#d.c. pride

[reidology13]

we could make it better (breaking every habit)

Spencer Reid x fem ex-famous!reader

Summary: After Spencer overcomes his addiction, he seeks out the company and forgiveness of an old flame. cw: talk of addiction, a little sad? mostly fluffy though a/n: technically a part 2 of my fic based off making the bed by olivia rodrigo, but it can definitely be read as a oneshot. maybe they are a bit unhealthy, but they're cute and that's all that matters. also this was so incredibly delayed cause my phone drowned so I'm posting this from my dad's computer

Part 1

They say time heals all wounds, and standing at the door of his past mistake, Spencer hoped it had healed hers the way it had his. It had taken him too long to find her, for his pride to break down enough to ask Garcia to search for her. A few years ago it would have been all too easy, a few years ago she was on the cover of every magazine. Now she was the public's favourite conspiracy theory, the biggest where did she go? post made on some website full of self important nobodies. 

Where did she go? A small house in a small town, a few hours from D.C, just close enough that Spencer had gotten in his car without a second thought the moment he had her address. Maybe it was a slight invasion of privacy, but Spencer had seen much more of her than the house she lived in.

As he lifted his fist to knock, doubt crept in for the first time since the beginning of his endeavour. Was he right to apologise, to show up at the doorstep of the person he hurt worse than anyone else in his life, and say sorry? Sorry. ‘Sorry’ was a puny word that could never hope to mean anything compared to what he had done, how he had used her. But it would have to do, because he had not come all that way to turn back at the flashing neon sign that said ‘CLOSURE’.

Knock, knock, knock. Was three knocks not enough? Knock. God four was too many and the last one had been so separate from the others it was clearly an afterthought that she would think was weird before she even knew it was him on the other side of-

“Spencer?” The door opened, just enough for her face to be visible through the small opening. She was so much more beautiful than he remembered, although he really didn’t remember much from back then. 

“I’m sorry.” Well that was one way to get to the point. He smacked himself internally, scolding himself for being so stupid and inconsiderate, not even saying hello or asking her how she was doing.

“Do you wanna come in? You look like you need to sit down.” She pulled the door open, stepping back to let him in, and Spencer froze. She was allowing him into her home, her space, he who had squeezed her dry, used her up and tossed her aside when he didn’t need her anymore.

Unsure what else to do, Spencer found himself sitting on her couch, the awkward tension between them palpable as he sat silently in regret of every decision he had made in the last week.

“So,” She prompted, gesturing vaguely in his direction, “How are you?”

“Good, yeah, better. You?” He looked around the room, trying to find something that would tell him anything about her life, about her. She was a stranger, really, a stranger that used to be someone he knew. He wanted to know who she was then, on that day, in her house sitting across from him.

“I’m good too. You look better.” He knew what she meant – he didn’t look high out of his mind. The far wall of the room was covered in framed pictures of her and what he assumed were her family and friends. Some were from her childhood, some were taken in front of the very house he was sitting in. 

What surprised Spencer were the photos, though few and far between, where he made an appearance. The Fourth of July party, a bright, sunny photo full of smiling faces. The poor quality of the picture did nothing to disguise the bags under his eyes, nor the dead look in hers. Her birthday, a photo of her blowing out the candles on her cake, blurred from his shaky grip on the camera.

“I don’t remember that one.” He pointed to a picture of the two of them, a dark photo that he nearly hadn’t recognised as himself. The ability to not remember had been his favourite thing back then, now the haze left him with a pit in his stomach.

“Makes sense, you were… you were bad. It was taken right near the end.” 

“I am sorry, really.” Neither of them spoke after that, the silence a warm blanket rather than a thick smog. The apology wrapped around them in a warm embrace, they did not choke on it.

She moved first, after what felt like the most peaceful eternity, slipping her hand around his, holding it in the space between them. He looked down at their joined hands, his gaze slowly drifting up until it landed on the soft smile spread across her face.

“I missed you.” She squeezed his hand gently, although it felt like she squeezed his heart instead, “I missed you from the moment I met you. It’s nice to get you back.”

“I missed you too.” He didn’t know how to explain the way it had taken him a month to get sober enough that reality hit and he realised what he’d lost. At least, he didn’t know how to explain it without having to actually say something about his addiction. He’d always been good at avoiding the topic, skirting around it with suggestions and subtle confirmations. The word ‘addiction’ made him feel weak, like he’d been defeated. He’d talked about his problem once, in a room full of people who had been through the same thing, and even then he hadn’t been able to say it. 

“You’re so strong, Spencer. You’ve come so far.” It was like she could read his mind, see every fear that haunted him and soothe it accordingly.

“So are you, I mean, you got out of everything.” His eyes dropped to his lap in shame of everything that he hadn’t noticed, all of the obvious signs of just how not okay she had been. All that she must have been going through, that he had been too far from reality to know existed, even when it was staring him in the face.

“You say that like you didn’t.” It was a simple sentiment, but maybe that was what hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t some mantra he’d heard hundreds of times, or a complicated conversation with his friends where they tried to talk to him without saying anything that actually mattered.

He got out of it.

“You’re perfect, you know that right?” The way he looked at her in that moment could only be described as reverential, she was the brightest star in a sky that he had never truly seen before.

“No I’m not.” The way she said it like a definite fact made Spencer’s heart start to crack, “Do you know why I have those pictures up?”

Spencer shook his head, “Tell me,” he said the words under his breath, as if they were surrounded by people in the empty room, “I’m not going to find you any less perfect.”

“Hope. I could never get the thought out of my head that you would come back.” She shook her head, gaze locked on the ground like she couldn’t bear to look at him as she spoke. “It was stupid, and then you actually did, and that’s stupid all over again.”

“You’re even more perfect than I thought.” Spencer laughed, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes, happy and sad and something he couldn’t put a name to. She was still holding his hand, he realised, and he used that information to interlace their fingers, placing their joined hands in his spare palm.

“I’m stupid and lucky, that’s what I am.” She snorted, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No, not stupid.” Spencer drew circles with his thumb on her palm as he spoke, “Lucky, maybe.” 

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, us, you know that.”

“Eventually, yes. Not right now.”

“Not right now.” She confirmed, nodding slowly. They were both there, and that would have to be enough, at least for the moment.

[avis-writeshq]

carriage six – spencer reid

summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3

wc: 1.8k

part two: platform ten

Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.

He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts. 

He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.

He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company. 

His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser. 

She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.

Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.

He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.

***

The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book. 

He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.

He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.

“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”

He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”

“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”

You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.

“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”

He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”

His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life. 

“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“

He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you. 

“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”

His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat. 

“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”

You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”

He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”

He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly. 

“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”

“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name. 

Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift. 

Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed. 

“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag. 

“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”

His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

part two: platform ten

[pbaz7]

AGAINST THE TIDE — PART ONE

paige x azzi

trope: enemies to lovers

warnings: language

word count: 4.3k

A/N: I got a lot of request for an enemies to lovers series so here it is! In this one they both grow up in DC/Virginia to give it a better arc and make it more of a slow burn. I'm also going to experiment with POVs more in this series. This first chapter is pretty much just setting the scene on what's caused them to dislike each other so much. Let me know what you think!

---------------------------------------------------------

March 2018 

The gym was alive with the roar of fans, the bleachers packed to the brim as the Washington D.C. Girls Basketball Championship unfolded. The two teams on the court weren’t just competing for a title; they were locked in a battle of pride and supremacy that had been brewing between the schools for years. 

On one side was Gonzaga College High School, led by the blonde, brash point guard Paige Bueckers, the number one player in the class of 2020. Less than 10 miles and a 20-minute drive away was St. John’s College High School, boasting its own star, Azzi Fudd, the number one player in the class of 2021.

The rivalry between their schools ran deep, stemming from heated football clashes that had been going on for decades, but it was quickly spilling over into the girls' basketball programs. Paige made sure of it. She’d been playing with a chip on her shoulder against St. John’s ever since they handed her team a bitter loss in last year’s championship game her freshman year. To her defense, she had been playing on a bum ankle after rushing herself back to help the team in the playoffs, but the sting of the loss had stayed with her. Sp every time she faced St. John’s, Paige was out to prove a point—and tonight was no different.

Azzi, meanwhile, was laser-focused. She didn’t care about last year because she wasn’t there, though she’d heard about it. But what mattered to her was this year, this game and everything going forward. But she couldn’t ignore how insufferable Paige could be. Earlier this season, Gonzaga had handed St. John’s their only loss in conference play, and Paige had been at the center of it, running her mouth the entire game.

“What’s wrong, Fudd? Can’t handle the pressure?” Paige had taunted during their first matchup, grinning as she drained a step-back three. “Don’t worry freshie—I’ll teach you how it’s done.”

Azzi had kept her composure back then as Paige chirped in her ear, but tonight was different. The stakes were higher, the score tied, and Paige was playing like she owned the court.

As Paige brought the ball up the court, her eyes scanned the defense, locking with Azzi’s. That trademark smirk spread across her face.

“Let’s see if you’ve learned anything since last time,” Paige quipped, her voice loud enough for Azzi to hear.

Azzi rolled her eyes, her hands ready, her feet planted. “Maybe you should focus more on scoring then on talking,”

Paige didn’t answer with words; she let her game speak instead. A possession later her quick crossover sent her defender stumbling, and Paige took the opening, driving hard to the rim. Azzi was there in an instant, meeting her midair and forcing her into a tough layup. The ball clanked off the rim, and Azzi grabbed the rebound, her intensity growing.

As she sprinted back down the court, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder. “You should really take my advice, Bueckers, that was pretty bad.”

Paige let out a breathy laugh at finally getting some words out of her, jogging to catch up. “Keep talking, Fudd. You’ll see how it ends.”

The game continued at a blistering pace, the two stars going back and forth, each trying to outshine the other and pull their team to a win. The tension on the court mirrored the years of animosity between their schools, the rivalry growing with every possession.

Azzi hit a pull-up jumper over Paige, earning a roar from the St. John’s crowd as she ran back on defense. Paige came right back, threading a no-look pass for an assist and stopping to blow a kiss to the Gonzaga section of the stands.

Every play, every word exchanged, added fuel to the fire.

For Azzi, it wasn’t just about the championship anymore. It was about shutting Paige up, proving that despite what the media said she was the best player in the DMV. For Paige, it was about reclaiming what she felt was hers—revenge for last year and dominance over St. John’s. It didn’t hurt that she was getting some competition going against the ‘best shooter’ in basketball. 

The crowd could feel it: this wasn’t just any game. They were watching two greats go at it and it was rare to see two household talents come from the same area like this. 

The gym pulsed with energy as the clock ticked down in the fourth quarter. Neither team could pull away, and the intensity between Paige and Azzi burned brighter with every possession.

Azzi moved with purpose, slicing through Gonzaga’s defense and rising for what looked like an easy layup. But Paige came out of nowhere, her hand swatting the ball as it went soaring into the crowd with authority.

“Get that weak shit outta here!” Paige yelled as she flexed both arms, the sound carrying over the roar of the crowd.

Azzi landed hard, her jaw tightening as Paige ran past her. 

Azzi didn’t let it faze her. The next possession, she caught the ball on the wing, her defender sagging just enough to give her space. With a quick dribble, she stepped back, rising for a three-pointer that sailed over Paige’s outstretched hand and splashed through the net.

Azzi held her follow-through for a second longer than necessary, then smirked as she turned to face Paige. “You might wanna put a hand up quicker next time.”

Paige’s eyes narrowed, her grin twisting into something more dangerous. Azzi had no idea how much trash talk fueled Paige's game. “Alright, Fudd. You wanna talk shit now? Bet, watch this.”

The next few plays were a blur of brilliance, all led by Paige. She weaved through defenders with ease, hitting a floater over two St. John’s players. On the next possession, she stripped Azzi at midcourt, sprinting ahead for an uncontested finger roll to add a little extra. The Gonzaga fans erupted, sensing the tide was turning  in their favor.

Azzi tried to respond, driving hard into the paint, but Paige was there again, cutting off her angle and forcing a wild layup that missed off the rim.

“Don’t force it, Fudd,” Paige taunted as she grabbed the rebound and passed the ball up the court. “This is my game now.”

Paige called for the ball on the wing, sizing up her defender before nailing a step-back three-pointer that sent the crowd into a frenzy. Gonzaga’s bench jumped to their feet, and Paige being the competitor she is, turned and gave a little shrug to the St. John’s crowd as she put her index finger to her lip showing that she had silenced them.

Azzi clenched her jaw, glaring at the scoreboard as Gonzaga’s lead stretched to eight. She could feel the championship slipping away, and Paige was at the center of it all with a cocky ass smirk.

The final buzzer sounded moments later, sealing Gonzaga’s victory. Paige’s teammates rushed the court, surrounding her as part of the gym erupted in cheers. Paige soaked it all in, her arms raised in triumph, while Azzi stood frozen near midcourt, her hands on her hips.

Azzi’s chest heaved with frustration as she watched Paige celebrate. She hates losing, but losing to Paige made it so much worse for some reason. Paige caught her eye from across the court, giving her a small, smug wave.

The Gonzaga team revealed in their championship victory, while the St. John’s players trudged back to their bench, disappointment etched on their faces.

The teams soon lined up for handshakes, the air between them still a little tense. To the crowd, it was a display of sportsmanship—players exchanging congratulatory words and polite smiles. But when Paige reached Azzi, the energy shifted.

Paige extended her hand, pulling Azzi in close as if to offer words of encouragement. Her voice dropped to a low murmur, just loud enough for Azzi to hear over the noise.

“Get in the gym, Fudd,” Paige said, her lips curving into a smug grin. “That’s what 2-0 now? Better catch up.”

Azzi’s jaw tightened, and her eyes flashed with irritation. Scoffing, she pulled back, brushing her shoulder against Paige’s as she moved past her.

“You’re such a bitch,” Azzi muttered under her breath, not bothering to look back as she continued down the line.

Paige’s grin widened as she watched her Azzi walk away, the satisfaction of the win lingering just a bit longer knowing she proved she was the number one player for a reason today. 

December 2018

The rivalry between Gonzaga and St. John’s had only gotten more competitive in Paige's junior year and Azzi’s sophomore season. Every time these two teams met, the tension between Paige and Azzi electrified the gym as the crowd fed off of each of them.

Once again the gym was packed, the crowd deafening as Gonzaga and St. John’s went back and forth in a high-energy conference matchup. Paige, with her trademark poise and undeniable confidence, was on fire tonight. She was hitting everything — pull-up jumpers, threes from deep, tough finishes at the rim. With each basket, her smirk grew, and the energy around her was palpable.

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, Gonzaga was clinging to a three-point lead. Paige, however, had already racked up 35 points and was showing no signs of slowing down. As the ball was swung to her on the perimeter, Azzi closed out hard, trying to force Paige to drive, but Paige just gave a sly grin and pulled up for a deep three-pointer as Azzi’s hand was down.

Swish.

The crowd erupted, and Paige didn’t even look at the basket as she turned to Azzi, her smirk widening.

“You might as well put on a Gonzaga jersey, Fudd,” Paige taunted, she jogged backwards to get on defense. “I’m scoring on you every time.”

Azzi’s teeth clenched, her jaw tightening as the frustration started to build. She had already been pushed to her limits with Paige’s relentless trash talk the whole game. So the next time Paige got the ball, Azzi was determined to make a play.

Paige drove past her on the right wing, using her speed and quick handle to get to the basket. Azzi did everything she could to keep up, playing great defense, but Paige made the offense look effortless, finishing with a smooth layup through contact. Paige landed on her feet, staring Azzi down as she straightened up.

“I really should start a clinic,” Paige continued, voice dripping with mock sweetness, “on how to defend me... I’ll give you some pointers after the game if you want.”

Azzi’s temper flared, the words cutting through her like a hot knife. Even the calmest person in the world got a little fed up here and there. She was feeling the heat of Paige’s relentless taunts, and the more Paige scored, the more Azzi’s focus shifted from the game to the battle unfolding between them.

When the ball was passed back to Paige, Azzi moved to cut her off, determined not to let Paige get an easy look this time. But as Paige shifted her body to drive past, Azzi made the mistake of reaching out with a little too much aggression. Her hand caught more of Paige’s arm than the ball as she went up for a shot, sending Paige tumbling to the court with a sharp thud.

The whistle blew immediately. Azzi froze, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn't meant to foul that hard, but the anger that had been building inside her made the contact feel more like a release than a mistake.

As the referee called for the foul, Azzi immediately ran her hands down her face, her face flushed with regret. She hated that she let her emotions get the best of her, especially when it came to a player like Paige. This wasn’t who Azzi was. She was better than this.

Without thinking, Azzi reached down to help Paige up, her voice soft, almost apologetic. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

But before Azzi could finish, Paige yanked her arm away, her face a mask of anger and disbelief.

“Fuck you,” Paige spat, pushing herself off the floor and standing to her full height. She didn’t look at Azzi, her eyes cold and distant, filled with a harsher fire than what Paige usually plays with.

Azzi stood frozen, the sting of Paige’s words cutting deeper than she expected them to. But she deserves it so she took it in stride. The gym felt like it was holding its breath as the physicality increased, but Azzi didn’t want to dwell on the exchange. She turned away from Paige, heading back to her position as the crowd buzzed with tension.

The game continued, and though Azzi fought to keep her head in the game, it was clear the emotional toll was taking its toll on her. Paige, on the other hand, was unstoppable. She drained another three, her confidence soaring. Gonzaga was up by five, then eight. The scoreboard ticked down, and every time Paige had the ball, it felt like another dagger.

With under a minute left, Paige hit another step-back three, this one over Azzi’s outstretched hand, and it was clear the game was over. The gym erupted as the buzzer sounded — Gonzaga had won 78-66, and Paige had just set a career-high.

As the players lined up for handshakes, Paige felt the weight of the win settle in. But she didn’t feel any empathy for Azzi. No pity. No remorse. The girl couldn’t even handle a little trash talk without purposefully fouling. Paige knew she had silenced the noise, the trash talk, and everything else with a performance that couldn’t be denied by anyone who watched the game.

When she reached Azzi in the handshake line, she extended her hand, but it was more of a formality than anything else. Paige leaned in just enough to murmur, loud enough for Azzi to hear, “Maybe next time you’ll get closer if you don’t piss me off.”

Azzi’s eyes flashed, her entire body tensing as she forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Bueckers,” she muttered, brushing past Paige without another word as she continued down the line.

Paige watched her go, the sense of satisfaction lingering, and though she didn’t say anything, she knew Azzi wouldn’t forget this game.

…

Azzi adjusted the strap of her bag, her knee still a little sore as she limped out of the locker room with Ice packs wrapped on her leg. The sting of the loss was fresh, and the energy in the hallway was a mix of chaos and adrenaline. Reporters lingered around the halls, their voices carrying snippets of postgame chatter as they jostled to capture every quote.

Azzi tried to tune it out, focusing on getting to the bus. She was already replaying the game in her mind, agonizing over missed shots and what-ifs. But as she passed the press conference room, a question snagged her attention.

“Paige, what was it like playing in such a competitive matchup with someone who’s also considered one of the top players in DC if not the entire nation?”

Azzi slowed, her ears pricking at the mention of her name—or, at least, the implication of it. She paused just out of sight, listening.

There was a brief pause, then Paige’s voice cut through the chatter. Calm, confident, and just loud enough for Azzi to hear.

“I always love a competitive matchup,” Paige said, her tone light but unmistakably self-assured. “Games like that are what make basketball fun. It’s why I play. I love when there’s passion in the game like that.”

Azzi felt her shoulders relax slightly. That wasn’t so bad.

But then Paige kept going.

“That being said, I think I showed everyone why I’m the number one player in D.C. tonight and my team was able to come out with the win.”

The words hung in the air, and Azzi’s jaw tightened. Paige’s voice had an edge to it—a playful jab, but one that landed a little too close to home.

Gripping the strap of her bag tighter, Azzi moved down the hallway. She wasn’t going to let Paige’s words get to her, but damn if they didn’t light a fire under her for the next time they met. 

March 2019

St. John’s and Gonzaga met once again in the championship game and honestly to Paige and Azzi it felt like deja vu. To everyone else watching this was the matchup they had grown to anticipate. The two guards always putting on a show. It wasn’t just about the title anymore; it was personal. Paige and Azzi both had more to prove than anyone on the court.

Azzi, standing tall at the top of the game and undeniably one of the best in the country, wasn’t about to let herself walk away with an 0-4 record against the cocky blonde. She’d been putting in the work all season, and despite the gnawing frustration of those past losses, she was determined to make this game different. But there was also something else driving her — the weight of being named Gatorade’s National Girls Basketball Player of the Year, as a sophomore. The title had earned her respect across the nation, but not in Paige’s eyes.

For Paige, that honor felt like a slap in the face. She had dominated the court all year, and everyone knew she was the best in her class and had beaten Azzi already this season. For Azzi to get that recognition before her, it stung more than Paige would care to admit to anyone. It was the kind of fire that pushed her to fight harder, to prove that no sophomore was going to overshadow her. She had something to prove — not just to Azzi, but to herself.

As the game tipped off, it was clear that neither of them had any intention of holding back. Azzi, with her perfect shot and effortless off ball movement, seemed to hit shots that defied logic. A step-back three from the corner with a hand in her face? Swish. A deep three from the logo, well beyond NBA range? No problem. The crowd erupted every time her shot dropped, but Paige wasn’t about to let Azzi get too comfortable.

On the other end of the floor, Paige was doing her thing: a mixture of quick ball-handling, aggressive drives to the basket, and, of course, her signature flashy layups that got the crowd involved. One of them, a twisting, acrobatic finish through a crowd of defenders, had the crowd gasping in awe. She flashed a grin as she jogged back on defense, eyes locked on Azzi, who was already making her way down the court.

“You’re not gonna be able to keep up again, Fudd,” Paige taunted, her voice loud enough for Azzi to hear as she took her position. “This is my game, you’re just along for the ride.”

Azzi smirked, not breaking her focus as she got into her shooting stance. “We’ll see when this game’s over,” she shot back, her confidence unwavering.

The back-and-forth continued like that throughout the first half, neither player willing to back down. Every time Paige hit a flashy layup, Azzi came back with a deep three. Every time Azzi sank another impossible shot, Paige answered with a smooth jump shot of her own. The crowd was on its feet the entire time, watching two of the most talented players in the nation go toe-to-toe, each one refusing to give an inch.

But as the game wore on, the pressure started to mount. With the score neck-and-neck, the trash talk grew sharper, each jab cutting deeper. Azzi, with a quick hesitation move, crossed Paige up and drilled another three in her face. The crowd went wild as Azzi celebrated, but it was the words that followed that set Paige off.

“I guess that Gatorade Player of the Year really means something, huh?” Azzi quipped, her smile wide and taunting. “I think I earned that one, Bueckers.”

The words hit Paige like a punch to the gut. That recognition — the one that had bothered her for weeks — was now in Azzi’s hands, and the realization that Azzi had just used it against her was too much to handle.

Paige’s eyes narrowed, the fire inside her intensifying.

“Keep talking, man,” Paige snarled, voice low.

The rest of the game continued and Azzi seemed to be in complete control, hitting another deep three in Paige's face and then hitting a step-back jumper that had the crowd roaring. Paige tried to respond, but something in her game was off — whether it was Azzi’s defense or the mounting frustration of the game and the award Azzi had rubbed in her face, she couldn’t find her rhythm anymore.

With the game winding down, St. John’s had gained a slight but undeniable lead. Paige’s shots weren’t falling as easily as they had earlier, and Azzi wasn’t letting up. Each time Paige tried to make a play, Azzi was right there, forcing her to pass or making her take tough looks.

Finally, with just seconds left, Azzi hit another clutch three, sealing the game for St. John’s and finally giving her a win over Paige. The buzzer went off, and Azzi’s team erupted in celebration, the crowd going wild. Paige, on the other hand, stood frozen for a moment, her chest heaving as the weight of the loss hit her a little harder than it did her freshman year.

As the teams lined up for the post-game handshake, Azzi walked toward Paige, her smile wide with triumph. When they shook hands, Azzi didn’t hold back.

“Guess it’s 1-1 when it counts, huh? Looks like POTY went to the right player after all,” Azzi said, the words dripping with satisfaction.

Paige’s heart felt like it sank to her stomach. The Gatorade loss had already stung, but now Azzi was rubbing salt in the wound. Still, Paige held her composure, her eyes narrowing as she shook Azzi’s hand.

“Congratulations,” Paige muttered, forcing a smile. Paige hated losing but she wasn’t a sore loser. 

But Azzi wasn’t done. As she walked past Paige, she threw in one final jab.

“Maybe you’ll get it next year.” Azzi’s tone was sweet, but the smirk on her face said it all.

Paige watched Azzi go, her jaw clenched tightly. She wanted to say something, anything, to retort, but she knew the damage had already been done. Azzi had gotten her win — and the bragging rights. For now, Paige would have to swallow this defeat and figure out how to come back stronger and take the jabs that were coming her way. 

July 2019 - Azzi POV

I was on top of the world. After winning the championship and being named the Gatorade National Girls Basketball Player of the Year, I felt like nothing could stop me. Playing in the US Under 18 3x3 Tournament was everything I’d worked for, and I was thriving out there. Every move I made felt perfect, every shot dropping like it was scripted. The crowd was eating it up, and I was feeding off the energy.

But just like that, everything changed.

I was driving to the hoop, sizing up my defender, already thinking ahead to my next move to get past them. My first step was quick, explosive like always — exactly how I’d practiced it a thousand times. I planted my foot to make a sharp cut, my body flowing into the motion like it was second nature. But then… something snapped.

It wasn’t the sound of my foot hitting the court. It was a horrible, sickening pop that shot through my leg like it had been on fire. For a split second, everything froze, and I just knew.

My knee. It wasn’t supposed to buckle like that. I didn’t even have time to scream as the pain hit, like a burning wave spreading from my knee up my leg, down to my toes, into my core. I collapsed instantly, my hands going straight to my knee, trying to hold it together as if somehow that would stop the agony.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I couldn’t focus on anything except that searing pain.

“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, my voice cracking as I tried to breathe through it, my hands gripping my knee as if I could will the pain away. But it only intensified.

I couldn’t move. Every attempt to shift only made it worse. It was like my entire leg was on fire. I barely heard my teammates rushing to my side, their voices muffled as if I was underwater. All I could think was, This isn’t just a twist. This isn’t something I can shake off.

I knew it — deep down, I knew something was wrong. My knee felt swollen already, pulsing with heat. The pop I heard didn’t sound good. Please, please don’t be serious, I thought, even though I knew better. 

“Azzi, what hurts,” my coach said, kneeling beside me, but I barely registered it. All I could think about was how unfair this was. I was supposed to be dominating, supposed to keep riding this wave of success. I was invincible, damn it.

But now, here I was, on the ground, clutching my knee like it was my lifeline — and I had no idea what was next.

The pain started to build, and my mind raced. ACL? No, MCL? My head spun with all the worst-case scenarios. This wasn’t how I imagined this tournament going. This wasn’t how I’d imagined anything going this summer.

My chest tightened as I sat there, trying not to lose it in front of everyone. I didn’t want to break down, didn’t want to show them how scared I was. But I could feel the tears threatening to spill. I wiped them away, blinking rapidly, but it didn’t matter. My body was shaking.

I just wanted to be back on the court. I wanted to keep proving myself, keep pushing. But in that moment, all I could do was sit there and hold my knee, hoping like hell this wasn’t the end.

[randomfoggytiger]

"At Least Until the Weather Breaks"

A very Merry Christmas to you, @cecilysass: hope this piece grants you a fraction of the joy your work has endlessly given me~.

*-*-*-*-*

Post Agua Mala reflections.

*-*-*-*-*

“Agent Scully, where are you?” 

Perhaps Skinner would be surprised. He had been, mere days ago, when she and Mulder showed up outside of Kersh’s office, unity shed like snake skin. He'd been doubly surprised, she knew, when Mulder guided her out later, hand once again possessively at her back. She wasn't going to explain to Skinner then-- as she walked away, a hair from her partner’s shoulder-- why she relented. Why she had deflected Kersh in Mulder’s defense-- “Sir, I wouldn’t bet against him”, with snarling control-- and left both outsiders to stew and wonder in her wake. 

And she wouldn’t now. The stretch in her partnership was no longer taut, but the vibration still rang. Spender’s son was dead, but both X-Files inmates still imagined a rivulet of his blood drip, dripping under Mulder’s reclaimed desk. Arguments were shelved, weapons set aside, and peace wordlessly reestablished before they’d left Kersh’s office. Ease was repairing itself in the mindless act of feeling each other’s presence as they packed and toted and unpacked mementos of their past in unison. They trusted, once again, to the process of symbiosis, turning from fiery conspiracy to watery mystery as unto salvation.  

“In Florida, Sir.” 

“In Florida? Wasn’t there a record hurricane down there?” An expected pause. “Is Mulder down there with you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Another pause. A long sigh: Skinner unable to discern them. “As soon as the skies clear, I need you and Agent Mulder on a plane and back in D.C. We have a meeting scheduled to discuss both your transfers.” 

A mere formality, everyone knew, for the Board’s pride. “I’ll let him know, Sir.” 

Scully ended the call, and was about to walk away from the burning Floridian sun when her cellphone rang. 

Leroy Walter Villarreal Suarez, Jr. 

No kidding.

*-*-*-*-*

It was surprising, she owned: Mulder with flat bangs, Mulder with pater glasses. Mulder smoking. 

“Ah, everyone did it then,” Dales waved, warm and chiding. Never a thought in his soggy, besotted brain that she, too, had a naughty vice once. “What surprised me most was the ring. Everyone smoked, everyone had cheap haircuts-- everyone wore rings even. But I’d never met a guy who wore one for fun. Have you, Agent Scully?”

“Mm,” she replied, lips curling around a plastic cup Dales must have bought in bulk. Her partner with a ring. Her partner, gunshy of a normal life, aping a veneer of normalcy. Because that’s what he’d been doing, she was positive:  one look at his face now-- eyes darting, shoulders scrunching, lips pouting in mock distraction-- let her know that that act, whatever it had been, had been for himself. 

Diana Fowley, Scully winced, had watched him mime this normalcy and still left to climb the ladder. She’d smoothed his flat bangs and wiped away the lipstick on his trusting cheek and left to destroy the sameness of other women’s lives. 

Yet, here it is again, this large and fathomless thing between us: the root of Skinner’s puzzlement, the unconscious understanding and trust-- she shoved reliance quickly away-- that flowed too forgivingly between them. An unfathomable thing that clouded over when their ideals and faults clashed: her partner underestimating her abilities, she underestimating his loyalties. 

How could I forget, Scully had wondered as Mulder droned from her voicemail, “Hey, Scully, just got a call from Arthur Dales-- he says there’s a sea monster that’s just blown into Florida. If we catch the last flight tonight, we might be able to touch down before the state’s under water.” How could she forget that he’d always fought her on her instincts? On her own deathbed, when the cancer was destroying her from the inside out, he’d been right about Skinner; he’d been right about many, many more things than Skinner. But he’d been wrong about Diana; and she’d been wrong about wedging the Gunmen in her confrontation. They’d both been wrong, and right, and simultaneously right and wrong before; but not on the day the world almost ended. And, though there were still eight boxes to be unpacked, important reports to be typed up, churlish review boards to prepare for, Dana Scully had lifted her phone from its jack and called him back. “Mulder, a hurricane?”-- Mulder, I’m in. “Scully, a sea monster”-- Scully, like old times, old roads: we find the sea monster, we find each other. 

“Well… that’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Dales,” Mulder argued, fidgeting on the couch, trying to find a comfortable spot on this mummified-turned-humidified, Floridian-ified cloth bag. 

“Oh? You know another guy?” 

“My mother.” 

“Oh.” That must have made sense. “She raised hoity toity?”

“I was.” 

The crash of realization was so quick and so visceral that it struck her clammy skin like lightning: the son of broken, reclusive Mrs. Mulder, reconstructing his memories and muddying them with her excuses. His mother keenly avoiding the past; Mulder bending over backwards to appease and soothe before snapping upright and demanding the truth. Mulder wearing an older man’s glasses and taking up an older generation's quest and smoking his father’s cigarettes-- leaving off the nasty habit before Scully’s time, substituting with his father’s charm against nightmares. Her partner, clinging to the past while trying to find where he belonged.

These thoughts should depress; but they didn’t-- couldn’t, after she’d clung to Mulder’s hand in the torrent, tracked a sea monster by his side, and brought a new life into this large and complicated, small and simple world. Not after he’d given up quibbling over her victories. 

“’Hoity toity’?” she repeated instead, waiting expectantly for him to turn around and smile over the absurdity of their reality. 

*-*-*-*-*

“So, we drivin’ home?” 

They were situating in their storm-damaged rental, Dales’s head and arm swaying heartily from their rearview mirrors whenever he deemed appropriate. He’d asked if they'd wanted to keep a plastic cup each-- a noblesse oblige memento of the trailer park, Scully assumed. They’d both declined.

Mulder was not in the passenger seat, despite the wounds peppering his neck: dressing pulled up to his jaw, he’d chosen to obstinately pretend nothing was amiss. Not wanting to come down from the high of their experience, it was in his best interest-- the profound clench of his teeth telegraphed-- to ignore present uncomfortable reality.  

“If the wind kicks up, we could borrow an umbrella and fly back to the office.” She suppressed a smile at her partner’s chuckle, a delight still freshly cloaked in relief. 

“We’d have investigated her if she existed. You know that, Scully.” 

She did-- could imagine a chilly trip to England, Mulder reveling in the charm of ancient, storied folktale and superstition. Mutually exploring a turf that was no longer his. Oxford rising from the poetic fog, his college memories beating her childhood glimpses. He was so American she often forgot that he, too, traveled across the ocean. 

“I read the books when I was a child.” 

“Books?”

“Mm hm. A series,” she admitted, eager to share something from her past. Perhaps from heatstroke, perhaps to bolster the burgeoning camaraderie. 

Though why this memory she didn’t know: the tail end of one summer spent cooped up inside, Charlie coughing up a lung in the other room as her temperature stayed stubbornly high. Melissa, sick of calling her a big baby, convincing Bill to leave his friends to grab Dana a book from the library “so she’ll stop whining”. Her oldest brother spending the next two weeks biking back and forth as the book bug slowly infected the convalescents. Their fights, their frustration; their relief on returning to school.  

“I read the series religiously one year. Memorized whole passages by heart and recited them every opportunity I could.” Scully watched his head bob vaguely while he checked the gas and turned to reverse. “I was trying to prove a point, I suppose: my family loved the movie, and. And I wanted to… stand out.” Dana, you’re such a square. Dana, you’re such a pill. Dana, why won't you just admit you like it? 

“Stand out?” His eyes were curious, darting her way whenever the road could spare them. 

“Mm.” Was elaboration necessary, between them? She didn’t think so. Not for another while, anyway. “But when I went off to college, things changed. Everything was so new and so different…. It was isolating, in a way. It drove me back to the past.” 

Silence permeated as clumps of wrecked and ruined trees swept by. She needed to start calling local motels to see if there were rooms open. She needed to call her mom. She needed to turn off her phone and sleep until life no longer fuzzed at the edges. 

“What did you do?” Mulder prodded, wistfully. 

“Well….” Scully sighed, retracing the weave of her thoughts. “I bummed a ride to the local video store and rented it, over and over, when things got too lonely. That’s how I made it the first two years.” 

He said nothing, just slowly nodded as they changed lanes. 

*-*-*-*-*

There was nothing but time, now, to reflect-- something she'd purposefully avoided since that sordid night in the Gunmen's lair. Everything then was too muddled, too raw and dangerously close, to think about, let alone understand. But the lull of conversation, the empty silence between phone calls, the endless stretch of waterlogged, abandoned roads yawned and stretched and plucked an abandoned thought from her unconscious without notice.

She’d led the way to Kersh's door, stayed a half step always in front of her partner, pursed her lips at Skinner’s greeting, hedged determinedly away from Mulder’s closeness. A contrast to their ally ship the previous night: her eyes peering ahead, searching the dark for signs of life; his eyes glued to the crushed car she’d driven across the train tracks-- a striking contrast (she shotgun, he side-saddle) to their rote partnership. Smoke and ashes and the corpses of deceiving families looming over their heads like a conscience. Skinner hadn’t expected the battle to extend to their relationship; and she’d walked expeditiously away from his questioning eyes, guiding them both to Kersh's desk with brittle dignity. 

Neither had spoken to each other while A.D. Kersh spit and A.D. Kersh swore and Jeffrey Spender resigned and left them the X-Files. Perched in a getaway corner of the room, Skinner had missed their wordless exchange, the psychic transference they were capable of since that first fateful day in Mulder’s office: his softened stutter, a sorrowful admission of guilt; her twitching eyebrow and slackened mouth, an acknowledgement of his admission. Fault confessed, the breadth of temptation and cowardice became irrelevant in the weight of charred bodies and grave missteps.

It was easier, and harder, to shove it behind them. Eyes followed their backs out and into the hall, down the elevator, and down, down, down into another layer of chaos and death: the body of Jeffrey Spender, expendable in the face of yet another father's disappointment.

At least Bill Mulder had begged, "Forgive me," when he robbed his son of the ultimate truth.

*-*-*-*-*

“Are you still in Florida, Agent Scully?” 

That, or a broiling, humid Twilight Zone. 

They’d been advised off the road by another no-nonsense uniform; and, escape impossible, had panhandled around for a room at the inn. The ones available were of middling quality (save a truly deplorable toilet that was decorated, Pollock-style, with human fluids), but it was better than Mulder’s suggestion to pull off and catch some shuteye in a parking lot. That was too local for her tastes. 

“Yes, Sir-- for another eight hours or so. Agent Mulder has hope that the planes will be up and running by then.” 

“So soon?”

“It is Florida, Sir.” 

Her partner was seated on his single bed, half-listening while madly typing up notes. He looked up, once, before losing interest, deciding instead to abuse the backspace key with a vengeance. 

There was a parallel, she believed, that could be drawn from a neck-deep metaphor and his tender tentacle wounds. As if in sync with her thoughts, he fingered one absently; and winced. 

“Keep in touch, Agent.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Disconnecting the line, Scully debated whether to grab breakfast from a vending machine or sink, exhausted, onto her bed and never get up. The room’s smell-- a clash of coastal mist and dead algae, death and stymied life-- decided her: another second here and she’d have to think about mold. “I’m going to grab some food.” 

Mulder looked up, fingers stilled, hungry hope brewing in his eyes. “Change’s in my wallet.” How they even had wallets after the last twenty-four hours, Scully couldn’t venture a guess. Then again, their odds had been remarkably high lately. 

About time.

“I’m buying.” She was halfway out the door, shoes scrubbing against old, fuzzy carpet fibers, before his voice stopped her. 

“Scully. Thanks.” 

It was such a small gesture-- one that shouldn’t have moved her as much as it did. But Scully’s eyes stung, and her hands trembled as they tightened on the door knob. Tucking her head, she swallowed back a shaky breath; and, turning, swept her eyes around the room, once, for composure. “We slew the monster, Mulder.” 

He slowly smiled; slowly blinked; slowly seemed to take her in from head to toe. Slowly nodded. 

Giving a tight smile in return, Scully added, “I’ll be back,” before closing the door gently behind her. 

*-*-*-*-*

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

Tagging @today-in-fic, @poangpals.

[archivaltrigger]

“Because the US government was not acting on mass shootings, we directly attacked a trait Americans are most known for: their pride in their country. Change the Ref created the Shamecards, a postcard collection designed to demand gun law reform from Congress. Subverting the traditional greeting cards that depict each city’s landmarks, ours show what cities are becoming known for.”

shamecards.org

There is 54 cards total representing:

Annapolis — Maryland: Capital Gazette Shooting

Atlanta — Georgia: Day Trading Firm Shootings

Benton — Kentucky: Marshall County High School Shooting

Bethel — Alaska: Regional High School Shooting

Binghamton — New York: Binghamton Shooting

Blacksburg — Virginia: Virginia Tech Massacre

Camden – New Jersey: Walk of Death Massacre

Charleston — South Carolina: Charleston Church Shooting

Charlotte — North Carolina: 2019 University Shooting

Cheyenne — Wyoming: Senior Home Shooting

Chicago — Illinois: Medical Center Shooting

Clovis — New Mexico: Clovis Library Shooting

Columbine — Colorado: Columbine

Dayton — Ohio: Dayton Shooting

Edmond — Oklahoma: Post Office Shooting

El Paso — Texas: El Paso Shooting

Ennis — Montana: Madison County Shooting

Essex Junction — Vermont: Essex Elementary School Shooting

Geneva — Alabama: Geneva County Massacre.

Grand Forks — North Dakota: Grand Forks Shooting

Hesston — Kansas: Hesston Shooting

Honolulu — Hawaii: First Hawaiian Mass Shooting

Huntington — West Virginia: New Year's Eve Shooting

Indianapolis — Indiana: Hamilton Avenue Murders

Iowa City — Iowa: University Shooting

Jonesboro — Arkansas: Middle School Massacre

Kalamazoo — Michigan: Kalamazoo Shooting

Lafayette — Louisana: Lafayette Shooting

Las Vegas — Nevada: Las Vegas Strip Shooting

Madison — Maine: Madison Rampage

Meridian — Mississippi: Meridian Company Shooting

Moscow — Idaho: Moscow Rampage

Nashville — Tennessee: Nashville Waffle House shooting

Newtown — Connecticut: Sandy Hook Elementary School Shooting

Omaha — Nebraska: Westroads Mall shooting

Orlando — Florida: Pulse Nightclub Shooting

Parkland — Florida: Parkland School Shooting

Pelham — New Hampshire: Wedding Shooting

Pittsburgh — Pennsylvania: Pittsburgh Synagogue Shooting

Prices Corner — Delaware: Delaware Shooting

Red Lake — Minnesota: Indian Reservation Shooting

Roseburg — Oregon: Umpqua Community Collage Shooting

Salt Lake City — Utah: Salt Lake City Mall Shooting

San Diego — California: San Ysidro Massacre

Santa Fe — Texas: Santa Fe School Shooting

Schofield — Wisconsin: Marathon County Shooting

Seattle — Washington: Capitol Hill Massacre

Sisseton — South Dakota: Sisseton Massacre

St. Louis — Missouri: Power Plant Shooting

Sutherland Springs — Texas: Sutherland Springs Church Shooting

Tucson — Arizona: Tocson Shooting

Wakefield — Massachusetts: Tech Company Massacre

Washington — D.C.: Navy Yard Shooting

Westerly — Rhode Island: Assisted-Living Complex Rampage

[vague-humanoid]

But Montoya explained that the whole situation was much more banal than what Shapiro suggested.

“My trans masculine friends were showing off their top surgery scars and living in joy, and I wanted to join them,” she said in a later TikTok video. “And because it is perfectly within the law of Washington D.C., I decided to join them and cover my nipples just to play it safe.”

“I was simply living my joy and my truth and existing in my body,” she said in the video captioned “free the nipple #trans.” She also said that the rightwing freak out over her chest shows that they see her as a woman.

[cherrycola27]

Red, White, and Bradshaw

A Red, White, and Rooster Sequel

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, political inaccuracies. Mentions of and acts of terrorism, death. Allusions to and full smut. Banner Credit @thedroneranger

Masterlist Next Part

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

Chapter 1: Designated Survivor

At thirty-nine years old, you'd lived quite a life. You had been married to the man of your dreams for almost a decade. You had four beautiful children with him. You had been the First Lady of the United States, and you were currently the Secretary of Commerce for Bradley's successor, President James Hamilton.

Though you had worn many hats during your time in Washington, you never lost sight of who you were. After his time as president came to an end, Bradley supported your political career. He was more than happy to take a back seat from the spotlight and be a stay at home dad to your kids.

Andy and Elle were now seven, Leo, whom you were pregnant with at his second inauguration was five, and Wren, your fifth anniversary vow renewal oops baby, whom you loved very much, was three.

Your two boys were the spitting image of their father, and your two daughters were like mini versions of you. Out of all of them, Elle and Leo had definitely inherited your can-do attitude and "bossy" personality, as Bradley would say, while Andy and Wren shared his laid-back vibe.

Your family was your pride and joy, but you were also proud of the fact that you never had to sacrifice your love of business and politics to have them. You were blessed with a supportive husband who recognized how hard you worked.

When President Hamilton had first offered you a cabinet position, you were hesitant to take it. How could you raise a family and serve? Being First Lady was one thing. This was an entirely different level.

Bradley listened as you told him about your worries and assured you that he would do everything in his power to support you if you wanted to make this career move. "You supported me when I need you. You helped me follow my dream, and now it's my turn to help you." Bradley had told you as he held you in his arms one night.

The next day, you accepted the offer, and after a relatively quick vetting process, you became Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, Secretary of Commerce.

The first few months were an adjustment. You spent many sleepless nights venting to Bradley about how you thought you'd made a mistake and that you should quit. He would listen to your concerns and encourage you and soothe your worries each time. He celebrated all of your victories in your new position, both big and small. Everything was going well—too well.

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

It was a quiet night in Washington D.C.

President Hamilton was about to give his first State of the Union address. You were in a secure, undisclosed location with your family. You had been chosen as the designated survivor. You thought it was silly, really. What were the odds that every single person ahead of you in the line of presidential succession died at the same time?

But you also understood the importance of it. You appreciated a good backup plan.

You were relaxing in some leggings and a well-worn, oversized Georgetown hoodie, staring at the TV when Bradley joined you.

He had an old Navy shirt and some flannel pants on. He'd just tucked the kids in bed before coming to watch the State of the Union with you.

He wrapped his arm around you as the two of you shared a bowl of popcorn.

"Oh my god, did I look that stuffy when I gave my speehes?" He asked as the two of you listened.

"No, Dearest. You looked exceptionally handsome." You told him. He laughed as the two of you continued to watch the screen. Everything seemed fine—normal even.

Until it happened.

A large boom shook the safe house just as the live feed of the address went black.

You and Bradley looked as each other with panic in your eyes.

"Bradley, go get the kids." You told him. He was out of his seat and racing down the hall before you could finish your sentence. You quickly flipped through the TV channels to see if you could figure out what was wrong. The sound of sirens and helicopters blared from outside. Whatever this was, it was serious.

Just then, Dante, the head of your security team, burst in the door. Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to move all of you now." He said in a protective tone. "Dante, what's going on?" You asked him. He didn't respond.

Just then, a news flash came over the TV, and your heart sank. Your children came running into the room and gathered around you as Bradley followed behind.

"Oh my god." The two of you said in unison. "Bradley, they blew up the Capital." You said in disbelief as you watched the screen. You couldn't believe your eyes. In the spot where the beautiful building had once stood was nothing but a pile of burning rubble.

"Dante, I need you to get the Seresin's on the phone right now." You demanded. "Mrs. Bradshaw, we need to get all of you out of here now. We will call them from the car." Dante said. You wanted to protest, but he was grabbing your arm and hauling you out door as more members of your security team escorted Bradley and your children.

You looked back over your shoulder just in time to see a banner flash stating that there would likely be no survivors. Your heart sank as you thought about all innocent men and women who lost their lives— your parents included.

Suddenly, it felt like everything was moving in slow motion. Andy and Elle sat on either side of you in the car while Leo and Wren clung to Bradley.

You were vaugly aware of him telling you that they had reached Jake and Jaycee. The Seresin's and their three children were fine, and more security would be sent to them.

Bright lights from police, fire, and military flashed through the streets of D.C. as Dante navigated them. You were sure someone was talking to you, but you didn't hear what they said. You felt like you were underwater.

You didn't register yourself getting out of the SUV or the fact that you were being taken through a back passage of the White House. It was only when Chief Justice Inglewood was asking Bradley to hold the Bible and for you to place your hand on, that you snapped back to reality.

"Wait, what's going on?" You said as you looked around the room.

"Mrs. Bradshaw, you're the designated survivor." Chief Justice Inglewood said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You still hadn't processed what was going on.

"Honey, you're about to take the oath of office. You're going to be the president." Bradley said to you calmly.

You took a deep breath as Justice Inglewood looked at you. "Please place your left hand on the Bible, raise your right hand, and repeat after me." She began. You didn't even have time to process what Bradley had said before Inglewood started the oath.

"Do you, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of your ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States?" Chief Justice Inglewood asked you.

That's when the reality of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The president, vice president, and everyone else in the Capital tonight were dead. You swallowed thickly as your children huddled close, not sure of what was happening, but aware enough to know something was off.

You took a deep breath and looked at Bradley for reassurance. He nodded his head and smiled.

"I, Y/N Wiseman-Bradshaw, do solemnly swear to faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." You affirmed in a shaky tone. You felt like you were going to throw up. You tried to swallow, but your mouth was dry, and your tongue felt like sandpaper. You were vaugly aware of someone taking pictures in the background as you spoke the words.

"Congratulations, Madame President. I wish this could have been under better circumstances." Justice Inglewood said as she shook your hand.

You thought that it was odd that she was shaking your hand and congratulating you. You were here because hundreds of people had died, not because you won an election. You did deserve this.

Your hands started to shake as tears pricked your eyes. This was wrong. All wrong. You felt like you couldn't breathe. How the hell did you end up here?

Your husband turned to you and saw the fear in your eyes.

Bradley immediately pulled you in for a hug before cupping your face in his hands. He could sense the terror running through your body as the severity of the situation set in.

"Oh my god, Bradley. I—I—what am I going to do?" You said as tears threatened to fall from your eyes.

"Right now, we are going to tuck the kids in and read them a bedtime story. Then, you are going to go with Dante to a secure conference room and talk with the department heads that weren't at the State of the Union. You are going to figure out a way for us to get through this because that's what you do best, honey. You solve problems. Tomorrow morning, you are going to drink way too much coffee, put on a suit, and address the nation. You are going to let them know that we are down, but not out. You are going to show them how strong their president is. But most of all, you're going to do your best. That's all you can do." Bradley tells you as he kissed your forehead.

Dante doesn't give you time to respond or to help Bradley with the children before he is whisking you away again.

"Go get 'em; Madame President. I love you." Bradley said as he ushered you to go. You nodded and followed Dante.

You couldn't believe this was happening. One minute, you were enjoying a quiet evening. The next, you were thrust into a position you weren't even sure you wanted and knew you weren't qualified for.

"Oh my god." You said to yourself for what seemed like the hundredth time this evening as the weight of everything settled over you.

You were no longer Secretary Wiseman-Bradshaw. You were President Wiseman-Bradshaw.

Life as you knew it would be forever changed.

Dante and your other Secret Service team members stopped outside a door. Dante went ahead while you waited behind. Moments later, he returned and said,

"Madame President, they're ready for you."

Taglist: @daggerspare-standingby @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @hecate-steps-on-me @roosterscock @roosterbruiser @roosterforme @seresinsbabe @startrekfangirl2233 @soulmates8 @xoxabs88xox @avengersfan25 @blackwidownat2814 @loveforaugust @mak-32 @cottagecori @amysteryspot @heyimmadisonn @sunlightmurdock @lewmagoo @cassiemitchell @die-cunt @shipinabluebottle @malindacath @violyn20 @imawkwardlysoc @books-for-summer @blackroseboulevard @recordblues @desert-fern @luckyladycreator2 @katieshook02 @samhapner6 @sebsxphia @roosters-girl @diorrfairy @je-suis-prest-rachel @mizzzpink @a-linabean @amklibrary @gretagerwigsmuse @jstarr86 @actuallyazriel @krismdavis @bradshawsbaby @wkndwlff @dakotakazansky @multifandomlover4life @princess76179

[oliviaglumac]

Timeless

Pairing : George Harrison x fem!reader

Requested : yes

Genre : fluff

Summary : helping your boyfriend and his bandmates with mostly everything but mainly their music

“Y/n, I need your help,” my boyfriend of just over a year said, glancing up from his notepad.

“What can I help you with?” I asked, moving closer.

“I just don’t know what to write. I don’t know what to rhyme,” he said, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“Well, George, it doesn’t have to rhyme to sound good,” I replied, picking up a pen from his desk.

“Yeah, but I want it to,” he insisted, his lips curving into a small pout.

I leaned over to read what he had written so far, then jotted down a suggestion: “But till she’s here, please don’t come near—just stay away.” After a moment, I added, “I’ll let you know when she’s come home, until that day.”

An hour later, we’d finished the song. George and I had moved on to working out the melody, bouncing ideas back and forth like we’d done a hundred times before.

“George, are you ready?” I called out, standing by the door with my bags in hand. We were about to leave for America, and I was practically buzzing with excitement.

“I’m coming, dear!” he shouted back.

On the plane, Ringo was glued to the window. “Wow, look at all those birds,” he said.

“Well, what’d you expect? We’re good-looking,” Paul quipped, earning a laugh from everyone.

Disembarking from the plane was overwhelming. The screaming fans were deafening, yet it filled me with pride. I couldn’t help but feel a pang of awe for George, Paul, John, and Ringo. They’d come so far from those smoky gigs at the Cavern Club.

At the airport, the boys were bombarded with questions from the press. I found a quiet seat in the back, content to watch the chaos unfold.

The interviews were hilarious, the boys answering with their usual mix of charm and mischief. But one question made my ears perk up.

“What do you think about Y/n and all she’s done for the band?” a reporter asked.

George’s face lit up. “Oh, wow. I mean, she’s wonderful. She helps us with writing, does backup vocals sometimes, and keeps us sane. She’s a great help to the band—we love having her around. Well, especially me.”

His words sent a warm, familiar flutter through my chest. It was the same feeling I had when we’d first fallen in love.

The hotel was unlike anything we’d ever seen—pure luxury.

“Look at these bathrooms!” John exclaimed, wide-eyed.

“That’s a rather silly thing to get excited about,” I teased, laughing.

Paul chimed in, his ear pressed to a portable radio. “I mean, we’ve got so many radio stations now. It’s amazing!”

Ringo, on the phone with a radio station, waved me over, but I stayed back, snapping photos of the boys. Some were candid, some posed, and some just pure silliness.

The day of the Ed Sullivan Show had arrived.

“Y/n, I’m nervous,” George admitted as I fixed his hair backstage.

“You have nothing to be scared about,” I reassured him. “Just imagine the Cavern Club.”

“That’s an odd place to imagine,” he said with a chuckle.

“You know what I mean, silly. You’ll be amazing, as always.”

His nervous smile softened into something more confident, and he nodded.

I watched their performance on a tiny TV in their dressing room. My heart swelled with pride.

When the boys returned, the room was filled with laughter and excited chatter. George came straight to me.

“Well? How’d I do?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Absolutely amazing,” I said, leaning up to kiss his cheek.

“Get a room!” Ringo teased, making everyone laugh.

George grinned before pulling me into a kiss.

“Ewww,” the other three chorused, making me laugh even harder.

“You’re all so immature,” I said, shaking my head.

“Yeah, but you love us,” John said with a smirk.

“I wouldn’t say love. That’s a strong word,” I teased.

“Hey!” Ringo protested, lightly tapping my arm.

On the train to D.C., George and I began working on another song.

“You know, Y/n, I think you should start writing your own music,” he said out of the blue.

“Me? Never. I’ll just ride on your coattails,” I joked, making him laugh.

“No, I’m serious,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re a great writer, and you’ve got a beautiful voice.”

“I don’t know, George. I’m not cut out for the rockstar life. I am cut out for the rockstar girlfriend life, though,” I teased.

“Well, think about it,” he said, pressing a kiss to my temple.

Arriving in D.C. was just as chaotic as stepping off the plane, if not more so. The hotel was somehow even grander than the last.

“Is this really our life now?” John asked, looking around in disbelief.

“Why are you complaining?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not complaining—just amazed,” he replied.

I was working on something for the boys, humming to myself, when Ringo walked by. He froze mid-step, listening.

“Y/n, wow. I’ve heard you sing before, but never by yourself,” he said, clearly impressed.

“Did George put you up to this?” I asked, narrowing my eyes playfully.

“No, I mean it,” he said. “You’ve got an amazing voice.”

“Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warming.

In the studio, the boys were already hard at work on their next album. I was doing backup vocals for a few songs when something in the lyrics caught my attention.

“Wait, John,” I said, pointing to a line. “Instead of this, I think ‘I’ll try to make it shine’ would sound better.”

He raised an eyebrow but grabbed a pen and made the change.

“You know, Y/n, it’s so nice having you around,” George said, his voice soft but sincere.

“I know,” I replied with a grin.

[icyg4l]

PAC: Are You Getting Kisses This Pride Month?

Hello beautiful people! Tonight’s reading is hella self explanatory. This reading is apart of my Pride Month series. I will be using my Pride Tarot Deck in honor of this lovely month. This topic is dedicated to my queer folks who haven’t gotten as much action as they've wanted to and want to know if they’ll get some luck this time around. There will be some 18+ moments in these readings but nothing too extreme. There’s no need to talk too much so please! Without further ado, please select the image that resonates with you the most.

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (Pile 1-9)

Pile One: For some reason, I am channeling that hand clapping game called ‘Mama’s Having a Baby’. I think that this pile is real fertile this month, lol. Or you could be feeling very playful and nostalgic this month. I also channeled the “trick or treat, smell my feet” song. So with that being said, I would say that you are getting kisses this month. Some of you could be kissing an old childhood friend. Perhaps you are rekindling with an ex that treated you very well. I am getting the energy of a cool down period. I feel like you will be hanging out with this person all day in public, but afterwards you go to their place or vice versa. This person is clean cut, has great manners and is very compassionate. They’ll treat you like royalty. There is a bit of teasing that comes with this kiss though. It does not come easy, you will have to work for it. It will be sloppy, hot and completely worth it. Congratulations, Pile One!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, King of Cups, The Sun, King of Pentacles, Queen of Swords, Knight of Wands, 8 of Pentacles

Pile Two: I am seeing someone fold their arms and close their legs. So, this is a no for you, Pile Two. For some of you, you could be starting your abstinence journey this month for personal reasons. The top reason being you’re just not feeling the dating scene. The feeling of disgust is coming up. You’ve been in this predicament before, Pile Two. I feel like you will have the opportunity to get some kisses but you’re not all the way sold on going that way with whoever. I am getting that whoever this is, they just want to fuck you. But you are choosing to withhold your sexual/lustful urges because you can sense that they only want what you have for one night. Good for you for choosing yourself. You are not a doormat, Pile Two. Sniff out the bs and be done with it!

Cards Used: 5 of Pentacles, The World (RX), 6 of Wands, 3 of Wands, 9 of Wands, Strength, 8 of Wands

Pile Three: Well, it all depends, Pile Three. How bad do you want to kiss them? It’s all in your hands. I feel like everything will be set up for you to have the perfect kiss with them. Just don’t fuck it up. I feel like you will need to loosen up or be alone with them for a while in order for it to go right. Don’t rush anything and just be yourself. You don’t have to pretend to be anyone else. I am channeling the energy of Josie from Bottoms. Use her strategy to get you and your person alone. I get the feeling that you are coming with someone in mind. This person is someone that makes you feel at home and safe. The kiss itself will make you two closer. Don’t be surprised if some type of promotion occurs in the dynamic a couple days after the kiss. I don’t blame you for feeling so nervous but avoid acting as if you do not care. It will not manifest the way that you want. And once again, loosen the hell up, Pile Three!

Cards Used: The Devil (RX), Judgment, 4 of Cups, 7 of Wands, The Hermit (RX), King of Wands, 6 of Swords, 4 of Wands, 2 of Cups

Pile Four: I feel like you are traveling to a different city this month. D.C., Los Angeles, Seattle, Manhattan, Atlanta and San Francisco come to mind. I feel like you could be into some taboo shit when it comes to the bedroom. You might be into swinging, visiting sex clubs or be an avid collector of sex toys. When you visit this city, you will be enjoying the single life, just minding your business. I am seeing a club/party scene in my third eye. The scenario I am thinking of is someone buying you a drink and because of that you two will be acquainted throughout the night. This person could also invite you to dance with them. This is someone who is very friendly. If you are visiting a friend in this new city, this will be a friend of your friend. I feel like you don’t typically kiss someone when you first meet them, but on this night you will. It will be well-needed. This kiss will start off as innocent and you two will match each other’s freaks, lol. I feel like they might end up taking you home, lol (please be safe). In the morning, you’ll be worn out but will feel neutral about the situation. It won’t be something that you regret, but it will be something to talk about amongst your friend group, lol. The Carrie Bradshaw energy is very strong here, lol.

Cards Used: 4 of Swords, The Hanged Man, The World, 9 of Pentacles, 2 of Swords, 8 of Wands, 3 of Cups, Knight of Cups, The Star, 10 of Pentacles, Page of Cups, 3 of Pentacles

Pile Five: Your energy is conflicting, Pile Five. It feels like if you are kissing someone, then you will be kissing them for the last time. But I am also getting a scenario that you will be with someone but they are going to reject your romantic advances. In both scenarios, you are being led on/lied to/lovebombed unfortunately. If you do get kissed however, I feel like it will not be good. The kiss will be mid and it will make you question the state of the relationship. This is a wakeup call for you, Pile Five. If you’ve been feeling like they’re not being clear and sending mixed signals, this will be the sign that you are waiting for. This person is selfish and does not put in the effort to see things from your perspective. They have narcissistic tendencies and for that, they feel it is easy to manipulate the situation. I think you will have enough of this person sooner rather than later.

Cards Used: 9 of Cups, King of Wands, 3 of Swords, The Magician, 10 of Swords, Ace of Wands, 8 of Pentacles, Page of Swords, The Moon, 7 of Pentacles

Pile Six: Well duh. You knew you were going to get the kiss before you clicked on this post, Pile Six! I heard “She said yes!” as I was pulling for you. I feel like you have been waiting to make this person your significant other and this time, they will finally say yes. The reason for their delay is because they wanted to do things on their time. They did not want to rush anything. They wanted to make you feel included in their schedule. Others of you are already in a relationship and will actually be getting engaged. So, the kiss will happen after the question is popped! I believe that this proposal will happen in public (whether it’s for the position of marriage or not). This person means a lot to you and it makes sense why you two are together. The kiss feels like magic; like one of those kisses in the movies where someone gets picked up and twirled. Congratulations, Pile Six!

Cards Used: 3 of Swords (RX), 2 of Cups, 4 of Wands, 10 of Wands, The Emperor

Pile Seven: Now listen, you will get your kiss but it will be under one condition. You have to impress your person’s circle. I feel like this person puts you under a lot of tests. They’re kind of childish but if you feel like you can handle it, go ahead. I see you have a lot of faith in this connection. This person values their friendships a lot so your scenario makes sense. But there’s some type of disadvantage for you here. I feel like they will get their friend to flirt with you to see if you’re actually faithful. Maybe they will purposely start an argument with you in front of their friends to see how you will react. There is something about this scenario that feels abrupt. But you will pass the test and win your person’s trust. Be patient with them and take them serious, please! I think that the actual kiss will be “small”. It will be a peck on the lips, something innocent. The kiss itself could be abrupt as well, but at least their lips are soft, lol!

Cards Used: 7 of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, 6 of Pentacles (RX), 7 of Swords (RX), 8 of Swords, Queen of Swords, 2 of Cups, Page of Wands, 3 of Wands, The Empress, King of Cups (RX)

Pile Eight: There’s nothing blocking you this time, Pile Eight. Go for it! I feel like this could be your ex or this could be your partner who you’ve been on bad terms with. You could even feel like you are growing distant from your partner. This kiss will be sweet like honey. It’ll happen at the right moment. You’ve been meaning to do this but perhaps you’ve gotten rejected in the past. Another scenario I thought of is someone interrupting the kiss or there being some external circumstance preventing you from actually doing it. Somebody could be a cockblocker, lol. This kiss will seal the deal. It will be reassuring. This will be the ‘oh we’re definitely getting back together’ kiss or the ‘we’re back on good terms’ kiss. It will happen after a long talk. It could happen after a dance with them. Either way, this feels very intimate and it should have happened a long time ago.

Cards Used: Justice, 6 of Cups, The Devil, 7 of Wands, King of Wands, 6 of Swords, Judgment, 10 of Pentacles, The Lovers (RX), 10 of Cups, 5 of Pentacles

Pile Nine: Your pile is so interesting, Pile Nine. As I was pulling for your pile, I channeled the Funkadactyls theme song??? If you used to/still watch wrestling, this is definitely for you. But you have the tendency to let your thoughts get the best of you. Unfortunately, I do see this tendency getting in the way of you kissing your crush. This person has mutual feelings for you but damn will your nervous system get the best of you. I feel like you will unfortunately fumble the bag temporarily. But the opportunity will still be there. It’s not all the way off the table. Afterwards, you will get the kiss when you feel more ready and prepared for the event. You’re so cute omg. When the kiss finally happens, it will be intense. This is making me think of those Wattpad books where the smut starts and the writing goes like, “Their tongues danced for dominance”. The nerves will be shaken off in the moment. I feel like your crush will be stingy though or at least a bit of a tease.

Cards Used: The Moon, 2 of Pentacles, The Magician, King of Cups, The Star, Page of Cups, 7 of Pentacles, 5 of Wands, 9 of Wands (RX), King of Swords

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Badash at NCRM:

U.S. Senator Josh Hawley (R-MO) declared Monday he is advocating for Christian nationalism, a far-right ideology that claims there is no separation of church and state in the Constitution, and promotes as a national religion Christian fundamentalism, a hardline, extremist brand of Christianity at odds with the religious beliefs of many Christians across the country. It opposes LGBTQ people and people of other faiths or of no faith, and their civil rights. It often has links to neo-Nazis, white supremacy, and dominionism, and many see Russia and Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, as its leader.

“Some will say I’m calling America a Christian nation. And so I am. Some will say I’m advocating Christian nationalism. And so I do. My question is – is there any other kind worth having?” Senator Hawley said at “NatCon 4,” the National Conservatism conference being held in Washington, D.C., this week (video below), as reported by Semafor’s David Weigel.

Sen. Hawley, not backing down, promoted his remarks by reposting them on social media. Senator Hawley told attendees at the far-right conference, “Christian nationalism founded American democracy.. the Christian political tradition is our political tradition,” Weigel also reported. “They want the religion of the pride flag. We want the religion of the Bible. I have a suggestion: Why don’t we take down the trans flag from all the federal buildings from which it’s flying, and instead, inscribe on every federal building our national motto: In God We Trust?” Hawley also reportedly said. [...] National Conservatism is a multinational “project” created by the Edmund Burke Foundation, a Netherlands-based group.

Senator Josh Hawley (R-MO) spoke at NatCon recently and declared that he is “advocating Christian nationalism”. Hawley pushed the lie that “Christian nationalism founded American democracy.”

[callsignthirsty]

Chapter 3: Behind the Door

Pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x F!Reader x Ron "Slider" Kerner Summary: Interrupting Iceman. Word Count: 4100 Warnings: Smut, bets and wagers, semi-public sex, fingering Chapter: 3/4 Minors DNI Previous Chapter

Slider's head whips around, shoulders drawn tight toward his ears as the crash of the door startles you both.

"Kerner!"

The split-second of terror subsides with that voice.

Ice.

Slider grunts, stubbornly diving back between your thighs. A man on a mission.

"I know you're up here, and I'm giving you to the count of three."

"No," you whimper, hips rocking against Slider's fingers, urging them to work faster. "Don't stop."

"One."

Instead of responding, Slider's breath ghosts over your clit as he presses two fingers into your cunt, curling them to pinpoint your sweet spot and hurtle you toward the edge.

The click of Ice's shoes is loud as he stalks toward you. "Two."

"So good," Slider hums against your slick skin. You squeeze your eyes closed, keening at the praise. "Almost there, baby."

Sli hisses as fingers fist in his short hair and yank him from between your legs.

"Three."

You whimper at the sudden loss of stimulation and the pour of cool night air over heated skin.

Slider has the audacity to flash Ice a smug smile. "Oh," he says as if he hadn't known the two of you were no longer alone. "Hey, Ice."

Pale eyes narrow as if asking Slider if that's the game they're going to play, then Ice pulls a tissue from his pocket and holds it to his RIO. "You've got lipstick on your face."

Slider's tongue peeks out to lick his lips. "That's not the only thing on my face."

Ice doesn't dignify him with a response, only releasing Slider when he stands and steps back to give you enough space for Ice to resettle you—steadying you on your own two feet and smoothing wrinkled velvet before procuring another tissue to help clean up the rouge smudged beyond the bounds of your lips.

Once you're deemed presentable, Ice descends the steps with his hand wrapped around your wrist, guiding you with an insistent tug that makes you feel more like an insolent child than his date. You want to stamp your feet as Ice assures you that he only needs to talk to a couple more officers he wants to speak with before you can get out of there.

Between the forced separation through staggered travel to D.C. and the night's two encounters—both of which had taken you to the very edge before leaving you high and dry—you're at your limit. So, to say you aren't paying attention to the conversation is an understatement. How are you supposed to pay attention to anything when you're oscillating between the jitters of unsated arousal and lightly filtered frustration?

Because who the hell does he think he is—do they think they are—to draw you into their little macho pissing contest? It's a wonder Iceman and Slider can both fit into the cockpit with their egos so blown out of proportion.

What should it matter in the end? They know you're going home with both of them.

Not that you get to say any of this. Instead, you're left to stew with empty eyes, a pinched smile, and a clenched fist at Ice's side as he makes a good impression on a commander. You're scraping the barrel with each half-hearted laugh at the officer's dull jokes, the Brut in your glass swirling between your fingers untouched. Each shift of your legs brings you closer to angry tears as the spit between them turns tacky, the microabrasions from Slider's stubble smarts reminding you of your lack of undergarment and the dissatisfied, borderline painful feeling of emptiness.

But it'll be a cold day in hell before you let any tears fall. You have your own pride to manage, and besides, no one wants to mingle with the serviceman whose date's eyes burn a tear-stung red.

"How much longer?" you ask Ice once the commander leaves.

Ice gives you an assessing look, eyebrows pulled down, and his head lightly tilted. You can't tell if he feels bad about what he's putting you through or is confused by your shortness of tone. "Impatient?"

You scoff, barely repressing the urge to cross your arms. Instead, you take a sip of your Brut, nose wrinkling as it bursts bitter across your tongue. "Whatever," you huff, done with the conversation and resigning yourself to more of the same. Ice had said there were "a couple" officers he wanted to talk with, after all.

Ice draws a deep breath in through his nose; lips pursed as he looks up to the ceiling. You know he's looking for the right words. You're still determining what those words would be. You know for a fact he won't find them painted on the ceiling.

Lucky for you—because you're not done being upset with him yet—Ice can't pinpoint what he's looking for before you're interrupted.

"Woah!" a familiar blonde excuses, bumbling into Ice and nearly spilling his beer on matching whites. "Sorry about that, still got my sea le– oh! Ice, hey!" Excuse dropped as a beamish grin overtakes Wolfman's face, cheeks tinged pink with drink.

"Wolf," you giggle as Wolf pulls you into a better mood with a friendly hug. It's hard to be all doom and gloom when Wolf's involved; he's a veritable ray of sunshine. "Where's 'Wood?"

"Pfft," he snorts. "Where's anyone? I mean, 'Wood's somewhere with his girl, but one minute I'm with Sli and Chip, the next Sli's gone and Chip's found himself a pretty little thing to dance with." He shrugs, not looking too plussed about his situation.

"I'll dance with you, Wolfie," you jump to offer. "Ice is being boring anyway."

Ice frowns. Wolf laughs. "Who am I to say no to a lady?" he asks, pulling you into an off-kilter twirl. "Don't worry, Ice, she's in good hands!" he calls over his shoulder as you practically drag him toward the dancefloor.

What Wolfman lacks in prowess, he makes up for in enthusiasm. By the time Hollywood and his fiancée find the two of you on the dancefloor—not a surprise since 'Wood and Wolf are practically connected at the hip—you're a little breathless from trying to keep up.

It's a good time, but you can only be so distracted, and it's only a matter of time before you begin scanning the crowd. Either you'll find Slider, or he'll find you, but you'll be damned if he doesn't finish what he started.

You know Ice has people he wants to impress and a ladder he's trying to climb, but shouldn't you be at the top of his list? With this thought at the helm, it isn't long before you spot a head of brown curls that towers above the rest. You rock onto your tiptoes to feed Wolf a lie—bathroom—and push through the crowd alone.

Except as you get closer, it becomes glaringly apparent that this tall brunet is not Slider.

You scowl at no one in particular when you come up empty-handed.

As you decide to keep searching until you find Slider—and, ultimately, relief—someone grabs you from behind.

You whirl around, ready to smack the person's hands off of you.

It's Pete.

You smack him anyway.

"Ow!" Pete yelps, more from surprise than pain. You didn't hit him that hard. "What the hell?!"

"Pete Mitchell, who do you think you are grabbing a lady–"

"You're hardly a lady."

"–from behind like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

Pete disarms you with a light pinch to your side that has you clamping your arms against your sides to protect against further tickling. "Where're Tweedledee and Tweedledum? Didn't think I'd catch you without one or the other."

You suppress a roll of your eyes. "Who knows."

"Sooo," Pete drawls a bit awkwardly, "does this have anything to do with the weirdness going on between the three of you?"

"Oh my god. You know," you groan, unable to stop yourself from hiding your face in your hands. How embarrassing.

"I don't know-know," Pete's quick to correct, "and I don't want to. But I know something's up."

This isn't something you're delving into with your brother. "It's nothing. Forget it."

"Doesn't seem like nothing if you're avoiding them."

"Like you're avoiding Penny's dad?" you snark back. Deflecting. "I'm surprised you decided to stick around."

"He's old. It's probably past his bedtime," Pete says confidently, a smile tugging at his lips. "The night's mine."

"Whatever will you do with this newfound freedom?" you tease.

Pete gives a half-shrug, surveying the room. "I'm sure some poor officer brought his daughter so she could meet the love of her life."

You don't bother holding in a mocking laugh. "And that's you?"

"No." Pete makes a face. "But I can be her something for the night."

"Ew," you grunt because you so do not want to get into that with your brother. "I need a drink."

A hand catches your elbow as you turn. "Going somewhere?"

You refuse to look as you shake Ice's hand off and continue walking.

"So you're going to ignore me." It's a statement.

"Don't you have other people to talk to?"

Ice reaches for your elbow again, turning you so he can meet your eyes with his own. "I want to talk to you."

"That's my cue," Pete mumbles as he slinks into the crowd, presumably to find trouble.

Neither you nor Ice move, and your stomach roils as his jaw sets, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You're mad at me."

Part of you wants to tell him off. Instead, you shake your head. "I'm not mad. I'm frustrated."

"Okay," Ice says, with a curt nod, his shoulders—which had been bunched—rolling back as he becomes more sure of himself. "I can work with that."

Something about the way he says it rankles you, and you sneer. Earlier, you'd been all aboard hanging off Ice's arm, but now you're wound tight enough to burst, and all you want to do is take a hot bath. And now that he's made you this way, you're something that needs to be dealt with.

"Let's grab some fresh air," Ice says, loud enough to settle any eavesdroppers as he leads you toward the outdoor courtyard with a gentle but commanding grasp on your elbow.

But you pass by the turn for the courtyard.

"Where are you taking me?" The smell of cigar smoke thins as you walk along less-traveled hallways.

"I'm taking care of it," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and continues to drag you after him.

Venturing further from the intended party spaces, the lights dim. You doubt the venue means for you to be down here.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, you scoff. "Helpful."

Making sure you're alone, Ice pulls you down a deserted hallway. "You're frustrated. I have people to talk to," he says slowly, sparing you a glance.

You frown. There goes Ice, talking about other people. Again.

He beelines for two unassuming doors, reaching out to the first, but its handle jiggles. Catches. Locked.

"I'm taking care of it."

Before you can challenge that assertion, Ice steps to the side and grabs the handle to the second door, marked STAFF ONLY.

It clicks.

Ice pushes you inside, following close behind.

The light coming through the foot of the door isn't enough to tell you where you are. But the clinical, electric-orange antiseptic smell of cleaning supplies invading your nose, singeing the hairs, is more than enough to give it away.

When you cross your arms over your chest, something falls to the ground with a wooden clack! "By dragging me into a janitor's closet?"

"Well, you said you'd be good for me, but that didn't last long."

You reach for where the handle must be, but Ice anticipates your moodiness and moves to intercept, deflecting your hand. "But the bet was that Slider couldn't get you off." His breath fans your face as he leans in, so you tilt your head away to avoid his lips. Stubborn. Undeterred, he kisses the long line of your neck, and the ghost of soft lips has you holding back a gasp. "So I'm taking care of it."

"What if it doesn't want to be taken care of?"

Sharp teeth are a shock beneath the hinge of your jaw. "Don't be a brat."

A strangled moan trips past your lips as he catches you off guard.

You don't have to see Ice to know he's smirking. "Noted." Then his hand is cupping your breast. "So, are you going to let me take care of you or not?"

You're not proud of how quickly you crumble, but it's like a switch flips. You hope Ice is okay with the whiplash because after an entire night of teasing, you're desperate for relief. "Please," you whimper, pushing yourself further into his orbit. You want so bad it hurts.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I've got you." Ice captures your lips in a heated kiss—nipping at your bottom lip so you hiss and open up for him. He knows what you need, and he's (apparently) going to give it to you.

Your fingers, clumsy in their haste, scramble for Ice's belt, but he brushes them aside. "This is about you. I'll get mine later," he says, tilting your head to the side so he can track wet kisses up to the spot just below your ear, electricity sparking down your spine as teeth tug at the lobe. "When I lay you out on my bed."

A high-pitched, excited moan is your answer, interrupted by Ice's fingers over your lips. "You've gotta be quiet," he purrs, voice low in your ear. "Wouldn't want anyone to hear us."

"Then kiss me." He does. And as you breathe in deep, the whole situation makes you feel like you're back in high school: shelving digging into your lower back like you're sneaking around, trading uncoordinated kisses in the janitor's closet with David Hodges until your brother finds you and rips poor David away for an ass-beating. But infinitely better.

Ice's lips are familiar. Urgent and addictive against your own as he swallows your whimper—nothing like David.

Ice pinches your fat bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it with a slick smack. You suck in a sharp breath, lashes fluttering open to look up at the shadow of him in the dark. "So pretty," he growls, fabric rustling as he hastily cuffs the sleeve of his jacket and pushes it up to his elbow to keep it safe from what he has planned.

Handfuls of velvet are bunched around your waist so you can spread your legs more freely, and Ice can slot his hand between them.

Threading your fingers through his hair, you return his lips to yours. You both groan from the kiss—you from the relief of his hands on you, the promise of a sweet release; him from how wet and needy you are (Slider's work, really, but Ice seems keen to reap the benefits).

When you break apart to gasp for air, Ice husks, "I'd get my mouth on you." And it conjures the image of Slider's wicked brown eyes looking up at you from between your legs, your cunt throbs. God, you want that. "Too bad I can't smell like pussy while I'm talking to the brass." But he allows himself the indulgence of a single taste, bringing fingers slick with your arousal to his lips.

You shake your head, unsure if his eyes have adjusted enough to see you. "Unprofessional," you agree, dizzy as his fingers plunge back into your heat. The heel of his palm grinds deliciously against your clit, his fingers working with the frantic cant of your hips as you chase a high that's walking the line of pain in its evasion of you. A steady, unignorable ache.

Ice drags his nails over the dense fabric covering your tits, your nipples pebbling at the faux cool sensation. "Tell me what you need," he whispers against your lips.

Relief is so close the air is thick with it. It tastes like Lysol. You stutter out a breath, and it morphs into a quiet whine. "Just like that," you mewl. "Keep touching me like that."

"Yeah?" Ice teases, a third finger sneaking into you and zeroing in on your sweet spot, thumb coming up to rub circles into your clit. What little light there is in the closet glints off the sharp point of his teeth as his lips part. "You're going to cum on my fingers," he declares, and your heart skips a beat when it jumps into your throat. "Then, you're going to go back to being my good, pretty girlfriend while I talk business," he presses a teasing kiss to the corner of your lips, and you can't contain a needy, lilting whine, "and no one will know you needed to cum on my fingers just to make it through the night."

"Oh god," you sob, nails digging into the starched fabric of Ice's jacket. You're right there. Liquid flames lick at your core, your tummy tied in knots and thighs jumpy as Ice speeds up his fingers, a muffled squelch each time his fingers bottom out, knuckles pressed tight to your cunt.

The two of you are so distracted that you don't hear the frantic footsteps until they're almost on top of you.

Ice jerks his fingers from you, yanking your dress back into place at the same time as he steps between you and the door to the closet, blocking you from whoever's about to fling the door open.

But it doesn't stop your eyes from meeting your brother's over his shoulder.

Pete slams the door shut.

Silence. Then: "You still dressed?"

Posture going rigid, Ice shoots the door a barbed look. "Maverick–" Pete shushes him through the door. He must be pressed up against the wood. Ice gives in but doesn't give up, continuing with a more hushed, "–what the hell?"

A pause. "That's not a no," your brother mulls. "Scoot over. I'm coming in."

"No!" You and Ice hiss simultaneously, but Pete is already squeezing himself into the closet with the two of you, pressed tight against Ice's back as he shuts the door firmly but with as much care as he gives his Kawasaki.

"Look," Pete whispers, and maybe his hands would be up in a placating manner if there were enough room, "I either hide in here with you two or hack it out there with Admiral Benjamin."

Without the distraction of each other, you and Ice hear far more measured footsteps hesitate at the far end of the hall before heading in your direction.

"I like your chances," Ice bites. "Leave."

Pete jostles all three of you as he turns to get into Ice's face as much as he can, given the confines of the closet. A shelf creaks, but nothing falls. "Well, it won't look good on you either," he whispers furiously. "Huh? Ice-cold, no mistakes, making out with your date in a closet like you're at junior pr–" Ice slaps a hand over his mouth, and the three of you fall deathly still.

The tension thickens until the footsteps pass you by.

No one dares to let out a quiet, adrenaline-shaken breath, even when the footsteps sound like they must have reached the other end of the hallway. Pete does, however, allow his shoulders to sag in relief.

Then, the footsteps pause.

They grow closer—louder—once more. This time, the muffled chaf of dress shoes on the carpet sounds like it's purposefully approaching the closet. Each step ratchets the tension up exponentially. You hold still, certain that if you shift your weight, something on the open shelving will give away your location. Ice, still shielding you from the door, brings a hand up to pet the back of your neck; the cool metal of his Academy ring—grounding any other time—sends a nervous trickle down your spine.

Benjamin is obviously after Pete, but how bad will it look that the two of you are in the closet with him?

There's a mechanical squeal of metal catching, handle turning, getting stuck. Jiggle. A grunt as he encounters the locking mechanism of the next door over.

Two shadows block the ambient light at the bottom of the door.

Well, you pinch your eyes closed. This will be embarrassing.

"Admiral Benjamin," someone calls from further away.

"Ah," the response comes uncomfortably close to your door. "Lieutenant…?"

"Kerner, sir." Slider. "I was with Lieutenant Kazansky earlier. Did you ever find Mitchell?

Two quick raps on the door. Pete flinches. "I believe I have." And Admiral Benjamin sounds smug.

The statement hangs in the air.

"In a closet, sir?" You can see the skeptical raise of Slider's brow in your mind's eye.

The shadow shifts. "I'm sure he came this way."

"Well, I just saw his RIO headed toward the taxis." A pause. "He's a slippery little shit. If he was here, he's long gone by now."

"Hm." Admiral Benjamin doesn't move, but from the sound of things, neither does Slider. "Well, Lieutenant. Really good stuff on the Enterprise."

Slider thanks him as the shadows disappear from the doorway and footsteps hurry off on a Goose chase.

When you're sure the admiral has left the vicinity—thankfully not asking Slider why he decided to stick around—Pete stumbles out of the closet with all the grace of a baby giraffe but none of the height. "Aw, Kerner," he teases with a dopey grin, "you do like me."

Slider snorts. "Don't thank me yet. The Geese are waiting for a taxi."

Pete's chin falls to his chest, and he mumbles a "goddammit" before hurrying to see if he can avoid Admiral Benjamin by sneaking through the courtyard.

"They're not the only ones," Slider tells Ice, nodding in the general direction of what remains of the Ball's attendees. "If you want to talk to anyone else, now's the time."

But as you practically tremble between them, Ice looks at you—really looks at you—and his features soften. He cups your shoulder, offering but not pulling you into his side. "I think I've networked enough for one night," he declares, tone light. His thumb rubbing back and forth, soothing.

Then those gray-blue eyes are on you, and his lips stretch into a slow, soft smile. "No one I can't talk with some other time."

"You sure?" Slider asks. Then, hushed, "I can take care of her while you finish up."

There is quite literally nothing you want less. The venue is clearly cursed, and you don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out what other ways you can get caught or edged tonight. 

"The bet's off," Ice states before you can say 'no,' and your heart flutters. If Ice wasn't going to stick around for one last round of shoulder-rubbing, then winning was only a matter of getting you in a taxi.

For his part, Slider doesn't seem as shocked as you are by Ice's declaration.

Ice feathers a kiss to your temple before you can second-guess his decision. It's the most relaxed you've seen him all evening. "Let's get you a taxi."

"Wait." Slider pushes off the wall. He procures a key from his pocket and presses it into Ice's hand. "Holiday Inn. K Street. Leave in 10 minutes."

Ice fiddles with the thick plastic of the keychain but pays it no real mind.

"Don't give me that look," Slider boos.

Ice licks his lips. "You know our rooms were comped, right?" It's a perk of being summoned to the event, you're sure.

Slider takes a half step forward, the three of you the closest you've been all night. From this distance, Ice has to look up ever so slightly to meet Slider's cocky gaze. "You want to what?" he asks, voice going deep and quiet enough no one else could hear if they happened by you. "Pile into a single room at the same hotel everyone else is staying at?" He motions between the three of you. "How's that going to work?"

Some like to write Slider off as all muscle, no brain. But it's his job to see things others don't—things Ice doesn't. He knew they couldn't take you back to their fancy hotel rooms even before he came to the event tonight. The safest solution had been to shell out for a lesser room somewhere you were less likely to turn heads.

"She isn't exactly known for being quiet," Sli stresses.

Ice ponders the key for long seconds before he pockets it with a nod.

Slider smirks. "That's what I thought."

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Spencer Reid SFW | Fluff

To return to the S.R. SFW Masterlist, please click here. If you’re looking for my S.R. NSFW Masterlist, look here. If you're looking for my CM PolyAm Masterlist, look here. If you’re looking for Other MGG Characters, look here. If you’re looking for my Works in Progress, look here.

Works are separated by genre and gender of the Reader. Gender Neutral means that no gender identifiers are used.

Bedtime Stories on the Jet: Spencer and you share the jet couch.

Drunk Dial: It’s been years since Reader talked to Spencer, but after a bunch of drinks it seems like a really good idea.

Appalachian: Reader is tired of Spencer purposefully pushing their buttons and demands an explanation.

Play Dates: Reader finds out Spencer hasn’t had enough dates to play Best/Worst Date with the team and offers several Play Dates, but quickly realizes it’s hard to have a bad date with Spencer Reid.

It’s Personal: Reader reminds Spencer’s team that it’s never appropriate to ask someone for their age, even if they’re dating their coworker.

Style Theory: Fashion student Reader meets their favorite scholar and teaches him a lesson in self-love.

Quid Pro Quo: Spencer is entranced by the law student in his class.

Pipsqueak: The only thing shorter than Reader is their patience.

Fragile: Disabled!Reader. Spencer has to stay behind on a case and gets to know the new technical analyst.

The Perfect Plan: Reader has a question for Spencer, but things don’t go according to plan.

Kitten Love: Spencer’s vet begrudgingly agrees to an emergency house call.

Pair of Aces: This Pride month, Reader decides to share something with the team.

Battle of the Houses: Reid accidentally gets trapped in a Hogwarts House War with Reader, Jack, and Henry.

Like Father, Like You: Child!Reader. Platonic. In which Spencer’s child comes out as not-straight.

More fics below!

Astraphobia: SSA Reader and Spencer share their most embarrassing fears.

What Goes Up: Spencer breaks the Magician’s code for a very adorable exception.

Different Dialects: Autistic!Reader. Spencer is trying to tell Reader he likes her, but it feels like they speak entirely different languages.

Impromptu: Reader learns some shocking news when a case lands her in the hospital.

Soulmates: Spencer comes to a conclusion during a late night with Reader.

Intentions: Spencer’s teenage daughter wants to have a conversation with you about your intentions with her father.

Studious Shadow: Reader’s crush won’t stop avoiding her at work and she thinks he might hate her.

Painting by Numbers: Spencer is still a little worried about his pregnant wife painting the house.

The Prodigy Path: At a parent teacher conference, Spencer and Reader explain their seemingly unorthodox parenting style.

Fairytales: Spencer comes home to his very tired wife and even more tired child who refused to go to bed without a bedtime story from their dad.

Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.

Fever Dream: Reader makes an accidental confession, which starts the most intense game of hide and seek.

Defining Family: Spencer finds out he’s a dad… to a twelve year old girl. Your twelve year old girl, who just broke into the FBI.

Devil’s Advocate: Spencer’s been hooking up with the defense attorney in secret. At some point what was purely physical turned into something else.

Honeysuckle Hair: Spencer has some words to say about Reader’s curly hair.

Four in Hand: Spencer needs help with his tie.

Funny Thing Fate: Autistic!Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Java Jive: Spencer and Emily take a break at the local coffee shop and she makes an understandable mistake about barista Reader and Spencer’s relationship.

Mister Spencer: Reader has a crush on her child’s teacher.

Comme des Garçons: Reader chooses an interesting way to finally confess to dating Spencer.

Pumpkin: Spencer can’t handle how cute Reader’s southern accent is.

Practice Run: Spencer and Reader take on Derek’s challenge to babysit.

Dead Air: Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student’s true crime video series, but is surprised to find it’s not so bad.

Serendipitous: Spencer’s pretty sure Penelope mixed up his blind date.

Maddening One, My Goddess: Spencer has a one night stand… on February 13th. The next day, he is confronted with a familiar face on his pre-planned double date.

Growing Pains: Spencer finds unfamiliar lingerie in the laundry. When he confronts his wife, he learns it belongs to their teenage daughter.

Bi the Way: Morgan learns something very interesting about Reid after he leaves his bag at his significant other’s house.

Pretty Boy: Spencer thinks you’re just the bully who likes to pull his pigtails.

Happy Hydrangea: TransMan!Reader. JJ is corrected in finding out Spencer has had a boyfriend for a while now.

Off the Top: TransMan!Reader.Spencer is driving his boyfriend crazy after his top surgery.

[beardedmrbean]

Got a wild one here for ya Nunny.

Submitted anonymously.

Oh fun, we got rage against the white saviors hitting now then?

::::::Obligatory "white man's burden" reference here:::::: __________________

From coast to coast, wokeness is facing a rebellion.

Communities are fighting to reclaim their local heritage after a cancel-culture rampage in recent years eviscerated Native American images, nicknames and tributes at hundreds of schools nationwide. 

"We’re actually fighting an anti-American movement," Lisa Davis, a pro-Native American activist in Cedar City, Utah, told Fox News Digital. 

"The people trying to erase Native American culture are the same people trying to remove Thomas Jefferson and bashing American heritage." 

Davis and other Cedar City residents formed the grassroots organization VOICE (Voices of Iron County Education) after the school board voted to eliminate the high school’s traditional Redmen name and logo in 2019. 

"It was an honor to be called the Redmen," Julia Casuse, a "full-blooded Navajo" and graduate of Cedar City High School, told Fox News Digital. 

The silversmith said she tells visitors at the family’s shop, Navajo Crafting Co., "I’m a Redmen through and through."

The school's nickname is now the Reds.

Yet the irony of the new name is not lost on Cedar City residents. "We went from honoring centuries of American and Native American history to honoring communism," said Davis.

"The people trying to erase Native American culture are the same people trying to remove Thomas Jefferson and bashing American heritage." 

Eunice Davidson, a Dakota Sioux and president of the Native American Guardians Association (NAGA), told Fox News Digital, "It’s a terrible injustice to these communities," 

She and others claim the decisions to remove Native American images, nicknames and logos are made by local school boards, which are often under pressure from well-funded outside forces. 

"The decisions never have popular support," said Davidson, whose organization is based in North Dakota. 

"The taxpayer is being shunned and the school boards don’t care anymore. It’s Marxism and it’s taken over the school boards."

The grassroots group VOICE claims that 79% of local residents voted in support of the Redmen in a recent Change.org survey. 

Battles all across the country

Communities around the nation are waging similar battles. 

Activists in Killingly, Connecticut are fighting to reclaim the town's Redmen tradition after it was trampled by a statewide mandate to wipe out its own Native American legacy.

Cambridge, New York has taken its fight to save its beloved Indians tradition to the courts — after the Board of Regent announced its plan to trample Native American history across the Empire State. 

Local residents recently voted two new pro-Native American candidates onto its school board, including Iroquois Dillon Honyoust.  

"When you think about Native Americans, any icon that you see is about strength, honor, pride. Always a positive symbol to portray the strength of our heritage," Honyoust said in an interview with WAMC Northeast Public.  

The school board in Southern York County, Pennsylvania voted in January to allow Susquehannock High School to bring back its traditional Warriors name and logo. 

The decision came after five new school board members won elections in November by running on pro-Native American platforms. 

"This movement was about erasing Native American culture and I wasn’t about to stand for it," Jennifer Henkel, a mother of three children and one of the new school board members, told Fox News Digital previously.

The powerful group National Congress of American Indians (NCAI), based in Washington, D.C. has led the effort to erase Native American images in local communities around the nation. The organization is funded by benefactors such as George Soros’ Open Society Foundations, along with taxpayer dollars. 

Gonna clip it here, but it's wild (also not unexpected) to see things like this at the end of the piece

Students at Wellpinit (Washington) High School voted to keep the school's Redskins mascot in March 2023, rejecting calls to erase history and heritage by local Democrat leaders.  The student body is 87% Native American, according to the Department of Education.

So much of this stuff is the 'offended on your behalf' nonsense we've been seeing for decades.

Gotta wonder if this kind of thing continues to gain momentum if the "I" will get dropped from BIPOC.

The NCAI "has tracked the retirement of more than 200 unsanctioned Native ‘themed’ mascots since 2019, and has supported legislation banning the use of these mascots in multiple states," the group said in a statement last year to Fox News Digital. 

The group is also largely responsible for the effort to force the NFL's franchise in Washington, D.C., to drop its traditional Redskins name and the familiar Native American face that appeared on the team's helmets.

"Widely consumed images of Native American stereotypes in commercial and educational environments slander, defame and vilify Native peoples," the NCAI claimed in a 2013 report that tilted public opinion against the Redskins and other Native American images. 

The report, however, offered a dubious narrative. Among other omissions, the report's lengthy history of the Redskins failed to mention Blackfoot Chief John Two Guns White Calf — even though he served as the face of the franchise for 48 years. 

He was one of the most influential Native Americans of the 20th century. He fought for Native American causes and counted President Calvin Coolidge among his sphere of influence. 

His proud facade appeared on Redskins helmets from 1972 until he was canceled in 2020. The NCAI scrubbed his name from its history of the franchise.

Fox News Digital reached out to the NCAI for further comment. 

Communities across the nation, however, are fighting to preserve their Chief White Calf Redskins logo. 

Voters in Sandusky, Michigan recalled three school board members who voted to eliminate the Redskins. They've since elected three new school board members who ran on promises to reclaim the Redskins. 

Rick Spiegel, an activist in Sandusky who is leading the effort to reclaim the Redskins, said 2,100 registered voters in the town responded to a mail-in survey, with 90% supporting the traditional name. 

A survey at the high school revealed that 74% of students, and 53% of teachers, supported the Redskins.

Even so, the Sandusky High School teams are now known as the Wolves. 

"They're trying to erase or eradicate Native American history," said Spiegel. 

The Michigan communities of Camden, Pawpaw and Port Huron, he said, are fighting similar battles to preserve local traditions. 

The Red Mesa (Arizona) High School Redskins installed a new football field last year with a Redskins logo splashed across the 50-yard line. 

Students at Wellpinit (Washington) High School voted to keep the school's Redskins mascot in March 2023, rejecting calls to erase history and heritage by local Democrat leaders. 

The student body is 87% Native American, according to the Department of Education.

Kingston (Oklahoma) High School is also a majority Native American school that embraces the Redskins.

"The people that I’ve talked to — they have a sense of pride about our name, and about our mascot being the Redskins," Kingston athletic director Taylor Wiebener told KXII.com in 2020.

Students and residents of Donna, Texas, and McCloud, Oklahoma, have repeatedly voiced support for their Redskins identity, despite constant pressure, according to Native American activist Andre Billeaudeaux.

Casuse, the Navajo alumna of Cedar City High School in Utah, claims her allegiance to the Redmen began when she arrived at the school from a Navajo reservation in New Mexico in the 1960s.

She was feeling homesick while attending her first home football game.

"It gave me a sense of honor … It was a proud feeling for me, a sense of my heritage."

"All of a sudden I heard a very strong native beat. The school song," she said. "It stopped me in my tracks. It was wonderful hearing that sound and the beautiful Native music."

She suddenly felt at home, she said, adding that she served as a member of the pep club throughout high school. 

"It gave me a sense of honor. I was never embarrassed about it, never felt any tinge of prejudice. It was a proud feeling for me, a sense of my heritage."

[mariacallous]

Imani Smith, a rising senior at Howard University, was out grabbing food with friends when her group chats with her sorority sisters “started blowing up.” Smith, on a social media break at the time, rushed to re-download Instagram to see article after article about Vice President Kamala Harris running for president. She called her parents, excited.

“Representation is so important,” she said. “Just as a fellow Bison, just as young Black women, being able to see someone who looks like us rise to this level … seeing her take this on, it’s really inspiring. When we look at her, we see ourselves, we see our mothers, our grandmothers.”

Smith sees herself in Harris not just as a student at Howard, the historically Black university Harris attended. Smith is also the president of the Alpha chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha, a Black sorority more than a century old with chapters across the country. Harris joined AKA as a student in 1986 and has been an active presence in the group ever since.

Smith isn’t the only AKA member celebrating—and organizing. The sudden ascent of Harris to the top of the Democratic ticket has been met with enthusiasm from many Black women, not least of all her “sorors,” as AKA members call one another.

The sorority, founded at Howard, is part of the Divine Nine, a group of nine historically Black sororities and fraternities with vast networks across the country. Their up to two million members could prove a powerful force to galvanize Black and young voters—whose support for President Biden’s re-election had appeared to slip before he dropped out—to go the polls in November.

Black Greek life organizations are nonpartisan and nonprofit, so they can’t and don’t endorse candidates. But individual students and alumni involved are throwing their support behind the Harris campaign. Many AKA members convened on a Zoom call of roughly 44,000 people for the group Win With Black Women, which met the day Biden dropped out of the race. The group raised $1.5 million for the Harris campaign in one sitting, The New York Times reported. The Zoom inspired a spate of similar calls since that have raised millions of dollars for Harris. Social media has been buzzing with posts from sorority members calling on each other to organize and canvas and advertising get-out-the-vote swag in the sorority’s signature colors, pink and green.

“Seeing her rise to the possibility of holding the highest position in the land, you’re almost unable to even put it into words,” said Deidra Davis, graduate adviser to the Alpha chapter and a member of Xi Omega, Washington, D.C.’s Alpha Kappa Alpha chapter. “We have worked so hard for so many years for equal rights, for women’s rights, for civil rights. And to see this come to fruition, we are just bursting with pride and hope and just overall elation.”

Donna Miller, a county board commissioner for Cook County, Ill., who’s an AKA member, was at a party with friends from the sorority when she heard the news that Biden had endorsed Harris. Miller also attended the Win With Black Women call.

“We just all immediately said, ‘OK, now we have to get busy,’” she said. “We have to get to these swing states and volunteer and knock on doors and talk to voters.”

Harris is a regular at AKA events and spoke earlier this month, before Biden left the race, at the sorority’s annual Boulé, a national gathering. She gave a shout-out to those who attended Howard with her and spoke of how the organization influenced her since her “earliest days,” given her aunt joined AKA in 1950.

“Sorors, all of us here are clear: While we have come a mighty long way, we have more work to do,” she said. “For 116 years, the members of our sorority have been on the front lines of the fight to realize the promise of America. This year, let us continue that work.”

She was also greeted with enthusiastic applause when she addressed Zeta Phi Beta, another sorority in the Divine Nine, at their Boulé on July 24 after becoming the presumptive Democratic nominee.

“In this moment, our nation, as it always has, is counting on you to energize, to organize, and to mobilize; to register folks to vote, to get them to the polls; and to continue to fight for the future our nation and her people deserve,” Harris told the Zeta Phi Betas. “And we know when we organize, mountains move. When we mobilize, nations change. And when we vote, we make history.”

During Harris’s vice presidency, leaders of the Divine Nine have visited the White House on multiple occasions, including a visit to the Oval Office in May. At that meeting, Harris recounted thanking the organizations in a speech after her selection as Biden’s vice president and reporters asking what the Divine Nine was.

“And to myself I say, ‘You’re about to find out,’” she quipped.

‘Anticipation and Expectation’

Danette Anthony Reed, international president and CEO of Alpha Kappa Alpha, said the sorority plans to focus on registering voters and “supporting and advocating for justice,” but “without centering on any particular individual.” Before the big news about Harris, it had already launched a campaign, called “Take 4 or more in 24,” which encourages each of its members to get at least four people to vote. The group is also asking members to canvass and make phone calls to register voters and walk them through their voting options. The sorority further plans to help would-be voters address any obstacles to voting, such as “transportation barriers and voter suppression tactics.”

Reed said that as the first Black sorority, the group sees itself as “at the forefront of breaking glass ceilings.” AKA members are meeting Harris’s campaign with “a mix of anticipation and expectation.”

Reed also emphasized that the sorority, which has upward of 300,000 members, and the Divine Nine as a whole have long been a political force to be reckoned with, “despite often going unnoticed.” They regularly lobby federal and state lawmakers in support of policies and raise significant amounts for causes to benefit Black communities. She pointed out, for example, that AKA once raised $1 million for HBCUs in a single day.

Meanwhile, the leaders of the Divine Nine, the National Pan-Hellenic Council of Presidents, were planning a major get-out-the-vote effort, which they announced the day after Biden left the race.

“We, the Council of Presidents of the National Pan-Hellenic Council (Divine 9), have met and agreed to meet this critical moment in history with an unprecedented voter registration, education, and mobilization coordinated campaign,” a statement from the council read. “This campaign will activate the thousands of chapters and members in our respective organizations to ensure strong voter turnout in the communities we serve.”

Davis said the Divine Nine are in lockstep, or “all singing from the same hymn book,” when it comes to focusing on “making sure that people are getting out and exercising this right that so many of us were denied just a few decades ago.” She noted that the Alpha chapter plans to launch an informational campaign to ensure out-of-state students at Howard understand the absentee ballot process.

Students are also mobilizing. Smith said her chapter hosts an annual event called Freshman Move In where members of the sorority bring water and help Howard freshmen move their belongings into their dorms as they settle in on campus. This fall, that event is going to include a voter registration drive for both the first years and their parents.

Tyrone Couey, founding member and president of the National Historically Black Colleges & Universities Alumni Associations Foundation, expects Divine Nine voter registration efforts will particularly pay off with young voters, both at HBCUs and the many predominantly white institutions with active chapters. He emphasized that this kind of activism from the Divine Nine isn’t new, but noted the groups are enjoying a new spotlight, given Harris’s proud affiliation with them.

Some aspects of that limelight have been fraught. For example, Fox news commentator Brian Kilmeade drew backlash from HBCU alumni and others for allegedly calling Zeta Phi Beta a “colored” sorority when discussing the recent event Harris attended. (Kilmeade claims he actually said “college sorority.”) Renewed attention to these groups has also prompted social media discussions about whether non-Black Harris fans should avoid using AKA symbols, like donning pink and green garb, doing signature step routines and invoking the sorority’s classic “skee-wee” call.

Davis sees this spotlight moment as a “great opportunity to educate” people about who these groups are, what they do and their history. “We’re not new on the scene,” she said.

Miller has no doubt the groups’ prominence and power will soon become clear. She believes the organizations’ get-out-the-vote initiatives and members’ personal efforts to support the Harris campaign are going to make a difference.

“There are so many individuals who are members of the Divine Nine in so many different capacities, whether they’re elected officials, whether they’re leaders in corporate America, whether they’re entrepreneurs. All of these different entities coming together … is what’s going to make a huge impact,” she said, “because they are organizing like never before.”

[corporationsarepeople]

The Missouri Republican was speaking at the National Conservatism Conservatism in Washington, D.C., when he attempted to put a positive spin on “Christian nationalism,” a far-right ideology that promotes the belief that America was founded as a Christian nation and that policy should be decided using a fundamentalist interpretation of the Bible.

As such, Christian nationalist goals include banning abortion in the U.S., overturning laws protecting marriage equality and the rights of LGBTQ citizens, and removing books from libraries. 

During his speech, Hawley claimed that “Christian nationalism founded American democracy” and that “the Christian political tradition is our political tradition” before going on the attack.

“They want the religion of the pride flag. We want the religion of the Bible,” Hawley said before suggesting, “Why don’t we take down the trans flag from all the federal buildings from which it’s flying, and instead, inscribe on every federal building our national motto: In God We Trust?”

Hawley also became the second U.S. politician after Marjorie Taylor Greene to declare themselves a “Christian nationalist”.

—

Josh Hawley is a fascist asshole, and he clearly thinks his supporters are morons. He might be right about that second part.

[inside0ut-dotnet]

Ready, Set, Pride! Last Minute Celebration Ideas

With only 24 hours left until Pride Month kicks off, it's time to start planning how you're going to celebrate with your fabulous love bugs! Are you hitting up a major pride celebration in a city near you, hosting a virtual pride event, or just keeping it low key with your partner or friends? Whatever your plans may be, get ready to show your pride and spread the love!

Join the Parade or Party

If you're lucky enough to live near a city hosting a major pride celebration, why not join the parade or party? Put on your brightest rainbow outfit, grab some glitter, and get ready to dance the day away with your LGBTQ+ community. It's a time to be loud, proud, and unapologetically yourself!

Mid South Pride (May 2-June 2) in Memphis, Tennessee: A huge celebration including Memphis Pride Fest Weekend, a Drag N Drive event, a Big Gay Dance Party, and a Pride Parade.

Gay Days at Disney World (May 30-June 3) in Orlando, Florida: Over 150,000 LGBTQ+ Disney fans attend this annual event at the Magic Kingdom, featuring parties, a Gay Days Expo, Bear pool parties, and special guest performers.

Provincetown Pride (May 31-June 2) in Provincetown, Massachusetts: Enjoy a Pride festival, Queer Comedy showcase, Feet Over Front Street Pride 5K, and more. This year, there’s also “Reimagining Queer Africa” with art, technology, and outreach from Lagos, Nigeria.

New York City Pride (June 30) in New York, New York: The largest Pride Parade in North America, drawing thousands of participants and spectators in Greenwich Village.

Washington, D.C. Capital Pride (June 8-9): Events throughout the month, including a Night of Queer Expression and a rooftop pool party.

Twin Cities Pride Festival (June 28) in Minnesota: Minnesota’s second-largest festival, featuring LGBTQIA+ entertainment, vendors, and community resources. These events celebrate our collective queer joy, honor LGBTQ+ activists, and provide safe spaces for everyone to express their queerness and sexuality. 🌈✨

Host a Virtual Pride Event

Can't make it to a physical pride celebration? No problem! Host a virtual pride event with your friends and loved ones. Get creative with rainbow-themed decorations, plan some fun activities or games, and don't forget to blast some empowering LGBTQ+ anthems. It's a great way to show your pride from the comfort of your own home!

Pride Summit 2024 by Lesbians Who Tech and Allies:

Date: June 11th - 13th

Description: A week-long virtual summit with thought-provoking discussions, learning experiences, and professional development opportunities.  Speakers include tech luminaries and cultural leaders like Gabrielle Union and Sam Altman.

WorkPride 2024:

Date: June 17th - 21st

Description: A global virtual Pride conference focused on workplace equality. It’s free for professionals, graduates, and inclusive employers.

Brooklyn Pride Virtual Drag Bingo:

Date: June 4th

Remember to check out these events and celebrate Pride Month! 🌈

Keep it Low Key

Not in the mood for a big celebration? That's totally okay! Pride Month is all about celebrating love and acceptance in whatever way feels right for you. Whether you're spending a quiet evening with your partner, having a small gathering with friends, or simply reflecting on what pride means to you, there's no wrong way to celebrate.

Pride Month is a wonderful time to celebrate the beautiful spectrum of gender and sexuality while advocating for equality and justice in the LGBTQ+ community. Here are thoughtful and meaningful ways to celebrate Pride Month at home:

Decorate with LGBTQ+ Art and Decor:

Refresh your home’s interior design by proudly hanging a rainbow flag in your front yard or windows. You can also support LGBTQ+ interior designers by incorporating their art and decor into your living spaces.

Create an Outdoor Cinema:

Set up an outdoor movie night in your backyard or balcony. Choose LGBTQ+ films or documentaries that resonate with you. Invite friends or family (virtually, if needed) to share the experience.

Design a Reading Nook:

Curate a cozy reading corner with books by LGBTQ+ authors. Dive into their stories and explore diverse perspectives. It’s a great way to celebrate Pride while enjoying some quiet time.

Get Creative in the Kitchen:

Use your culinary skills to make festive creations. Bake rainbow-themed cookies, cupcakes, or a colorful cake. Share your delicious treats with loved ones or enjoy them yourself.

So, tell us, how are you planning to celebrate Pride Month this year? No matter how you choose to show your pride, remember that love is love and you are valid, fabulous, and deserving of all the happiness in the world. Happy Pride Month, love bugs!