couldn’t help but lie awake in her bed, hoping that she’d have a visit from a certain someone. Her head was reeling. She could still feel the ghosts of Katya’s kisses against her skin. When she touched her neck, it was still tender. Although she had previously blocked the memory of her time with Pearl, now that she had some kind of bond with Katya, she felt that it was okay. She wouldn’t ever tell anyone, God no. But being touched. Being held, and kissed gently. Having someone purr sweet-nothings into your ear was okay. You were allowed to feel wanted, needed almost. She certainly needed Katya. Her eyes fluttered closed and she arched her back into her hand, whimpering at the touch. She could imagine Katya’s breath on her as her mouth would hover over the soft mounds of her breasts that peeked above her satin nightgown. Goosebumps rose from her skin in anticipation as her nimble fingers sped up. If only Katya could see what a writhing mess Trixie was, her eyes scrunched closed, biting her own lip to stifle any moans that could at any moment erupt from her. Her hand glided across herself with ease, her thighs squeezing together as the muscles of her stomach became more and more tense. With her free hand she grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her face, shortly before gushing Katya’s name into its fabric, and permanently ruining her favourite nightie.

In short, Katya never came that night, but Trixie sure did.

The next morning was filled with hushed voices and concerned looks. Mrs Edwards was in a rage, so Trixie made an extra effort to bustle her curls generously to one side, hiding the pretty bruises Katya had painted the day previously. She had missed breakfast by accident, so went straight to group therapy. She sat down next to Courtney. “Why’s everyone being weird?” Trixie asked in a hushed voice. “Aaron and Justin were sent away for ECT.” Courtney replied. “Violet caught them…you know. Doing it.” “Violet ratted them out?” Trixie’s heart suddenly began to speed up. What if Violet had caught them? “Why would she do that?” “I have no clue. Just be careful. She was quite close with Aaron I thought. That’s why we’re all here. So we won’t hear what’s going on downstairs.” Trixie held Courtney’s hand briefly, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It will be okay, they’ll be okay.” Trixie convincing herself more than Courtney.

The group therapy session involved “demystifying the other sex”. For this, Katya was asked to turn off the lights, and she then sat on the other side of Trixie. Neither of them looked at each other, but both smiled, a small blush rising to the apples of Trixie’s cheeks. Mrs Edwards turned on the projector, flicking through slides, a number of technicolour images flashing up on the screen. “Here we see a woman. Notice how her hair is neat, her makeup is perfected and her dress shows her femininity.” Katya shuffled her chair closer to Trixie’s so that their thighs were touching, only their individual skirts stopping skin-to-skin contact. “Here, we see a man. He is muscular, has facial hair, and wears a flattering suit. The way he stands is a clear indicator of his masculinity, straight, broad shoulders.”  Katya brushed the back of her hand against Trixie’s forearm, causing Trixie to sigh, her hairs prickling at the touch. They were lucky that everyone else was so engrossed in the presentation, so that their little bubble of sapphic secrecy would not be burst. “The man, let’s call him John, notices Mary when at Church. Although he devotes himself to his prayers, he cannot help but notice her when she lights the candles every Sunday at Mass.” Keeping her eyes on the screen, Katya kissed Trixie’s shoulder. Her skin was hot from the sun that trickled through the window. “After Mass, John approaches Mary, and strikes up conversation. Asking questions such as, do you like to read, or do you have any pets? Mary notices how handsome and friendly John is, so answers his questions, creating a conversation which they never want to stop.” “Do you read?” Katya whispered into Trixie’s shoulder, her hand now stroking the exposed skin of Trixie’s knee. “Shhh.” Trixie giggled. “What about pets? Do you like pussy?” Her hand began to rise up Trixie’s leg, her fingers drawing flowers onto her thigh. “Katya what’re you doing?” “Keep your voice down.” Trixie bit her lip at Katya’s sudden dominance, and kept quiet. “Mary agrees to go for dinner with John. They go to a restaurant, and they talk over dinner about their interests. John likes football, Mary likes singing in the choir.” “Sound familiar?” Katya murmured, her lips had moved to ghost over the purple blotches that she was oh so guilty for. Trixie’s heart began to race, she could feel Katya’s hand creep further up her skirt, almost touching her- “Beavers, which is the team that he plays for. She looks at him adoringly, enjoying when he talks. They agree to meet again, this time at her house. She plans to cook him a casserole.” Trixie gasps and grabs Katya’s arm as a finger caressed the fabric of her underwear. Embarrassment washed over Trixie as she realised how wet she must be, and hoped to God that Katya couldn’t feel. Mrs Edwards’ words soon became background, her reality only becoming the pulsing she could hear in her ears, and the shaking breaths of the two girls, excitement getting the better of them. Trixie released her grip on Katya’s arm, and moved to grasp at her skirt, bunching up the material in her fist. She buried her face into Katya’s hair, muffling any ragged breaths that were sure to urge Katya to continue. Katya’s fingertips stroked small circles into her underwear, slowly applying pressure, causing Trixie to attempt to subtly move her hips to meet her touch. By attempt, we mean almost falling off of her chair. Being touched like this, in a room full of people, it was pure sin. Trixie couldn’t deny that the fear of getting caught turned her on more than anything. The lights being turned on again caused the two to pull away from each other as quick as anything. Courtney seemed to have been fully aware of what was going on, as she was struggling to stop her laughing by biting her knuckles. “You two might want to watch out for Violet.” Courtney leant over to say to Trixie, who nodded in earnest, adjusting her skirt so that there was no evidence of the happenings of just a few seconds ago.

The next class lead on quite well from the presentation: makeup class. Courtney was paired with Violet, simply because Katya grabbed Trixie by the elbow and hauled her to a makeshift beauty counter. It was funny to watch them do each other’s makeup. Violet ended up with the least amount of makeup anyone had ever seen her, basically mascara and chapstick, courtney with high eyebrows and dolly red lipstick. Trixie took her time with Katya, sweeping large black lines across her lavender eyelids. And when it came to lipstick, she could feel Katya’s gaze on her as she painted pink onto her gently pursed lips. “You’re staring at me.” “Do you have problem, malysh?” Trixie looked up to see Katya looking at her with kind eyes. “No, are you alright?” “Da, you are just very pretty with my face paint. Red suits you.” “I look like a whore.” “Mhm. How much?” Katya made kissing noises, and Trixie slapped her arm. Mrs Edwards shot them both a look, making the two scoot away from each other an inch or two. “Sorry. I forget we get watched all the time.” “It’s okay.” Their ankles locked under the table. “Oh, I missed a bit, c’mere.” Trixie lifted Katya’s chin with a finger, and touched up the “missed spot”. There was a knock at the door. RuPaul poked his head around the door, scanning the faces until he found Mrs Edwards. “Uhm, Alyssa, there’s been a problem with Mr Coady, you need to come. Now.” “Oh Lord, not again. Okay, uh, Courtney dear, keep an eye? You girls can be good right? No lesbianing.” And with that, the door was slammed, the room void of eyes of judgement. “Trixie?” “Yes?” She put down the lipstick, and met Katya’s gaze. Katya leapt over the table, knocking over numerous bottles and spraying powder everywhere, and cupped Trixie’s face, pulling her in, pink mixing with reds, blending perfectly across their lips.