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incognit0slut · 11 months

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MASTER OF PERSUASION

Part 4 of kinktober | main masterlist

meandom!Spencer/Hotch x fem!reader; Threesome, creampie, dumbification, degradation, brat taming, abuse of power, edging, dubcon

Your involvement in a heinous crime was questioned by the two FBI agents who were eager to do anything to get you to talk.

Words: 6802

a/n: This one is dedicated to my nasty, touch-starved btches who secretly wants to be manhandled by two older men. Enjoy this pure filth🫶

YOU WERE FAR FROM BEING A GOOD PERSON. From the surface, you seemed like a normal, typical woman, just one of the countless faces within the crowd. But when the doors shut behind you, you find yourself involved in endeavors you should never have pursued in the first place.

You knew too much. You were acutely aware of how many crimes happening in your vicinity. The number of deaths resulting from these heinous acts should be enough to terrify you, but it didn't, because unbeknownst to your peers, you were one of the reasons why they happened.

Although you never played the role of the perpetrator, you were the person these criminals came to for information. You were good with technology, you could hack into any secure system in the blink of an eye. It was almost as if you were a deity of the dark web, a mastermind whose mere presence served as a godsend to those carrying out these crimes.

It was easy money; you gave what they wanted, received what they paid you, and most importantly, you made sure to never look back. You always wiped everything out after each job was done, but somehow, after working on so many deals, your luck finally struck out.

Somebody hacked into your system—no, somebody good hacked into your system. This person knew what they were doing. They managed to hack through your firewall and retrieve a few of your data while also discovering your identity.

You honestly wanted to praise whoever was on the other side because you had never encountered someone who could match, if not surpass, your own skill. But it wasn't until you heard the loud banging on your front door, followed by people in uniformed vests rushing in and pointing their guns at you, that you finally realized who had breached your system.

It was the FBI.

So that was how you found yourself sitting inside an interrogation room hours later with two agents across from you. A very tall, intimidating man stood at the corner, his arms crossed as he watched you silently. Dr. Spencer Reid was how he introduced himself, and the way he emphasized the title in front of his name, you were certain he was the type of person who took extreme pride in his intelligence.

He seemed a little too cocky.

Special Agent Aaron Hotchner, on the other hand, was hard to decipher. The older man appeared somewhat guarded as if his job had forced him to put on a facade devoid of genuine emotions. Maybe it did. He was, after all, a federal agent. Both of them were. These men were probably taught to master the art of maintaining an inscrutable poker face.

Nevertheless, they were both intimidating, and you wondered to yourself, was good cop bad cop not a thing anymore? Because as far as this was going, none of them seemed inclined to make things easy for you.

The man in front of you cleared his throat, his voice was a well-practiced blend of authority and curiosity. "You've been quite elusive, haven't you, Miss Y/L/N?"

You leaned back, studying him through half-lidded eyes, your fingers tracing the edges of the table with a cool, almost casual detachment. "Elusiveness is a matter of perspective, Agent Hotchner. I prefer to think of it as adaptability."

"Adaptability?" He leaned in closer, his sharp gaze never wavering. "You've made quite a name for yourself. You've infiltrated government agencies, stolen classified data, and even orchestrated financial heists... Impressive, I must say."

A faint smile danced upon your lips, revealing just a glimmer of amusement. "I simply explore the hidden avenues of the World Wide Web. It's not about the thrill; it's about the knowledge."

His eyes narrowed. "But your actions have consequences. You've caused quite a chaos, don't you think?"

"Consequences are a part of every action, whether in the digital realm or the physical world. As for chaos..." You met his gaze with unwavering confidence. "Well, sometimes chaos is necessary for evolution."

He leaned back, his expression unyielding. "Evolution or anarchy?"

"As I said, everything is a matter of perspective, even anarchy," you replied, your voice smooth as silk. "In the grand scheme of things, I'm just a catalyst. Society's flaws were there long before I came along."

The man in the corner took a step forward. His eyes bore into you with resolve as if he had grown weary of the ongoing debate. "You've had your say," he interjected with a steely tone. "You know why you're here. Our victim's files were found on your computer, we need to know who requested them."

You met his gaze with a mixture of defiance and amusement, unfazed by his direct approach. "Doctor Reid," you said, your voice laced with a hint of mock surprise. "Always chasing ghosts in the machine, aren't you?"

His expression remained composed, his intellect undeniably sharp. "We're not here to discuss my pursuits. We're here to talk about the life you've disrupted."

"Disrupted? I'd say I've merely revealed the cracks in the system. Your victim, as you call them, was a casualty of a much larger game."

"Games have rules, Miss Y/L/N. You seem to operate outside of them."

"Rules are made to be broken, Spencer," you retorted, your tone cutting like a blade through the air. "I can call you that, right? I hate having to speak with such formalities."

"It's Doctor Reid," he corrected. "Tell us who you're working for."

His unwavering determination was met with a subtle, knowing smile from you. You leaned forward, your eyes locking onto his with a hint of intrigue.

"I don't know, Spencer," you began, your tone slightly softer, as if you were letting him in on a secret, "The digital world is a labyrinth of information. Files come and go, they disappear and reappear... It's like trying to catch a shadow in the dark. It's useless."

He addressed you with a cold stare. "You're playing a dangerous game here."

You raised an eyebrow, your voice honeyed with allure. "Oh, I'm well aware of the game we're playing. But don't mistake my refusal to cooperate for arrogance. It's just that some secrets are meant to stay hidden."

The room seemed to contract, the air thick with unresolved tension. Aaron cleared his throat and your eyes fell back on him. "Miss Y/L/N, give us a name and we can make things easier for you. But if you don't cooperate..." His eyes traveled down along your body, the goosebumps rose on your skin in response to the heat of his gaze. "I'm afraid we have to resort to extreme measures."

A brief pause hung in the room. There was something in the way he was staring at you. He was looking at you with a profound determination that seemed very different from the way he assessed you before. Under the weight of his scrutiny, you felt your body growing hot. Your breath hitched, and a flush of warmth crept up your neck and tingled in your cheeks.

You regarded him for a moment before you finally spoke, your voice calm but tinged with a hint of defiance.

"If you think you can break me, Aaron, you're gravely mistaken. But if you're interested in the name..." you leaned back, crossing your arms. "I guess you'll have to earn it."

The tension in the room escalated as your words hung in the air. His jaw clenched, and when you thought you had won the upper hand over this battle of wits, he surprised you by waving his hand in the air, and Spencer came forward.

It was as if they had planned this. The way Aaron instructed his partner to move seemed rehearsed and calculated. Spencer walked over to you and before you could register what was happening, he grabbed onto your arm and wrenched you out of your chair with a force you didn't know he possessed.

Your voice carried a mix of anger and frustration as you protested, "What the hell are you doing?"

You suddenly felt him run his hands along your arms. "Checking for weapons."

The scoff you gave him was loud. "Oh, now you're treating me like a criminal?"

"It's a mere precaution."

And then you felt it, the way his touch lingered on your body. It was far from any normal search. His hands felt warm on your skin, even over the material of your shirt, as he continued to pat down your arms. There was a certain roughness in his movements as he slid his arms around your backside and you couldn't mistake the way he gripped your ass more than he should probably have.

"This is ridiculous," you muttered under your breath. "You won't find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that." He slightly shoved your shoulders. "Put your hands on the table."

You reluctantly did as you were told, silently gritting your teeth. His hands moved with purpose, and as much as you wanted to stop this questionable act, your body was reacting in a way that had you questioning yourself instead.

Why was your heart beating so fast as he stood behind you? Why was it getting so hard to breathe when his hands slipped around your waist? And why did it seem you were anticipating more when his palms slightly hovered over your breasts?

"Is this really necessary?" You asked quietly, trying to act as if his rough hands on you weren't affecting you. "This feels more like an attempt for intimidation."

You could practically hear the smugness in his voice as he asked, "Are you intimidated, Miss Y/L/N?"

You liked to think that you weren't, but honestly, you didn't know anymore. You had tried your best to put on a mask to avoid appearing weak, but as he started to squeeze your breasts in the palm of his hands, it finally dawned on you what was happening—You were finally caught, there was a high chance of you ending up in jail, and now a federal agent was touching you inappropriately, groping you in a crude form of patting you down.

And to your dismay, you actually liked it.

But you had too much of a pride, that was why you found yourself lying through your teeth. "No."

Spencer hummed a reply as if he didn't believe you. He squeezed your breasts through your shirt again, palming at them as he slightly felt your nipples stiffen through the material, and he couldn't resist rolling them as his touch continued lower. Your breath hitched as he mapped out your curves, one of his hands delving between your thighs before he stopped right at the center of your heat.

You let out a gasp.

"I-Is this even legal?"

Your mind went blurry as you felt his fingers touching you through the thin fabric of your pants. "Are you questioning how the law enforcement works?"

You couldn't answer him. Not because you didn't want to, but because you weren't able to form any coherent words as he continued to palm your sex, his fingers continuing to rub you. You were suddenly so focused on the way he was touching you, your head hanging low as you felt the sensation throughout your body, that you didn't even hear Aaron calling out your name.

It wasn't until Spencer retrieved his hand from between your thighs, and yanked your hair from behind, that you were forced to meet Aaron's gaze. "He called you," Spencer mocked, tightening his grip.

Aaron leaned forward, assessing the way you were arching your back with both of your hands planted on the table. "You have two options. One, we can play nicely, you give us a name and we'll go easy on you." His voice dropped lower as he continued, "Or two, you keep with this attitude and we might have to coax the answer out of you."

You locked eyes with him, a silent challenge burning in your gaze. Despite being in this vulnerable position, there was an undeniable strength in your stare, a refusal to surrender to their intimidation. Aaron met your gaze with a profound understanding.

"The hard way it is then." You saw him lean back in his chair as he crossed his arms, the subtle movement actuating his broad chest. "You know what to do, Reid."

There was nothing remotely gentle about the way Spencer handled you after those words. He shoved you, knocking the air out of your lungs as you gasped, your body pressed against the cool surface of the table. Somehow between your struggles, he managed to slide his hands around your waist, unbuttoning your pants before pushing them down your legs.

The air hit your bare skin, and even when you felt the cool breeze, your body was seething with fire, burning through your veins. The warmth spread along your cheeks as you realized you were wearing your skimpiest underwear, a flimsy material of dark lace that barely covered your sex. He gripped your ass with the palm of his hands, fingertips digging into the plush skin as he spread you apart.

"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" You felt him shift behind you and you imagined him kneeling right in front of your heat. The moment his knuckles brushed along your wet patch, your hips bucked involuntarily. "She's wet, Hotch, I think she's getting a little too excited."

"I'm not surprised," the older man said. "She does seem like a slut."

Your head snapped at him. "I am not a slut."

"Oh, you are a slut." He leaned forward and reached out his hand, holding your chin in a vice grip, forcing you to look at him. "And we'll prove you how much of a whore you actually are."

Right on queue, a surprised gasp left your lips when Spencer's large palm burned your skin, giving your ass a harsh slap. The sound echoed in the room and he repeated the motion, watching in satisfaction the way your ass rippled for him. You fell into a false sense of security as he began to soothe his hand against your burning skin before pulling back to give another loud smack, and your mouth fell apart in pleasure.

"Not a fucking slut?" Aaron taunted, his thumb brushing on your lower lip. "That's the most farfetched lie you told us ever since you walked through that door."

You glared at him, but your defiance slowly shattered when you felt Spencer pulling down your panties over the curve of your ass, slipping them down your legs. The evidence of your arousal stuck onto the fabric and you felt your cheeks going warm in embarrassment. Spencer sucked in a gasp as he took in the sight of your lower half completely naked for him.

"Barely even touched you and you're soaking wet," he murmured, letting his thumb brush over your pussy, gauging your reaction. Your nose scrunched as you tried to bite back a moan that threatened to slip out. He started with gentle strokes, keeping his fingers only on the outer side, yet you could still feel his touch everywhere.

Each downstroke he made gave a light pull against your clit without giving any direct contact, and each time his fingers came back up, he slowly spread your folds open for him, briefly allowing your slickness to come in contact with the cold breeze of air.

Your mind became hazy, and just when you thought your body couldn't react more to his touch, he slipped a finger between your folds, feeling your slick against the dainty flesh. The motion caused your hips to buck erratically and your hands immediately reached up to grip onto the edge of the table.

He slipped deep inside you as your arousal coated him, circling your tight entrance as he felt the way your walls fluttered around the tip of his finger. He let out a low grunt as he felt how tight you were around him, curling at the knuckle while he began to drag his calloused pad against the soft spot inside you, making your body shake just from the mere contact.

The subtle reaction didn't go unnoticed by Aaron and he watched as your eyes glazed over. He couldn't stop himself from smirking, his features revealing a hint of amusement.

"You're enjoying this too much. I'm starting to think you're keeping your silence for the sake of this." You moved your head away from his grasp, only for him to grip your jaw harder. "Don't fucking move. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks your tight little pussy."

You never thought you'd be hearing such crude words from him, not with his stoic demeanor and polished facade, nor did you expect your body to react the way it did when those words filled your ears. You couldn't help it, your body betrayed your mind as your cunt continued to throb between your thighs. You could feel the desire building inside you, threatening to burst as you felt your body shake, and Spencer was well aware of this as he felt your walls clenching around his finger.

The laugh coming through his lips rang in your ears, sending shivers down your spine. "She liked that."

Aaron raised his eyebrows at you. "You like it when I talk like this?" He taunted. "You like it when I tell you how much of a slut you are taking his fingers so deep inside you?"

Your eyelids dropped lower at his words, and right at that moment, a lewd squelch filled the room as Spencer slowly slipped another finger into your dripping cunt, stretching you out as he began to thrust them inside you at a steady pace. Your body quivered as your breath quickened, and you found yourself grinding against his touch, desperately trying to get him to press the same spot inside you.

"Look at you fucking yourself on my fingers," Spencer cooed, his free hand smacking your bare ass again, and you found yourself arching your back. "You really are filthy."

Aaron laughed. "Acting like you didn't want it a second ago." He gripped your jaw tighter, forcing a gasp out of you at the subtle pain. He took advantage of your opened mouth by slipping his thumb inside. "Suck on my finger, Sweetheart."

You didn't know which one surprised you the most, his sudden term of endearment, or the order he gave you. You hesitated, because the moment you willingly sucked on his finger, you knew you would lose. The moment you followed through to his demand, he would have the upper hand and you would simply be the pawn in this game.

Aaron, as you realized, wasn't a patient man. His other hand reached for your hair and then, with a sharp and sudden yank, he tore at your hair. "Don't make me use more force than I already am."

Your roots tingled, your scalp throbbing, and a few tears welled up in your eyes. You blinked them away, not wanting to show any sign of weakness, and leveled your gaze at him.

He pulled your hair again. "Suck."

The pain was so much for you that you found yourself wavering. You swirled your tongue around his thumb before closing your lips and sucking with an approving hum. A husky moan was pulled from deep within him, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth on him, and, especially, the sight of you. "That's it," he praised you. "Suck on it as if you're sucking my cock."

Your walls clenched again. A sound of pleasure erupted from Spencer as he felt your cunt sucking in his fingers, and without warning, he pumped them into you with so much force you couldn't stop yourself from moaning this time. He laughed, as did Aaron, and your body shook as you felt that familiar sensation tightening along your body.

The room around you seemed to blur and melt away at the pleasure coursing in your veins. It started in the pit of your stomach, a warm, liquid sensation that spread like a slow-burning fire, radiating outwards in waves. Your hushed moan was muffled by Aaron's thumb in your mouth, but the sound of your pathetic whining didn't go unnoticed by both men.

You were so fucking close you could feel every nerve in your body on high alert. Your breaths came in ragged gasps, and your body quivered with the intensity of the sensation. Your eyes fell shut as the lewd sound of your arousal filled the room, and just when you were about to let go, Spencer suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, wrenching away that peak of pleasure you were desperately chasing.

Your eyes shot open, dilated pupils now wide with shock and confusion. Aaron met your gaze with amusement, a sadistic smile dancing on his lips as he pulled his thumb out of your mouth with a pop. "Stupid girl, thinking we'd actually let you cum."

The abrupt contrast between the heights of your pleasure and the stark void that followed was jarring. But before you could comprehend your disappointment, you heard a shuffle behind you followed by footsteps circling you. Spencer finally came back into your line of vision and with no one standing behind you, you tried to push yourself from the table, only to be shoved back down by Aaron.

"Fucking stay where you are," he commanded, his sharp voice piercing right through you. Your eyes were fixed on him, gaze unwavering as he slowly rose from his seat. And then suddenly he was the one behind you, and now Spencer stood right in front of you, looking down at you with amusement.

"You know," he started, his fingers trailing the side of your face. You moved your head away from his touch, but unlike Aaron, he didn't force you to look at him. He merely chuckled as he continued, "You wouldn't be in this position if you had given us the name."

Hearing this, you finally glanced up at him. The self-confidence he carried was starting to annoy you and you couldn't stop yourself from spitting venom, especially when he had ripped away the pleasure thrumming in your body. "I told you to fucking earn it."

The remaining air was knocked from your lungs when the palm of his hand collided with your cheek, your head jolting to the right from the force of the impact. Bright white stars danced behind your closed eyelids, and for a second you thought that you were dizzy from the shock. But then you felt it, the pressure that had been building in your core giving way, a wave of pleasure washing over you.

"Dirty girl," he taunted. "Here I was trying to shut you up and you actually liked that? You like being slapped around?"

You remained quiet, looking away from him.

"And don't worry, you will tell us by the end of this." You faintly hear the sound of metal ringing in your ears. Your eyes fell back on him and your heart sank when his hands moved down to his belt, unbuckling it as he let it hang around his hips.

His fingers moved to unbutton his pants before tugging down the fly. The sight of his hard cock tenting beneath his briefs had your cunt clenching in anticipation, as much as you hated to admit it. Then his thumbs dipped into the hem of his boxers, tugging the fabric down, and you looked up at him with wide eyes. He was bigger than you'd expected. He was thick and solid, veins danced along his length and the droplet of wetness on his tip was too mesmerizing you couldn't look away.

He wrapped a fist around his length, hissing in relief as he made his way towards you. "Now let's put that filthy mouth of yours to good use." He pressed the head of his cock against your lips, half-lidded eyes gazing down at you as he leaned forward. "Open."

The musky scent of him overwhelmed you as you breathed in and you involuntarily opened your mouth wide to accommodate his girth. The flat of your tongue pressed against the underside of his cock as he gave soft, shallow thrusts inside your warm mouth. His fingers held onto your face as he watched his length disappear inside you.

"God, look at you—" Spencer rasped, his voice sounding strained. "Good fucking girl."

Each roll of his hips has more of his thick cock slipping inside your mouth. His palm moved to the back of your head, holding you steady as he forced his length further down your throat, watching as your cheeks darkened and your eyes watered. Your hands moved up to push at his thighs as you struggled against his grip, the desire to breathe overwhelming as you tried to push him away.

You suddenly felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen and you began to cough and splutter around him, your throat constricting as the sensation flowed directly through his cock. The sensation made him groan out in pleasure as he finally eased his grip on your head and leaned back, allowing you to breathe as you continued to splutter, drool dripping down your chin as you gulped for much-needed air.

Your head felt delirious. You were too focused on catching your breath when you unexpectedly felt something thick pushing into your cunt in one swift motion, knocking you over as you let out a scream.

"Hotch," Spencer laughed, tightening his grip on your hair while he positioned his cock back onto your lips again. "You shocked her."

Aaron merely grunted a reply as he held onto your hips and started to thrust his cock into you. His thickness sent a ripple of pain between your legs. He was definitely bigger than anyone you'd been with before, your breath coming out in soft, shallow pants as he drove more of himself inside your tightness. Your teeth bit down on your lower lip as a dull ache filled your body, trying to ignore the pain as he continued to stretch your tight heat.

There were no words after that, the room was hazy with desire as the heat built within the small space. The two men focused their attention on your body as you took them at the same time. It was filthy, depraved, and something you'd never done before. You never thought you would be in this position, nor did you think you'd actually enjoy being used like this.

Because you did, you really fucking did. Your entire body felt hot, a scorching fire flowing through your veins as you embraced the sensation, an indescribable pleasure taking over as Aaron's cock curved towards that delicious spot inside you with precision.

Your body was pressed against the table, sweaty and exhausted. It was torture, the way he was slamming his cock inside of you at the pace that left you breathless, it hurt and burned with pleasure at the same time. Each thrust had you hanging on the edge of release, unable to think straight as your mouth continued to mindlessly babble around Spencer's cock.

Every so often he'd hold the back of your head securely so you couldn't move away as he continued to bury himself in your throat. A pleased sound escaped his lips as you started to choke around his girth. It felt like you were starting to drown yourself as he shoved into you ruthlessly. Your lungs cried out for air as you began to feel woozy from the lack of oxygen, desperately trying to breathe through your nose.

"Fuck," he hissed, finally easing his hips back to give you relief. You spluttered as you gasped for air, a mixture of his arousal and your spit dribbled down your chin. "So fucking messy."

You tried to calm your breathing, but it didn't take long for your brain to turn into mush again because Aaron snapped his hips, pulling a moan from your lips as he started a harsh pace. Fingertips dug into your hips as he buried more of himself inside your tightness, your inner walls pulsing around him.

His thrusts were hard and you were certain you'd have marks on your skin from the way he was rutting against you, a dull ache panging inside your lower half. Your mouth fell open in a constant moan as you tried to hold your body up against the table. A throb coursed through you as you tried to hold onto the edge, your breath coming out in harsh pants. You were so desperate for your release, your body so close to coming undone.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, are you going to cum?"

You mumbled out a garbled reply as he continued thrusting into you relentlessly, your fingertips digging into the table as you felt his cock dragging against your inner walls. Aaron grunted at the sensation of you clenching around him. His eyes drifted down to where your bodies were connected and watched the way his cock slid in and out of your tight cunt.

He was on the edge of his release, you could tell by the way he thrust into you desperately. You prepared yourself for your own pleasure, your hips moving involuntarily, meeting his erratic movement, as you seek more friction from him. You whimpered, feeling his fingertips dig into your skin almost painfully and you felt the familiar sensation traveling along your body. Fuck. Fuck yes. You were finally going to—

A drawn-out whine left your lips when he pulled his cock out from your tight heat. The sudden emptiness had your body shaking violently. It wasn't until you felt a streak of wetness spluttering on your back that you realized he had reached his own high without letting you reach your own.

"Shit," he gasped, slapping your ass as he watched his own liquid seeping down the curve of your back. "That was incredible."

You groaned. Fucking selfish man.

"What was that?"

It then dawned on you that you actually mumbled those words out loud. You shook your head and he groaned at your lack of words. "That didn't sound like nothing."

And suddenly, as if you weighed nothing, he grabbed onto your body and turned you over, pushing you onto your back. You were too weak to even fight him as he shoved your pants off your feet before spreading your legs apart. You watched as he leaned down and a long string of clear liquid fell from his lips toward your cunt, letting it trickle down between your folds.

"Knew you were a slut," he hissed, before straightening himself and tucking his cock back in his pants. Your eyes drifted toward him. He was big, just as big as you felt him inside you. But it wasn't his sheer size that surprised you, it was Spencer standing by your feet that had your heart peaking up its pace. Aaron smirked as he stepped back and Spencer quickly took his place between your legs.

"Look at you still holding back," Aaron taunted, genuine curiosity lacing in his voice as he paced around the room. "You're worn out. You're filthy. Aren't you tired of playing this game?"

You looked over at him tiredly. Amidst the pulsing waves of pleasure coursing through your veins, you fought to maintain your focus. "Y- You haven't done anything m-much to earn—"

His laughter sent a chill through the room. "Oh, Sweetheart, you think you're winning, but you're not." He then locked his gaze on you. "Trust me, we already have you in the palm of our hands."

You tried retorting back but the once-sharp edges of your concentration began to blur when you felt Spencer's throbbing cock right between your pussy. Each pulse of pleasure sent tremors through your resolve as he eased his hips back to drag the thick, swollen head through your outer lips. His eyes focused on the way you spread for him as though inviting him inside.

"You're already fucked out," Spencer murmured, dragging the tip of his cock through your wetness, feeling it catch against your tight entrance. "Yet look at you swallowing me."

He let the underside of his cock split your folds open, resting it between them snugly as he let out a low groan at the heat radiating from your core. The sinful noise that left your lips had his cock throbbing painfully, the thick veins protruding from his length. He angled your body against him, pushing more of his thick girth inside your trembling body, feeling the way you squeezed around him as he stretched you out.

Spencer pressed his fingers into the curve of your hips as his gaze flickered between your face and his cock splitting you apart. You gasped, your breaths growing more erratic as he managed to push all of his length inside you. He ran his hand over your abdomen as he tried to feel his cock inside you, pressing against your pelvis as he pulsed at the sensation.

"Fuck, baby," he growled, "Taking me so well."

And then he slowly dragged his cock away from you, keeping just the tip in your entrance before plunging back inside in a harsh, jarring movement, jolting you in surprise. You arched your back and tipped your head back in pleasure, just to find Aaron towering above you, looking down at you with an eerie smile.

His fingers trailed down your shoulder blades before they hovered at the buttons on your shirt, slowly unbuttoning them. "I think it's time that you give us a name."

Your body writhed in response to the waves of sensation as you tried to ground yourself. But it was hard to keep thinking straight when he grabbed onto the underlayer of your bra and lifted it over your chest. The way your perky breasts spilled out from beneath the fabric made both men hum in satisfaction.

Calloused palms grabbed onto your breasts and your eyes rolled at the back of your head at the sensation. His thumb brushed against your soft nipple, watching as it began to rise to a stiff peak as he mimicked the action on your other breast, all the while as Spencer began thrusting into your cunt at a painfully slow pace.

"Come on, Sweetheart, don't you want to cum on his cock?"

"Fuck," Spencer grunted, feeling you clench around him. "Keep talking to her."

Aaron chuckled as he continued playing with your breasts. "It's torture, isn't it?" He closed his index finger and thumb around your nipples, pinching ever so gently. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes as arousal flushed through you. "Give us a name and we'll give you what you want."

And then you felt Spencer rocking his hips at a steady rhythm, burying himself deeper and deeper before he slowly began increasing his speed. Your body jerked wildly each time he pushed deep into you. Noticing this, his thumb moved to your clit as he pressed messy circles against the sensitive nub, twisting it beneath his calloused pad. It felt too good, so good that you could no longer hold back from moaning out loud.

Your cries of pleasure snapped him into action and his hands moved down to your ass, holding you up to him as he started pounding harder into you. Your head fell back, chest heaving up and down, and that was when you felt Aaron closing his lips around one of your nipples. You writhed, your body thrashing underneath both men. Your senses reeling, the warmth of multiple hands on your skin sent jolts of electricity down your spine, igniting a wildfire of pleasure within you.

Aaron pulled away from you and your eyes flickered open at the loss, only to be met with Spencer hovering above you. Your eyes swept over him, and you looked down where you were joined, watching how his hips moved in constant thrusts. He was enjoying this, you could tell by the way his fingers burned your skin and the occasional grunt escaping his lips.

At the sound of his voice, you looked up at his face, glistening with a sheen of sweat while his messy hair tousling over it. The moment your gazes met each other, something inside you snapped. The muscles in your core began to coil, tightening and constricting around him right as your climax slowly pushed through the fog inside your head. Spencer felt it too, and he suddenly slowed his pace, throwing you a cunning smile.

You felt your resistance starting to crumble. The intensity of your pleasure grew almost unbearable, and you could no longer deny it. Your eyes welled with tears at the overwhelming sensation, and the thought of having your orgasm ripped again from you seemed like another torture you didn't want to endure.

You were going to regret this. You definitely would. But you couldn't dwell on the consequences of your actions when desperation coursed through you like a fever, an all-consuming hunger that you couldn't deny. Your body ached for release and craved it with an intensity that was maddening.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, and then your eyes, wide and filled with desperation, pleaded with him silently as you found yourself finally giving in, muttering a name you had tried to keep to yourself. A name involved in the crime these men had been pestering you for. A name that had Aaron smirking devilishly as he leaned over to you, brushing his knuckles on your cheek in a caress that was so foreign.

"Good girl," he mumbled, his voice lacing with satisfaction at the way you finally crumbled. He was right, you were already in the palms of their hands, it was simply a matter of time until you caved in. "Good fucking girl."

Once you surrendered, you couldn't stop the whine falling through your lips. Your desperate moan rang deeply in the room, snapping something primal inside Spencer, and he trusted his hips into you roughly. A gasp escaped your lips, legs falling open wider as he split you wider than you already were.

Your mind went absolutely numb with pleasure as he kept rutting up inside you, your body becoming nothing more than a mess, overtaken by a wave of sweat and erotic bliss. You felt yourself trembling, your breathing becoming more ragged as his thrusts became sloppier.

“Fucking hell,” he grunted, noticing the way your mouth fell open as pleasure engulfed you. "That's it, baby, let me fuck you dumb."

You cried out, babbling incoherent sentences as he thrust harder, grabbing your hips and tilting into you slightly, making him go even deeper as he moved with you.

"Go on, cum on my cock," he growled breathlessly through his rapid pounding. "Let me feel you."

“Fuck—” You cried out for him, your overstimulated body shaking beneath him. Wave after wave of pleasure came rushing through your body, erupting in the most intense way. He watched the way you convulsed beneath him in your release, watching the way a white, sticky liquid circled his cock every time his skin brushed your inner walls. His thumb was unrelenting against your clit and you tried to angle your body away from his touch, the pleasure too intense as your lower half throbbed around him.

You continued to clench around him between your bliss, your legs trembling from the position as he arched his back, focusing the power of his thrusts straight into your tightness. A shiver burst through you at the sensation. And with one final thrust, his whole body tensed. He pushed forward, burying his cock in your soft, warm cunt, spreading his warmth in much slower and shallow rolls of his hips.

You were breathing hard, trying to regain your composure, and a moan left your lips when he finally pulled out. Cringing at the fluid slowly leaking out of you, you tried to close your legs only to be stopped as he gripped the back of your thighs, spreading your legs apart to expose your body. You were so wonderfully disheveled, your cunt clenching around nothing, gleaming with your arousal and his own release.

“Look at the mess you made." Piercing eyes watched you as white liquid trickled down your ass. A feeble mewl left your lips as his thick fingers moved down to catch it, deliberately pressing against your folds as you wriggled in his grasp. A laugh left his lips as he dragged the string of wetness along your sex, pushing it back inside you.

"I think I ruined her."

Aaron's laughter filled the room, and just as you were about to push yourself off the table, you felt him grasping both of your hands, pushing them above your head. Your eyes widened in shock. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Then you felt it, the cool metal wrapped around your wrist, sinking into the flesh of your skin as you tried to move from his grip. An unexpected panic surged within you. "Sweetheart, we know you're involved in more than one crime." The soft click of the metal lock was loud in your ears. "You need to give us more names."

Your body, still tingling with the aftershocks of pleasure, now felt more exposed than ever. You looked up to find both men staring down at you, and at very moment, you realized, as you felt the handcuffs digging into your wrist, that you were going to be here for a very long time.

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x reader smut #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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pompadorbz · 25 days

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Y'know what's kinda funny?

During the entire QSMP, the primary and collective motivation of all the characters was, simply put; to leave the island.

And while not all of them did so by the same means, they all managed to achieve that goal in one way or another! (admittedly, freedom from the island doesn't always mean TRUE or BETTER freedom. But if the shoe fits.)

But the thing about all that is; the island changed so, so much. Just with their presence, alone. With the cards that they were dealt, they did the very best they could to make the island a home. And I really do think that they DID see the island as their home. For those who were far from where they needed to be, it still offered comfort, and for the ones who'd never known a home, it gave them one.

The island and its inhabitants share a symbiotic relationship in that way.

For what the island provided, they gave it an identity in return.

It wasn't a perfect identity, no. It wouldn't be a reach to say that it was very flawed. Definitely not what the Federation would have wanted from it, I imagine.

But with them gone, the island is going to really, TRULY FEEL their absence. Who will be there to keep the paths paved? to tend to the gardens? To cut away the vines as they grow over and around the once inhabited structures?

By leaving the island, the inhabitants left a piece of themselves behind... But they certainly didn't go home empty handed.

In return, the island is never going to leave them.

#syd spiels qsmp #qsmp #IM FEELING A SORTA WAY MAN

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zedecksiew · 1 month

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Monument vs Shrine

In "Replica, Aura, and Late Nationalist Imaginings", the political scientist Benedict Anderson (most famous for his Southeast Asia scholarship and that definitive critique of nationalism, Imagined Communities) muses on the Lincoln memorial:

Within a temple explicitly mimicking "the religious edifices of a safely pagan Greece";

Mazda Corp floodlights designed "to ward off unnatural, indifferent sunlight";

The abstract enshrinements of "Lincoln's memory" in the "hearts of the people", while neither Lincoln's actual remains or any rites for people to perform are present;

The sense that ultimately the most reverential thing to do there is to take photographs.

The Lincoln Memorial; the Jefferson memorial next to it; both figures repeated again on Mt Rushmore; both figures repeated ad nauseum on dollar bills.

These monuments are designed to proliferate. Not only must they create a sober, stately experience for the visitor---but they must also do so consistently, because they are built for visitors: the mass audience of the national population.

Otherwise they must be physically replicable: a memorial to a particular national hero, erected in every city.

The very format of monument-building get copied:

Post-colonial countries, in need of new myths, choose to manufacture national cenotaphs of their own, in imitation of Western models.

Malaysia has Putrajaya, a federal capital sprung ex nihilo from palm-oil agricultural land, its buildings all arches and onion domes and imitation arc de triomphes in inhuman scale, its avenues broad and utterly unwalkable in the tropical heat.

At such monuments the citizen is cast as tourist.

Of this state-sanctioned object of devotion you are encouraged to take photographs, sell merchandise---ie: continue the process of replication. With every copy nationalism is reified.

God forbid you tweak the official monument with your own meanings, though! While writing this post, I found the following story, from December 2023:

"Lincoln Memorial temporarily closed after being vandalized with 'Free Gaza' graffiti"

Anderson's essay cites instances where the personal and irreproducible sneak back into, or leak out from, or vandalise, national monuments:

"Early in the 1910s,"---in Manila's Cementerio del Norte, a municipal cemetery planned by an American urban designer---"a small pantheon was constructed for the interment of Filipino national heroes."

This monument was to emulate the Pantheon in Paris, where "great Frenchmen" of the national canon are memorialised.

But the Filipino version failed.

"Today, hardly anyone in the Philippines is aware of this dilapidated pantheon's existence ... What has happened is that the Filipino Voltaire and Rousseau have managed to escape, summoning devoted, often familial bodysnatchers, to convey them to home-town shrines."

Not that the municipal cemetery itself is deserted. Custodians and their families live in the very mausoleums they care for.

Further, Anderson describes All Saints' Eve in the Cementerio del Norte, when thousands pour into its precincts.

But these multitudes adjourn to their own myriad family graves and small ancestral shrines: spending the day with immediate loved ones, "drinking, praying, gambling, making offerings ..."

Most of the Philippines' presidents have mausoleums in Norte, "but no one pays attention to them ... and only their separate descendants come to attend them."

"There is something exhilarating here that one rarely sees in national celebrations, maybe because the structure of the ceremonial is not serial, but entirely cellular."

Hometowns re-exerting themselves within the nation; ordinary people scrawling meaning onto the edifices of the uppercase-P People. A multitude of the singular, instead of a single mass.

Despite nationalism's efforts to centralise and clone a national identity, still we mutate, still we bootleg, still we graffiti, becoming once again ourselves.

And---particular to post-colonial societies---in doing so we casually continue the work of liberation, sneaking the idea of freedom away from our own architects and elites and prime ministers, who would seek to seize its meaning for their own purposes.

The churches or mosques or temples to demos that the federal government builds are ours to transform. To take from. To ignore.

"No need. We've got our own shrines at home."

National heroes become local saints and slip out of national control.

Does the Filipino government really control the various Rizalista sects? Karpal Singh is now a datuk kong, without his political dynasty's consent.

Across Melaka and Negeri Sembilan there once existed shrines dedicated to Hang Tuah, Malay folk hero, now a powerful figurehead of Malay-Muslim ethno-nationalism.

One such shrine existed at Tanjung Tuan:

With a plain altar---more a porch, really---of poured cement, for folk to leave food offerings;

Sunlight mottled from the surrounding forest, and fluorescent lights from a nearby gazebo;

A large rock, with an indent on its crown, said to be Hang Tuah's actual footprint;

The idea that this was a sacred space, where you could come to ask the spirits of the place for love or children.

The shrine that existed was sited in a forest reserve. It was swept clean of leaves by locals; its adherents belonged to all faiths and ethnicities; following the transactional logic of folk religion, those who had received its blessing would've paid for its maintenance.

"Existed".

Because the Religious Department of the State of Melaka destroyed the Hang Tuah shrine sometime in 2022, for the crime of idolatry.

A double heresy. An affront to both orthodox Sunni Islam---

But also to the Malaysian state, that sanctions Sunni Islam as its official religion; whose nationalism requires its mythic hero to have only the attributes and magics the state ulama and historians say he must have---and no others.

Local shrines are destroyed, because the nation-state intuits them to be threats to its exclusive franchise.

Image sources: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_five-dollar_bill https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Putrajaya https://www.facebook.com/PilipinasRetrostalgia https://www.globaltimes.cn/content/984521.shtml https://www.facebook.com/PerakPress https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Malays_(ethnic_group)

#real life #imaginations #nationalism #benedict anderson #essays #reviews #shrines #monuments #theory

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ask-nyc-boroughs · 7 months

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Early Appalachian frontiersman Alfred in buckskin circa 1790- 1810s. I’m trying to figure out how to paint like NC Wyeth digitally (so lol the background is Wyeth’s).

Gonna ramble a bit about my nor’easter au and Alfred below the cut

Following the American Revolution, Alfred is immediately sent out to squash any rebellions (like whiskey rebellion) and to partake in wars against Indigenous nations like the Cherokee. I’ll save a discussion about the Cherokee wars for another time because that’ll take a long time to explain + I’m still working on my Cherokee oc and I need to understand Cherokee history and perspective more before I go forward with talking about this topic.

Now the many of the east coast states are older than Alfred, and they mostly supported him during the revolution because they thought he’d be easy to control given at the time of the revolution he wasn’t tied down as any colony or city. However, he was a New Englander and very obviously so

He was once Plymouth colony and he grew up alongside his cousin Henry/Massachusetts, but by the time the revolution occurred, his status was unclear and he was simply living with his cousin (who’s his earliest and most fierce supporter) .

These states operated like countries and part of why the had the revolution was to continue to self-govern and maintain their regional cultures. It’s also part of why the federal government initially was rather weak. Given Alfred’s closeness to his cousin, and his very staunch New England identity, I think the states would be hesitant over a strong New England national control. And so I think they especially Jennie/NY & Rich/Virginia encouraged Alfred to leave his cousin for a while, and partake in military campaigns (+ he was good at battle).

Also Alfred was like 14, and I don’t think he’s ever been the type to sit down and do paperwork. Honestly he was always a bad student, who was far more interested in the outdoors, horses, sailing and hunting. While he won the war, and he was fine with being head of state, he still didn’t 1) have confidence in himself to make non-military related decisions 2) he just wasn’t mentally ready to take on the responsibilities and was fine deferring it to his states like Jennie, Rich, or Henry to figure out matters that weren’t military related. He was irresponsible and it would come back to bite him in the ass during the Civil War.

Alfred on a personal level it was probably good for him to get away from his overly critical cousin who can be overbearing, but also so he would get more experience to deeply get to know his states.

Also Alfred, growing up in New England, he was a little ball of rage as a kid and he has a difficult time managing his emotions. He wasn’t exactly the personable seemingly fun loving Alfred of the present. Not that he couldn’t crack a joke, but ok I’m not from New England, but in the northeast I find we’re rather cynical, un-filtered and sarcastic and tbh kind of asssholes in the way we have fun and in our humor. That’s how he was, which is like fine unless you’re trying to appeal to the rest of the nation lol which he would have to

I think his time spent in Appalachia and the south did help him learn more about his other states especially Maisie/ North Carolina. But also helped him learn more how to let go some of this intense New England rage, and how to better control his emotions. But also let loose in a way that isn’t so dark and cynical. Also I think this helped him slowly learn how to speak with less of a New England specific accent

He was also able to observe states like Rich and Carl/ South Carolina and gain an understanding of how being able to control your emotions, can help control your image and how others perceive you. So these are the origins of how he slowly began to shape and become at least in public this overly friendly happy go lucky Alfred.

I’ll save a discussion about his interactions with the Appalachian states more explicitly another time I’m just tired😴 fr rn

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loudlittleecho · 2 months

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Frozen in Time: Too Late to Save Them

Part 6

Tim got an alert on Forever Ice in Wisconsin.

Seems there had been an accident. He quickly scanned the document. Mr. Anderson had given a statement, grateful that no one had been harmed, thankfully, and he also did not expect this to delay shipping. He mentions that his new facilities had better safety measures installed, and while he was sad to let the building go, it was time. . . a little further in the article mentioned how everyone who had worked at the facility had been given two lucrative options. Take a generous severance package, or transfer to another facility with housing and transportation cost support.

Tim frowned. He had gotten alerts about the other facilities two months ago. When he had scanned them they all seemed above board. Seems Anderson had found a way to recreate his ability. Tim had purchased one crafted from a newer facility, and had analyzed it beside the first. They were identical.

Tim had a hunch he didn’t like. Anderson was making friends with quite a few people.

He noticed a file he hadn’t added to the report, written in code.

He narrowed his eyes. This folder was open to anyone in the Justice League to add to if they so desired.

The only one who would add something in code was The Question.

—

The woman, Nora, had requested his team to clear one of the smaller offices of the warehouse they were occupying, and to find a bed for the boy– though by now the boy was back as a block of ice.

His crew had glanced at him for confirmation; he nodded for them to comply.

She had only given her first name, but Snart was able to put the pieces together. Nora Fries, wife of Mr. Freeze. He hadn’t kept up with Gotham news, but it looked that somehow Freeze had managed to bring his wife back.

Now how the kid connected to the two, he didn’t know.

Nora had told him the boy had felt feverish; she believed if a room was made colder than his own, his body wouldn’t need to form his own ice.

Snart worked on the logistics.

—

Sources (See interview 1c): noted complete flip in N.A.’s personality. Clone? Mind Control?

P.A. using ice BEFORE N.A. (See interview 1a). Need full interview with P.A.

B.A. No Meta gene, biological sibling of N.A. (See D.M.A. Federal Employee Background Check)

Forever Ice: hired employees previously working with CADMUS. Deeper connection?

Tim rubbed his eyes. He enjoyed cracking codes, but The Question had written his added documents in seventeen different ciphers. Two to three, Tim understood, but seventeen on an already secured folder? He admired the man, sure. But he also recognized this could be his future if he wasn’t careful.

It seemed The Question had taken on the case. That was good, because Tim already had enough on his plate. He started to close out the file when he paused.

He wanted to let his fellow detective know he was willing to help if needed. Tim smirked.

Wrote a coded note, and closed the file.

—

The room was set below freezing, using Nora’s cryokinesis and Snart’s devices to keep it at the right temperature.

It had taken a week, but they had finally found the correct temperature. Nora wasn’t quite sure why Cold was helping. But she didn’t complain.

When she removed ice from the boy, it didn’t replace itself.

Slowly and gently she placed him on the bed. It had frozen over, of course, but was better than the floor.

His chest slowly moved up and down; breathing.

Noticing the medical band from his wrist, she removed it.

Fenton, Daniel.

ADM: 09/16/–

DOB: 04/03/–

The band was frayed, so Nora couldn’t be positive about its accuracy on the current situation. But based on dates alone, Daniel Fenton was fourteen 27 years ago.

Author note:

Acronyms: N.A., P.A., B.A: Nathan, Paul, and Becks Anderson

D.M.A.: Department of Metahuman Affairs.

The D.M.A. is a real department in DC comics. Now, they don't have a 'Federal Employee Background Check', but honestly I wouldn't put it past the DC Universe to do so: Especially to not have a Queen Bee, Count Vertigo, etc situation happen in the states.

#Frozen in time #Option A: Frozen in Time #dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny phantom fanfiction #phanfic #Nora Fries #Mrs. Freeze #leonard snart #Captain Cold #tim drake wayne #red robin #Reference of The Question #Did I name Nathan the way I did so that his acronym was N.A? Yes. Yes I did. Because he’s Not Available right now.

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mybutcheredtongue · 9 months

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I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

harry potter timeline sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER FOUR (see full series list here)

1992

You awake on a regular Wednesday morning a few days before the return to school, groaning and stretching as you sit up in your queen-sized bed. The sun is streaming in through your windows, and you can hear birds singing their first few melodies of the morning.

You hear a very croaky meow from beside you and you look over to spot Dubh awakening from her slumber, seeming very angry about it being awoken. Dubh's actual bed is resting in the corner of the room, but it has long since been forgotten and she much prefers to sneak up onto your bed covers during the night. This little habit of hers means you've had to deliver a quick cleaning spell to her every night before bed, but you enjoy her company anyways. You reach out and pet her lovingly, scratching under her fluffy chin.

"Yes, yes, good morning, Dubh," you say. You yawn, trying to muster up the will to properly get out of bed, before eventually you manage to swing your legs over the edge of your bed and step onto the soft rug beneath you.

You throw on your favourite pair of jeans and a sweater to accompany it, taking a quick minute to wash your face before heading downstairs and into the kitchen. Dubh follows you the whole time, complaining as she waits for you to get her breakfast.

This is the home you've lived in for the past 13 years. The home yourself and Sirius had bought after you got married. It's small and cosy: exactly how you had wanted. The walls are covered with photo frames and beautiful oil paintings that look straight out of a dream.

The kitchen is charming, especially as it's lit up by the August sun. You push open a window to let some air in, waving your wand to pour out some cat food for Dubh. You click the kettle on and drum your fingers on the countertop as you wait.

At that moment you hear a small hoot and a light thud outside your back door. You leave the kitchen, unlocking the door to open it and spot a small folded package on the front step. It's the newspaper, the Daily Prophet.

You toss the paper on the kitchen table, humming as you prepare breakfast for yourself. Finally, when you've finished, you take your plate in one hand and your ready cup of tea in the other, sitting down at the kitchen table. You pull open the twine wrapped around the paper, unfolding it out.

You nearly spit out your tea when you read the headline of the front page and spot a familiar face.

Sirius.

Sirius Black.

Sirius Black has escaped.

Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban.

What the fuck.

What the actual fuck.

What the fuck?

You swallow hard, looking at the article again. Your heart is thumping. Your hands are trembling. You feel like you're about to be sick.

BLACK STILL AT LARGE

Sirius Black, possibly the most infamous prisoner ever to be held in Azkaban fortress, is still eluding capture, the Ministry of Magic confirmed today.

'We are doing all we can to recapture Black,' said the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this morning, 'and we beg the magical community to remain calm.'

You scoff. Fat fucking chance!

Fudge has been criticised by some members of the International Federation of Warlocks for informing the Muggle Prime Minister of the crisis.

'Well, really, I had to, don't you know,' said an irritable Fudge. 'Black is mad. He's a danger to anyone who crosses him, magic or Muggle. I have the Prime Minister's assurance that he will not breathe a word of Black's true identity to anyone. And let's face it — who'd believe him if he did?'

While Muggles have been told that Black is carrying a gun (a kind of metal wand which Muggles use to kill each other), the magical community lives in fear of a massacre like that of twelve years ago, when Black murdered thirteen people with a single curse.

You feel like you're dreaming. How the hell did he break out?

This article makes you feel so sick. The things they're saying — the things they've always said about him — they're not true. They can't possibly be true.

Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius would never do that.

Your Sirius who kissed you on the Astronomy Tower.

Your Sirius who proposed to you in your first tiny London flat, lit only by candlelight.

Your Sirius who waited patiently for you at the altar.

Your Sirius who spoke in detail of his undying love for you during his vows.

Your Sirius who gave you the most perfect first dance you could ever ask for.

Your Sirius who spent your wedding night reminding you how much he loved you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, making sure there wasn't a single patch of skin on your body that went unkissed.

Your Sirius who bought you flowers every week, so the ones on your dining table were always fresh.

Your Sirius.

For twelve years you've maintained the belief that Sirius is innocent. There has got to be another explanation because the Sirius you know would never sell out his friends like that. He would never support Voldemort like that. He would never murder thirteen people like that! It's bullshit.

The Sirius you know would sooner die than rat James and Lily out like that.

Sirius isn't mad, like the way they say in that article.

Or maybe he is.

You wouldn't be surprised if 12 whole years in fucking Azkaban turned him loony.

Suddenly, there's a loud knock at your front door and you startle, dropping the paper.

What if that's him?

You slowly, apprehensively get up out of your chair, carefully walking to the door. You take a deep breath, and place your hand on the handle.

You turn it agonisingly slow and open the door a crack, peering out.

It's not him.

You don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

Well, you're definitely not happy anyway, as you're met with Cornelius Fudge and three other Ministry officials.

You gulp.

"Good morning, ma'am," Fudge says. "Can we come in?"

You sigh, nodding. "Yeah, yeah. Of course."

You open the door wide to let them in, wrapping your arms around your torso nervously. They walk into your kitchen, looking around and you gesture to the kitchen table with a nervous smile. "You can sit down there..."

The four of them sit. You notice how Fudge's eyes immediately land on the paper, and he looks quickly back up at you as you lean against the counter, anxiously fiddling with your fingers. Dubh's head lifts from her food bowl, eyeing the newcomers suspiciously.

"Tea, coffee?" You ask, forcing a smile.

The officials glance at each other, as if deciding whether or not it's safe to accept a drink from you.

"Um...no thanks," one squeaks, looking up at you fearfully.

You sigh.

"Ah, so you've evidently heard the news..." Fudge starts, tapping the paper with one of his large, pudgy fingers.

You nod wordlessly.

"Is it a...surprise?" he asks.

You blink at him. "Yes, Minister, of course it's a surprise. I hardly expected him to break out of bloody Azkaban."

"Yes, yes, it is a shock to all of us," Fudge replies, eyes glancing over at the wedding photo on your countertop. "Have you...heard from him? At all?"

"No."

"It's just that you are his wife, you would be the first person he'd run to."

You raise your eyebrows, folding your arms. "Oh? I would've thought you'd expect him to run to Voldemort?"

They all wince at the name.

Fudge sighs, trying to keep his composure. "Look, regardless of your personal feelings on the matter, Black is a criminal and — "

"You have no proof — "

"He is a convict!" Fudge snaps. "Regardless of whether you believe it to be wrongful or not, he is a convict! If you see him, you must contact the Ministry. The magical community is in shambles with him on the loose. People are afraid."

You scoff. "The magical community has been in shambles for centuries."

Fudge ignores your statement, standing up from his chair unsteadily. "We will have to monitor your home, in case he decides to...visit."

"Shocker."

"We — uh, we'll be going now," Fudge says semi-certainly, motioning for the others to follow. They all stand, narrowly avoiding you as they exit the kitchen. You see one woman flinch when you move. You feel a hand on your shoulder, looking up to see Fudge's red, fudgy face looking at you pitifully. "I am truly sorry, dear. Remember what I said."

You watch as the party leaves and you shut the door behind them. You groan, running your hand through your hair as you slide down the door and sink to the ground.

Dubh appears around the corner, plodding over to you. You smile weakly at her, petting her softly. You feel your eyes starting to water and you sniffle, lip trembling.

You shake your head in disbelief.

"What am I gonna do?"

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You wave your wand, levitating your heavy trunk up onto the overhead carriage of your train compartment. Most teachers don't take the Hogwarts Express — they just apparate to Hogsmeade instead — but you find that apparition tends to distress Dubh immensely and don't do it. You don't mind it really, the train ride gives you that little bit of extra time to look over lesson material.

Lucky for you, you have the compartment to yourself and freely let Dubh out of her carrier. She stretches with a long meowl, moving to settle on your lap, and you spend the ride reading a book and looking over lesson material, though your mind keeps drifting from what you're doing, choosing instead to fixate on Sirius.

You have a sickening seed of guilt and worry circling your gut ever since you heard of his escape, an overwhelming sense of dread looming over everything you do.

Heavy rain pelts the window harshly, wind battering the sides of the train, rattling it loudly.

You glance out the window pensively, wondering what he must be doing right now. Maybe he's been recaptured and you just haven't found out yet. You hope he's not out in this weather.

If sixteen-year-old Sirius had been caught out in torrential rain, he'd be busy complaining to you about how it completely ruined his hair and you'd just have to listen on and on because truthfully, you liked his hair after the rain.

The train starts to slow and you sigh, starting to pack up your things. Then, your eye catches the window and you squint out into the dark surroundings. You're not in Hogsmeade — you're not even close to it. You've been on this train enough times to know that you have a solid 20 minutes or so left in the journey.

Maybe there's something blocking the track and you'll all just have to continue on foot?

Hardly.

You stand up, gently plucking Dubh from your lap and placing her onto the seat beside you. You slide open the compartment door and stick your head out, looking up and down the hallway. You know well that Professor Flitwick is inside along with some of the Prefects so you step out, closing the door behind you and moving to their compartment.

You open the door and look in at Flitwick and three students, shiny silver badges on their chests. "Hey, Filius. What's going on?"

Flitwick shrugs, straining his neck to see up out the window. "I don't know."

You bite your lip, turning around uncertainly. "I'll ask the driver."

Suddenly, the train stops with a jolt and you stumble into the wall beside you, knocking your head against one of the flickering lanterns. You groan, bringing a hand to rub at the sharp stinging in your temple.

You try to make your way up the carriage but before you can the lights extinguish with a small puff and you're plunged into darkness. Rooting around in your pocket, you fish out your wand and mutter, "Lumos." A small bead of white light appears at the tip, illuminating a short distance in front of you.

To your horror, you look up and are met with a dark cloaked figure that towers to the ceiling. Its face is completely hidden beneath its hood. You feel your breath hitch in your throat as the room grows cold, freezing cold, making the hairs on your arms stand up.

A Dementor.

"He's not here," you choke, but it doesn't seem to matter as the dementor draws a long, slow, rattling breath. "He — he's not — "

You feel an immediate sadness overwhelm you. You feel every stitch of joy being sucked from you, your body desperately trying to cling on to whatever it can. You hear Sirius' voice, screaming raw and pleading, and it feels like the pain in your head is magnified a billion times.

Before your last stretch of consciousness can escape from you, you grip your wand tighter and, summoning all your will and happiest memories, you yell, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A bright, blue light bursts forth from your wand, taking on the form of large, scruffy dog and chasing the Dementor as it glides away from you. You stumble back, chest heaving, placing a hand on the wall for support, before remembering about the rest of the students and you turn, sprinting back down the corridor to the other carriages.

You throw open the door, moving quickly as you throw glances in each compartment window, checking that everyone was alright. Was there only one?

As you continue down the corridor, you look in one compartment and see the back of a tall figure blocking your view. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it's not a Dementor, and slowly slide open the door to poke your head in, trying to carefully look past the figure in front of you.

"Hey guys, everyone okay? I think — Remus?" You stare in shock at the tired face of Remus Lupin, currently holding a gigantic slab of chocolate in his hands, loudly snapping it into pieces. "What are you doing here?"

Beside him is Harry, Ron, and Hermione, looking between the two of you in surprise. Harry is as pale as a ghost, his hair messy and untidy.

"Guess I took your advice," Remus shrugs, handing everyone pieces of chocolate. He hands one to you and you accept it gratefully, biting off a piece with a loud crack. "Taking up the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

You grin. "Remus, that's brilliant!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, tapping your back softly.

You pull back, noticing Harry's shell-shocked face and turn to him in concern. "Harry, are you alright? You don't look too good."

"Dementor," Remus explains and you nod in understanding.

"There was one in my carriage too!" You say. "Bastards."

"Language."

"What? It's true!" You say in defense, looking back at Remus' unapproving face. You glance at the three thirteen-year-olds also present in the compartment with you. "Er — sorry, guys."

"I'm going to go talk to the driver," Remus announces, tossing a small bite of chocolate into his mouth.

You nod. "Alright, I'll go check on everyone else." Remus moves past you, but before he can go in the opposite direction to you up the train, you grab onto his arm. "Next time, tell me if you're coming. Could've saved me a very boring train ride."

Remus chuckles. "I was asleep the whole time, not sure if I'd be great company."

You just give him a knowing smile, heading down to the carriage to check on the other students.

→ all kinds of interaction appreciated ♡

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

->-> read chapter five here!

p.s. it's easy to miss grammar/spelling mistakes when im editing it myself, so if you find any please let me know!! 💌

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #the marauders #marauders #angst #angst with a happy ending

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carolinejohnson · 5 months

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#customer experience #ciam solutions #customer identity and access management #consumer iam solutions #social authentication #single sign on solutions #digital identity management #passwordless login #social login #identity proofing #identity verification #login security #sso login #federated identity management #zero trust security model #data security

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defectivevillain · 3 months

Text

watching you (watching me)

pairing: Percival Graves/Reader

the reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary: Just as you begin to think you’re getting to know Percival, he starts acting strange. When you come across him in the hall, he doesn’t return your small smiles; when he meets with Seraphina, he walks right by you as if you aren’t even there. You don’t want to read into those minute gestures too much, so, at first, you don’t. But the fact that he pivoted from purposefully stopping by your desk to inquire about your day…to walking past you without so much as a lingering gaze… is concerning. Plus, his rumored treatment of his employees seems uncharacteristic. While you've never worked under Director Graves, you’ve heard from several different people in multiple departments that he’s a great person to work for. So why is he so different all of a sudden? What changed?

word count: 4.5k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical violence, abduction, unconsciousness, hospitals, implied malnourishment & injury

Sometimes, you think you can never truly leave your life as an Auror behind.

When you graduate from Ilvermorny, you eagerly join the Auror training program—and pass years later with flying colors. You soon find yourself regularly participating in missions and tracking down Dark wizards. The job is incredibly fulfilling, but it’s also extremely exhausting. Your work follows you into your personal life, to the point that perpetrators invade your dreams and you can’t ever relax. You manage to push through for a while, but eventually, you find yourself experiencing too much burnout to enjoy the job anymore.

Then you’re approached by Seraphina Picquery with a one-of-a-kind proposition. The Chief of Staff position recently became available after the previous employee retired, and Picquery—Seraphina, she tells you to call her—is looking for a replacement. It’s a rather high-up position—an administrative aid to the President of the entire organization. The salary is nearly double what you’re making as an Auror and you’d still be handling important work. In fact, you might even be awarded more responsibility in that role than your position as an Auror. It doesn’t take you long to get back to her with a confirmation that you’ll accept the position; within a few weeks, you have a desk right outside Seraphina’s office.

Through your new position, you gain exposure to much more of the organization—as you’re communicating with nearly every executive-level employee. You meet Emily Limus, the Federal Identity Commissioner; Malcolm Carneirus, Captain of the Aurors; and even Bernadette Williams, the executioner. (She’s a kind woman, but you sincerely hope you don’t have a reason to see her again.) You don’t exactly meet Percival Graves, the Director of Magical Security. Rather, you sort of… crash into him.

You’re in a bit of a rush, power-walking down the hall, when you turn the corner and collide with someone. The stack of papers in your hands goes flying and you wince. “Sorry, sorry-” You quickly say, looking at the person you just bumped into. It’s none other than Percival Graves, the Director of Magical Security. You’ve seen and heard plenty about him, but you’ve never actually met him before. He’s somehow even more handsome in person, with inky black hair styled back to reveal tinges of silver hair on the sides of his face. He has deep brown eyes and looks rather intimidating, what with the formal attire he’s wearing.

“It’s alright,” the man responds with an understanding smile. “You must be the new Chief of Staff.” He introduces himself and extends a hand. You think the thought is rather nice. He could’ve easily just assumed that you’d heard of him, but he instead went through the effort of introducing himself to you in a friendly and personable manner. You immediately decide you like him.

You introduce yourself in return, before shaking his extended hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Director Graves responds. “Can I help you with those?” He motions to the floor, where your paperwork rests in a disorganized pile. You grimace down at it, dreading the thought of organizing it all over again.

“Ah, that’d be great, thanks,” you then say, crouching down to pick up the scattered papers. He crouches down too and collects a few papers, placing them in a neat pile and handing it to you. You thank him and get to your feet once all your papers are in order.

For an awkward moment, you’re lingering silently in front of him. He doesn’t immediately dismiss you or move to depart. Rather, the man regards you with another look. “Seraphina isn’t running you too ragged, is she?” Director Graves asks.

“No, no,” you’re quick to say. “She doesn’t know I’m doing this, actually.” You motion down to the papers and grimace, hoping the man can keep a secret.

“My lips are sealed,” Director Graves says with a small smile. You feel a smile rising on your own lips at the sight.

There’s that awkward silence again; this time, it doesn’t seem like the man is going to break through it. You take a deep breath and try to manifest some composure. “It was nice to meet you, sir,” You say.

His brow furrows. “Please, call me Percival,” Director Graves responds.

You blink for a moment, surprised at the invitation. “Okay,” you agree. “It was nice to meet you, Percival. Sorry, I have to get going…” You glance down the hallway behind him, praying Seraphina hasn’t gone into her meeting just yet.

“No worries,” Percival responds easily. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.” The two of you part ways and you find yourself smiling as you pace down the hall, a new spring in your step.

Indeed, you do begin to see Percival Graves rather frequently. You sit in on the meetings amongst the higher-level officials in the organization and he always has something to say about recent Dark wizard captures or other concerns. He’s pretty nice to you, too—always going out of his way to greet you when you enter the room. You feel like most of the other directors are keen to dismiss you, but Percival doesn’t. You hate to admit it, but he makes those stuffy weekly meetings infinitely more bearable.

Percival also greets you whenever he walks past your desk to enter Seraphina’s office. His short greetings may seem virtually insignificant, but they go a long way to making you feel more welcome in the workplace. You tell him as much one time, and have the honor of watching his cheeks flush ever so slightly pink. After that conversation, he starts stopping at your desk and asking you about your weekend, your work day, and anything else going on. It’s safe to say that Percival quickly becomes your favorite person to work with—other than your boss, of course.

But just as you begin to think you’re getting to know Percival, he starts acting strange. When you come across him in the hall, he doesn’t return your small smiles; when he meets with Seraphina, he walks right by you as if you aren’t even there. You don’t want to read into those minute gestures too much, so, at first, you don’t. You write these occurrences off as flukes and continue as normal.

The meetings amongst the executives are tenser than usual, though. Percival seems to be dominating the conversation, purposefully steering it in the directions he chooses. He possesses a self-importance that you didn’t seem to notice before. You have to wonder if you were wrong about him. In the past few weeks, he’s been acting entirely differently than when you first met him. If he’s showing his true colors, then… you’re not very happy about it.

It seems you aren’t the only one to notice his weird behavior, however. Seraphina repeatedly remarks that he seems a bit off, and she soon abandons their weekly meeting schedule in exchange for biweekly meetings. You also hear from the Aurors that the man is exhibiting a rather bad temper. He’s been lashing out at recruits for easy mistakes and working the senior Aurors to the bone.

You soon find yourself growing wary. These changes in behavior are complete switches from what he exhibited previously. And the fact that he pivoted from purposefully stopping by your desk to inquire about your day…to walking past you without so much as a lingering gaze… is concerning. Plus, his rumored treatment of his employees seems uncharacteristic. While you never worked under Director Graves, you’ve heard from several different people in multiple departments that he’s a great person to work for. So why is he so different all of a sudden? What changed?

You attempt to have another conversation with him in the coming days, only for him to brush off your questions and effectively dismiss you. You’re left wondering if you’re even speaking with the same person: if the Percival Graves from before was conjured by your imagination. The man you’ve interacted with recently is just far too different from the man you crashed into in the hallway all that time ago.

A dark thought crosses your mind as you’re contemplating Percival’s strange behavior. What if… he is a different person? What if this Percival Graves, the one who mistreats his employees and seems completely uncaring of the feelings of those around him, is a different man? You immediately huff a laugh under your breath for even considering such a crazy idea. There has to be a rational explanation for his behavior. Maybe he’s going through something right now—a death in the family or a bad breakup. You dismiss your doppelgänger idea as nothing more than a desperate theory.

But that same desperate theory keeps you up later that night, tossing and turning restlessly. It’s a foolish thought, a crackpot theory. Who would possibly have the power, skill, and evasive ability to disguise themself as the Director of Magical Security? How would that even be possible? They would not only have to be capable enough to at least get by in Percival’s position, but they’d also have to overpower him somehow. Percival is the Head of the Aurors—he’s an extremely talented duelist and quick on his feet. No doubt there are only a select handful of people who would even be able to stay alive in a duel with him, let alone triumph and render him incapacitated. Who would even want to do something like that? What purpose would it serve?

Well, if a person wanted to invade the Magical Congress and gain access to highly privileged information, you suppose that would be a clear-cut path to getting it. Percival is one of the highest-ranking officials at MACUSA, other than Seraphina herself.

But you find yourself struggling with the practicality of such an act. Again, only an incredibly powerful wizard would be able to pull something like that off—someone like Albus Dumbledore or Gellert Grindelwald. Obviously, Dumbledore wouldn’t have any reason to do something like that. But Grindelwald, on the other hand… The Dark wizard’s whereabouts have been unknown for a while now, and everyone knows that he’s gathering strength and support. You suppose one of his more loyal followers would embark on such a mission for his benefit.

After spending an hour thinking through the idea, you realize you can’t shake it off—and promise yourself to consider it more in the morning.

In the morning, you do far more than merely consider the possibility of someone else being disguised as Percival Graves. Instead, you find yourself hatching a plan. You think that, if you can lure Percival into a conversation, you’ll be able to ask him questions that only he would know the answers to. From there, you can determine if he’s real or a disguise maintained by someone else.

It sounds ridiculous and utterly inane. But what’s the worst that can happen? At worst, you’d just look foolish in front of the real Percival. That’s something you can deal with. You also get the sense that this disguise theory will weigh heavily on your mind until you try to establish or refute its validity.

Fortunately, you get the chance to enact your plan later that same day. When Percival walks into your office a few minutes early, you manage to rope him into a conversation. He is very clearly fed up with you, despite the fact that you haven’t been talking for more than a few seconds. That’s your first clue. You also think that you see his eyes glimmer blue for a fraction of a second. His attire is the same as always, but his posture is different—perfectly straight and poised with an air of pretentiousness.

You can’t keep yourself in suspense any longer. “How did we first meet?” You finally manage to ask. It doesn’t take you very long to recall how you first met—you crashed into Percival as you were walking down the hall; he helped you pick up the papers dropped and you eventually parted ways. If he says something along those lines, then you’ll know it’s him. If not…

“We met here, of course,” the man responds. There’s hardly any emotion on his face. It feels like you’re looking into a void. Your heart begins to roar in your ears as you realize that he just tried to avoid the question.

“I said how, not where,” you realize aloud, your suspicions confirmed. You point your wand at him. “ Revelio. ” You watch in mute horror as Percival’s face melts into an entirely different one. His right eye glows and morphs into a grey-blue color; his hair grows into a spiky white style. Gellert Grindelwald tilts his head and stares at you curiously.

“Clever.” He remarks. Your heart races in your chest and you quickly remember Grindelwald’s reputation: his dueling prowess, his extremely strong grasp of nearly all branches of magic, his incredibly quick reflexes. He allowed you to cast that spell just now, but it’s clear he won’t allow any further opposition—judging from the malicious gleam in his eyes.

Grindelwald’s gaze is piercing, sending shivers down your spine and goosebumps across your forearms. “But not clever enough.” He says, clicking his tongue and disarming you with a nonverbal spell. In the blink of an eye, his wand is pointed at your chest. “Avada-”

The door bursts open and a veritable mass of Aurors infiltrates the space, surrounding Grindelwald. Seraphina walks in after them, a furious expression on her face that she quickly smooths into indifference. Suddenly, Grindelwald is immersed in battle. To your discomfort and fear, he seems to be overpowering the Aurors—despite the odds being nearly twenty to one. For a few awful moments, you’re entranced by his elegant movements. Then you remember everything he’s done and snap out of it, casting a Stunning spell on him. Somehow, by some trace of dumb luck, your spell ends up being the one to send him crumpling to the ground. Seraphina immediately places Admonitors on his wrists, before ordering the Aurors to take him away. You and your boss are left standing in Percival’s office in disbelief.

“That was… anticlimactic,” you choke out.

Seraphina nods in agreement. You raise an eyebrow at her, silently asking her how she knew that Percival wasn’t himself. “Director Graves has never been late to a meeting, in the several years I’ve worked with him,” she explains. Seraphina then regards you for a long moment. “Nice work.”

“Thanks,” you respond blankly, still reeling from what just happened. Admittedly, you wanted to tell Seraphina about your plan, but Grindelwald would’ve been suspicious if Seraphina joined you for the conversation. You knew he would underestimate you—seeing you as a mere office assistant—and you decided to take advantage. You take a deep breath and try to refocus—you have more important things to be concerned with at the present moment. “Where do you think Director Graves is?” You ask.

“I’m not sure,” Seraphina frowns. “We’ll get someone from Major Investigation to look around in here.”

You look around, an ugly feeling growing in your chest. You have the weirdest conviction that Percival is nearby, and you can’t explain why. “Actually… We may not have to.” You murmur in response to Seraphina’s remark. She looks at you questioningly, but you don’t think you can explain your reasoning. You instead study the room around you once more, eyes gliding across a lacquered armoire and past his desk.

Wait. A lacquered armoire? You take a slow breath and step over to the misplaced piece of furniture. The more you look at it, the more you realize that it sticks out like a sore thumb in comparison with the rest of Percival’s unassuming office. You take a deep breath and tug at the handles, unsurprised to find that it’s locked. You cast Alohomora and try unlocking it again. It doesn’t work. You try once more, willing the cabinet to open. To your surprise, your effort works and the doors fall open with an exaggerated bang.

Seraphina gasps. You’re not as shocked as you should be—there’s something horribly ironic about Grindelwald concealing the real Percival Graves in his office, only a short distance from his disguised form. You stare at the magically expanded space, your stomach turning uneasily as you see Percival Graves stuffed into it—leaning against one of the interior walls with a dazed expression. His wrists and ankles are bound together and there’s a gag in his mouth. You quickly bend down and free him.

“Percival,” you say, pulling him out of the armoire and to his feet. You state your name and remind him of your position, because he looks incredibly disoriented. The longer you look at him, the more worried you get. His hair is unkempt and messy; his eyes are bloodshot and bracketed with dark circles underneath. Percival looks gaunt—his skin stretched tight across his bones. For a moment, you think he doesn’t recognize you—then, suddenly, he lurches forward and wraps his arms around you. You instinctually stiffen in surprise, before hesitantly returning his embrace.

Seraphina sends a Patronus to the Healers, detailing where you are and requesting medical help. Within moments, a few Healers are running into the room. You try to break away from Percival, self-conscious that there are people watching, but he doesn’t seem to want to let you go. Eventually, the Healers manage to pull him off of you. They’re asking him questions, but his eyes look glazed over. Within moments, he’s slumping into their arms as he falls unconscious. You watch worriedly as the Healers exit the room. Seraphina takes one look at you and promptly tells you to follow after them. You try to protest, but you don’t get very far before she’s gently pushing you out of the room with the promise that the investigative team will wrap up any loose ends in the office.

You manage to catch up to the Healers, who are now levitating Percival’s unconscious form as they rush to the Healing ward. When you arrive, Percival is whisked away into a room—and you’re left to haunt the waiting room.

You’re not sure how much time you spend staring off into space on an uncomfortable sofa before there’s someone standing in front of you, proclaiming that you can visit Percival. As you follow after them, the Healer reassures you that he will make a full recovery—stating that they have him on all the necessary nutrient supplements that will help him regain his strength.

“He isn’t awake just yet,” the Healer explains as they open the door to his room, revealing Percival reclined in a hospital bed. He looks uncharacteristically vulnerable now—his eyes closed as he evidently rests. There are bandages along his arms and wrists. You frown and take a seat in the chair situated in the corner of the room. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on him.” They promise. You thank the Healer and they leave with a sympathetic nod.

In the wake of everything that just happened, you’re exhausted. You wouldn’t be surprised if your encounter with Grindelwald drained some of your magic temporarily. The stress of the entire affair coupled with your poor sleep last night makes your eyelids sting and burn with fatigue. You desperately try to keep awake but, at some point, you’re dozing off in the chair at Percival’s bedside.

When there’s a gentle tap on your shoulder, you ignore it. But just as you’re about to drift off into sleep again, there’s another tap—slightly more insistent than the first time. You blearily open your eyes, your blurry vision slowly clearing to reveal Percival staring down at you. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he grimaces apologetically. You stare at him for a moment, still processing. Then you remember everything that just happened: Grindelwald disguising himself as Percival; Seraphina and you finding Percival bound and gagged in his office; Percival falling unconscious; you choosing to wait in his room for him to wake up. Now he’s awake—and he’s out of bed.

“You shouldn’t be up-!” You quickly say, forcefully guiding him to return to his bed. He grasps your forearms as you lower him back onto the bed; the movement sends a shiver down your spine. Even once he is situated, he doesn’t seem keen to let you go—as his grasp momentarily tightens and he looks at you imploringly.

“How’d you know?” Percival asks, his voice raspy from disuse. You don’t need him to elaborate further—you know what he’s referring to. His hands slip from your arms and you contemplate the question. It doesn’t take you long to find an answer.

“Grindelwald was a convincing actor,” you admit. You stare at the wall behind him. Eye contact feels difficult right now, in the stuffy silence settling in the air of the hospital room. “...But he wasn’t you.” You break off, not trusting yourself to go into the details without slipping up and revealing something untoward.

“I was worried no one would find me.” Your eyes snap back to Percival; the sincerity written all over his face is heartbreaking. Then a grimace rises on his lips. “I… apologize for the way I acted,” Percival then says. You stare at him in confusion. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for, and he’s looking at you expectantly. Eventually he sighs. “It was unprofessional of me.”

“What?” You ask. Then it comes back to you: the relief written all over his face, the way he rushed to embrace you without hesitation. “Oh, when I found you? You were in captivity for months, don’t be so hard on yourself. I would’ve done the same thing.”

Percival frowns at that. “If it had been you who Grindelwald took…” He trails off, before vigorously shaking his head. “I don’t even want to think about it.” You remain silent, unsure of what to say or how to say it. Fortunately, Percival is comfortable with keeping the conversation going. “What I mean to say is… thank you—for your determination, and… for seeing what no one else did.”

“There were a few others who were also suspicious,” you inform him, feeling slightly uncomfortable with the idea of taking all of the credit. Sure, you may have been the one to act first—but whispers of Percival’s uncharacteristic behavior had been spreading like wildfire. You’re certain someone would’ve figured it out, if you hadn’t acted. As to whether Percival had that much time left… you’re not sure. And you don’t really want to think about it.

Somehow, this makes Percival frown again—as if he thinks you’re trying to brush off his gratitude. “Regardless, I appreciate it,” he maintains. “And I admire your courage and bravery. I’m sure it was difficult to stand up to a supervisor.”

“Ordinarily it wouldn’t be,” you admit before you can contemplate the consequences. Percival’s brows climb up his forehead. “I’m comfortable being honest with you.” You clarify, before breaking off so you can’t indict yourself further. You’ve already said far too much.

“I appreciate that,” Percival responds. He looks a little lighter—the tension seems to have slowly slipped out of his shoulders. “And I echo the sentiment.” He says with a quick nod. There’s an appreciative smile on his face and your heart starts racing. If you don’t leave soon, you may do something you’ll soon regret.

“I hope you recover quickly, sir,” you remark, taking a step back and turning towards the door. There had been a tense silence stretching across the space, indicating that the conversation was over, so you have no qualms about departing now.

“Wait.” Percival says, just before you can leave. You freeze and turn around to face him once more. There’s a torn expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

“This is going to sound pathetic and selfish,” Percival admits, steadily avoiding your gaze. You raise a brow. From what you’ve seen, Percival is the furthest thing from pathetic or selfish.

“I’m sure you’ve seen your fair share of me being pathetic,” you deflect, a small smile on your face. Percival shakes his head with what can only be described as fond disagreement. You’re thrown back into the memory of your first meeting, into your hands shaking beneath your stack of papers and your heart thrumming steadily in your chest.

“...Will you stay here a while longer?” Percival asks, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Of course, sir,” you respond. The formal address is more for you to maintain your own boundaries and remind yourself that you don’t get to associate with Percival in anything more than a strictly professional sense. But he seems to react negatively to it—as his brows furrow and he studies you for a moment. You take mental note of that reaction and abandon the formality. Percival just went through hell and back—spending months slowly fading away in that armoire in his office, perfectly out of sight but so achingly close to freedom. If there’s anything you can do to make him feel better, you’ll do it. And not only does that include sitting at his bedside a while longer, but, apparently, it also includes negating to call him “sir.” You don’t think those are very tough tasks to undertake.

You’ll end up accidentally spending the night in his hospital room, and you’ll wake up to another slight tap on your shoulder and a back ache. Percival will be looking down at you again; you’ll admonish him for getting out of bed; he’ll thank you again for keeping him company. Eventually, he’ll practically force you out of the room with a reassurance that he’ll be fine. Normally, you wouldn’t believe him—but the determined expression on his face suggests that he’ll bounce back just fine.

Indeed, within a few weeks, Percival will be back at work. He’ll continue to stop by your desk and talk to you—to the point where you’ll have to ignore Seraphina’s relentless teasing about it. He’ll maintain that he owes you something—to which you’ll consistently remind him that he would do the same for you.

And Percival does end up doing the same for you. At some point in the foreseeable future, when you’re injured in an Auror mission, Percival will be the one waiting at your bedside. You’ll jokingly point out how worried he looks and he’ll only frown more, before admitting that those few hours when you were unconscious were nearly unbearable. Percival will admit that his feelings for you “far surpass professionalism.”

You’ll try to answer with your own confession, but Percival will quickly interject with the promise that you can give him an answer once you’re feeling better. When you finally get the chance to speak to your feelings, you’ll just barely finish speaking before Percival is pulling you into a kiss. His hands will slip down to your hips and you’ll feel sparks running up your skin and a smile rising on your lips.

“How long?” Percival will ask breathlessly when you first break apart.

“Since you crashed into me,” you’ll admit.

“Don’t you mean when you crashed into me? ” Percival will emphasize.

And you’ll roll your eyes and lean closer to kiss him again.

thanks for reading ! <3

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anonymous-dentist · 1 year

Text

Okay, so read this one-shot for context, but:

So Cellbit is a retired supervillain. Once upon a time, he was one of the most dangerous villains in Q City: Enigma- a dude so dangerous that the Federation of Heroes is still trying to find him.

See, Enigma was one of the first people to be born with an ability, and it was a fucking dangerous one. 'Cause he could make people scared. That is to say, he could control people's fear. He could sense their fear, he could amplify it, he could nullify it, he could find out exactly what they were scared of and use it to literally scare them to death and walk away with their wallets and the keys to their car.

But then Cellbit got arrested for a murder three years ago. One of the Federation's lower-ranked heroes attacked him as a civilian, and he killed them out of self defense. So Cellbit was sent to prison as himself, and Enigma seemingly vanished out of nowhere, never to be seen again.

(The Federation would like to offer a $500,000 reward for any information on Enigma's identity or his whereabouts. Please notify the nearest Federation office if you have any information.)

But then he got out of prison and now he's working as an "abilityless" reporter trying to support himself and his family- because somehow his friends all managed to acquire a kid while he was in prison. He's given up on his whole villain thing because, really, that was just his edgy phase. He's over that now.

...But he's also working to try and take down the Federation because it's corrupt and it's evil and it's literally running Q City like a dictatorship despite there being a fucking mayor and he wants it gone.

The problem with that is that he's alone in this. The Federation has every single one of the city's heroes on its payroll, and it sponsors the majority of the city's vigilantes. That leaves villains, who Cellbit is trying to avoid, and it leaves-

Spider-Man. He's one of the few vigilantes left not directly working for the Federation. He's a mystery. Nobody knows who he is, nobody knows why he's a vigilante or where he got his powers from, and- most importantly for Cellbit- nobody knows why Spider-Man has seemingly suddenly started sabotaging Federation operations. He's one big failed Federation mission away from being put on the city's official villain registry, and Cellbit wants him.

So he's going to find Spider-Man. He's going to explain his plans, and he's going to ask for his help, and the Federation will die, and it'll be beautiful.

...Speaking of beautiful, Cellbit is liking civilian life. He's got this new friend, Roier, an employee at a taqueria near the Federation's city hq. He might be buddies with a bunch of Federation employees, but that's fine. He's cute. He's a Spider-Man fanboy, he's a psych student at the local university, he's funny.

(And isn't this all convenient for both of them?)

#deli superhero au #i came up with this all during class today i love it #send asks!! i want to talk about it

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writingwarden · 11 months

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Keegan helping you bathe🥹🥹he’d get the hot water running in the tub, even lighting a candle like you always do cause he secretly loves the smell. He’d be so gentle, so sweet with the slow movements of his fingers massaging the shampoo into your hair, admiring you while massaging the tenseness out of your shoulders. His body right behind yours, his thighs make a surprisingly good pillow and you’re nearly dozing off in his arms in the warm water. When you’re both dried up in his bed afterwards, you can’t help rewarding him with a nice blowjob for his sweetness.

No bc you're so right! This man is soft and would absolutely spoil his S/o.

Keegan P. Russ x Gn!Reader -Fluff and Smut

CW- Minor mentions of death, canon typical violence, non-sexual intimacy, bathing together, oral- male receiving, face fucking, praise, gender not specified but AFAB genitalia is implied, but it is just over all soft

Word Count-2.2k

It would be after a long mission when Keegan all but dragged you back to your shared apartment. The dirt on your skin and bone deep exhaustion had you near dead on your feet. The mission went according to plan with few hiccups. But you had been forced to fight a federation soldier hand-to-hand after your lost your gun. The soldier had managed to get the jump on you and landed a few hard and unforgiving blows to your back and shoulders, bruises now beginning to form under your gear. You dispatched the man after finally being able to reach your knife, sinking it into his throat where his armor left an opening.

After the debrief (which you nearly fell asleep in) and returning your weapons to the armory, Keegan took your hand in his and silently began to lead you through the base. No words were spoken for the entire walk back to the apartment. Slowly taking out the keys with one hand, he unlocked the door and gently pushed you through. You step inside and let some of the tension fall from your body, finally home. Keegan closes the door and walks past where you stood. Taking a few steps towards your shared bedroom before he pauses, turning to face you as you stand unmoving. You could hear a small laugh exit his mouth as he walked back to you.

Carefully he scoops you up, armor and all, before resuming his walk to the bedroom. Nudging the door open with his foot he takes a few steps forward and sets you down on the bed. He kneels before you and unties your boots. He stands back up and goes to work on removing your armor. When he’s done with that he quickly removes his own with a practiced ease. He quietly murmured, “Stay right there.” and then he was gone from the room.

He left you there on the bed, trusting you not to strain yourself while winding down from the day's events. Flipping on the light as he entered the bathroom he thought about what would help you unwind the best. Looking around his eyes landed on the candle you kept on the counter. He had given you a small amount of grief over the scent, though he would never admit he loves the scent (you knew despite his teasing) but it was more than just the scent. The candle was a reminder of you. Proof you could relax and just be yourself in this place you called home.

Grabbing the lighter from the counter he lights the candle before crouching down to the cabinet under the sink. From there he pulls a bag of eucalyptus Epsom salt and your favorite bubble bath, usually reserved for special occasions.

Walking over to the bathtub he started the water, making sure it was a comfortable temperature. One that would ease your muscles and help you relax.

You sat there on the bed listening to him move around. You hear the bath start and a small smile appears on your face. Rolling your aching shoulders you slowly remove the knives and jewelry you wore on the daily. The only piece that didn't come off was the chain around your throat. Slowly you run your thumb across the ring that hung there, knowing the identical one hung around the throat of the man in the bathroom. Twin silver bands with no identifying marks other than two small initials carved on the insides.

So lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice Keegan re-entering the room.

“Sweetheart?” you heard from in front of you. Looking up to where he stood in front of you, worry melted away into fondness as your eyes met his. You stand up and wrap your arms around his waist, leaning into his warmth. A hand finds the small of your back and the other settles between your shoulder blades.

You stand there in each other's embrace for a few moments before you feel those hands move to your thighs. Slowly you are lifted up and you wrap your legs around his waist. Letting him carry you across the room, out the door, and into the bathroom. The comforting smell of your favorite candle fills your head.

Keegan sits you down on the counter before placing a soft kiss to your lips. With your injuries in mind he helps you remove the rest of your clothes and picks you up again. Warm water envelopes your body as he sets you down in the bath. A content sigh leaves your throat as you sink into the bubbly water. You lower your body until it is completely submerged, the water rushing over your face.

When you sit back up you see Keegan undressing. Taking a moment you stare unabashedly at his body. Lithe muscles hard earned from missions and pale skin revealed as he sheds his layers. A blush spreads across your face as he removes the last of his clothes.

“You’re staring sweetheart.” he says while looking over, eyes roving over any skin not hidden under the bubbles.

Not looking away from him, your only response is a pointed look and a plain, “So?” He laughs at that, approaching the tub and motioning for you to move forward. Doing so you feel him slide into the space behind you. He pulls you back to lean against his chest and wraps his arms over your shoulders. You bring your hands up and entwine them with his.

The domesticity of the actions not lost to you. Quiet, calm breaths and the sound of water gently lapping at the side of the tub bounce off the bathroom walls. Moments pass lazily until you feel his hands retreat from yours. Turning your head to look at him you see him smile and reach for the shampoo that sits on the side of the tub.

Keegan pours a small amount of the soap into his palm. Facing forward once again you feel calloused yet oh so very gentle hands begging to card through your hair. Slowly he works the shampoo across your scalp, making sure to cover every part. You melt into his touch, letting him take care of you. It was always like him to take care of you. To put your needs above his own. It had been like that since you met him.

The two of you had instantly clicked all those years ago. You had been brought in by Elias right after ODIN had ripped open the world you had known. Eyes had met masked ones and it was then you knew, something was different about this lethal force of a man. The pair of you moved like connected shadows. Like gasoline on an already high burning fire you both danced. Your viciousness and Keegan’s silent and deadly skills made you two legends on top of the notoriety that came with being a part of the Ghosts.

Hands were back on your shoulders. Fingers softly digging into the skin, pressing over the fresh bruises and strained muscles. Slow hands forcing the knots out as he murmurs little praises. About how you did so good out there and how he is proud of how you handled the little mishaps that happened. You let the praise wash over you, overtaking the stress from the day’s events.

If you were to open your eyes and look up at the man behind you, you would find nothing but admiration and love written all over his features. It was no secret that he was absolutely smitten with you. He knew he would tear down the world if you asked him to. And he would smile the whole time because he knew how much you loved his smile, you had told him that much the first time you had ever seen his face.

When the water grows too cold to comfortably be in, Keegan helps you stand up as the water drains. Head on cloud nine and body thoroughly turned to putty in his hands. Keegan wraps you in a soft towel before placing a kiss on the top of your head. A towel around his waist and a whispered promise to be right back and he’s gone from the room.

A minute later as you’re finishing drying off he comes back, gray sweatpants hanging low on his hips and your favorite pajamas in his hands.

Getting dressed is a quick affair and then you’re back in his arms, being carried back to the bedroom. Carefully he lays you down on the bed, the covers already pulled back, and you are hit with a sense of deja-vu while he reaches over to turn off the bedside light. He slides into the bed right next to you and then you’re being pulled to lay on top of him. It never failed to make you flustered, the way he could just manhandle you around if he wanted to. A warmth spreads from your face all the way down to your core. Butterflies flitting around in your stomach as he gets comfortable and your legs bracket his thigh.

Letting out a content sigh as you hear the TV turn on. You rest your head on his chest, listening to the strong heartbeat beneath you. As you lay there in his arms an idea pops into your head. It would only be fair after he treated you so well. Shifting your hips against his thigh under the guise of getting comfortable you feel his hand settle on the small of your back. Looking up to see him distracted with the show you put the next part of the plan in motion. Excitement shoots through your body as you begin to grind on him. His head falls back and his mouth parts with a low whine. He looks down and presses a hard kiss to your lips. “What are you doing, love?” he groans against your lips.

You ghost your hand over his clothed dick, feeling his body jolt under yours, “Nothing.” you say in a low and seductive whisper. A lazy grin pulls at his lips. His hips lifting up and pushing forward into your hand. Slipping your hand under the band of his sweats and begin to pump his length. Hand moving up and down while you run your thumb over the slit, collecting precum and spreading it over the rest with your palm as you increase your pace.

Curses fall from his lips as he throws his head back again, hands gripping the sheets. Watching him carefully you could see his stomach tighten, a tell tale sign he was getting close. Seeing this you let go of him, and before the whimpers and “please” could exit his throat you pull the sweatpants down, watching his erection spring up. The tip was red and swollen, leaking precome, begging to release. You wanted to be cruel, to bring him to the edge over and over again until he was reduced to tears, but you could save that for another night. Tonight was about repaying him for treating you so well.

Making eye contact with him you lower your head, taking him into your warm mouth. His hips thrust forward on instinct, his dick hitting the back of your throat. Loud moans escape from the back of his throat. Slowly you slide your mouth off of him. Looking back up at him you see his chest rising and falling rapidly. You had barely started and he already looked wrecked.

Placing small kisses on the head before taking him back into your mouth. Relaxing your throat you begin to bob your head up and down, listening to the loud moans coming from Keegan. Running your tongue flat against the thick vein on the underside had him thrusting roughly into your mouth. Letting out a moan of your own you keep your head down and grab his hand, moving it to your hair.

Knowing what you wanted Keegan grips the back of your head and pushes further into your throat. You remove your hand from his and place them on his thighs.

Once he saw you had settled he began to fuck into your mouth. His only concern was chasing his own high. Roughly he pushes your head with his movements, knowing you can take it. Mercilessly he thrusts into your warm, wet mouth. Whimpers and high pitched moans fill the room with the wet and vulgar sounds of skin against skin. His thrusts stutter and you know he’s getting close. It only takes you swallowing around his length before his movements still and he’s coming down your throat. Swallowing, you pull off of him, but not before licking the now sensitive head. A loud “Fuck!” is heard above you and you smile, satisfied with what you’ve done.

Crawling back up his body, you nip at his stomach and ribs before he grabs you and pulls you into a heated kiss. Pulling back from the kiss and breathing heavily he asks teasingly, “What was all of that, hm?”

Resting your head back on his chest you answer, “Because I wanted to.” You feel a rumble in his chest as he laughs. “Sure love, sure.” He pulls the blanket back over your body and you can feel yourself start to drift off sleep, but not before you feel a kiss pressed to the top of your head.

[Really hope I did this justice. GODS I am obsessed with this man. Saw this request and immediately zoned in but smut is still a new writing concept to me. But hey, gotta start somewhere!

AS always, Requests are open and encouraged! Thank your for reading!]

#cod keegan #keegan p russ #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ #keegan x you #call of duty ghosts fanfic #call of duty ghosts #call of duty fanfic #keegan smut #keegan x reader #keegan x reader smut

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 28 days

Text

Gary Taxali

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

August 30, 2024

Heather Cox Richardson

Aug 31, 2024

Trump and the MAGA movement garnered power through performances that projected dominance and cowed media and opponents into silence. Rather than disqualifying him from the highest office in the United States, Trump’s mocking of a disabled reporter, bragging about assaulting women, and calling immigrants rapists and criminals seemed to demonstrate his dominance and strengthen him with his base. In July the Republican National Convention celebrated that performance with a deliberate appropriation of the themes of professional wrestling, including a display by an actual professional wrestler.

Their plan for winning the 2024 election seems to have been to put forward more of the same.

But the national mood appears to be changing. President Joe Biden’s decision to decline the Democratic nomination for president opened the way for the Democrats to launch a new, younger, more vibrant vision for the country.

Democratic nominee Vice President Kamala Harris and her running mate, Minnesota governor Tim Walz, have promised to continue, and even to expand slightly, the programs that under the Biden-Harris administration have started the process of rebuilding the country’s infrastructure, bringing back manufacturing, and investing in industries to combat climate change. As the country did before 1981, they are promising to continue to focus on supporting a strong middle class rather than those at the top of the economy.

Harris and Walz are building on this economic base to recenter the United States government on the idea of community. They have deliberately rejected the identity politics that Trump used so effectively to assert his dominance and have instead emphasized that they see the country not as a community defined by winners and losers, but as one in which everyone has value and should have the same opportunities for success.

Last night, CNN’s Dana Bash asked Harris, whose mother immigrated to the U.S. from India and whose father immigrated from Jamaica, to respond to Trump’s suggestion that she “happened to turn Black” for political advantage, “questioning a core part of your identity.” Harris responded: “Same old, tired playbook. Next question, please,” and she laughed. “That’s it?” Bash asked. “That’s it,” Harris answered.

Harris’s refusal to accept the MAGA terms of engagement, along with the exuberant support for Harris and Walz, has Trump, Republican vice presidential candidate J.D. Vance, and MAGA Republicans reeling. That, in turn, has made them seem vulnerable, and that vulnerability is now opening up room for pundits from a range of outlets to challenge them. They seem to be losing the ability to control the public conversation by asserting dominance.

This change has been evident this week in the response to Trump’s visit to Arlington National Cemetery with the family of a soldier who died in the U.S. withdrawal from Afghanistan three years ago for campaign videos and photos attacking Harris, despite the fact that federal law prohibits campaign activities in the cemetery, in what is widely considered hallowed ground. The moment almost passed unnoticed, as it likely would have in the past, but Esquire’s Charles Pierce asked in his blog: “How The Hell Was Trump Allowed To Use Arlington National Cemetery As A Campaign Prop?”

Led by NPR, different outlets begin to dig into the story, and Trump, Vance, Trump’s spokesperson, and Trump’s campaign manager Chris LaCivita all tried to brush off their lawlessness with their usual rhetoric. Trump tried to change the subject to say he was being unfairly attacked for supporting a military family. Vance tried to suggest that Harris should have attended the private ceremony and that for criticizing it she should “go to hell,” although she hadn’t commented on it. The spokesperson suggested that the female cemetery official who tried to stop them was experiencing a “mental health episode,” and LaCivita, a leading figure in the Swift Boat veterans’ attacks on John Kerry in 2004, reposted an offending video to “trigger” Army officials, he said.

It hasn’t flown. Today, MSNBC’s Dasha Burns asked Trump directly: “Should your campaign have put out those videos and photos?” Trump answered: “Well, we have a lot of people. You know, we have people, TikTok people, you know we’re leading the Internet. That was the other thing. We’re so far above her on the Internet….” Burns interrupted and followed up: “But on that hallowed ground, should they have put out the images…?” Trump said: “Well I don’t know what the rules and regulations are, I don’t know who did it, and, I, it could have been them. It could have been the parents. It could have been somebody….”

Burns interrupted again: “It was your campaign’s TikTok that put out the video.” Trump answered: "I really don't know anything about it. All I do is I stood there and I said, 'If you'd like to have a picture, we can have a picture.' If somebody did it; this was a setup by the people in the administration that, 'Oh, Trump is coming to Arlington, that looks so bad for us.’"

In the days since Biden stepped out of contention, Trump has been flailing—often complaining that it is “unfair” that Biden isn’t his opponent any longer—but his behavior has rocketed downhill since the new grand jury delivered a new indictment revising the four charges against him for trying to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election and install himself in power. Karen Tumulty wrote in the Washington Post today that Trump is “spiraling,” noting that in the space of 24 hours he posted about Harris engaging in a sex act, promoted QAnon slogans, and called for prison for his political opponents.

Tumulty notes that Trump’s team has been trying to get him to focus on the issues voters care about, but that after he “listlessly delivers some lines from the teleprompter,” he “gets bored and begins recycling the rants from his rallies.” Harris has stayed silent about his behavior, Tumulty says a campaign staffer told her, because “Why would we step in this man’s way?” The Harris campaign wants microphones left on throughout the planned September 10 debate, expecting that Trump will not be able to contain the rants that used to serve his interests but now turn voters off.

To Vance is left the job of trying to clean up after Trump, but he’s not a skilled politician. Asked by John Berman about Trump’s social media attacks, Vance suggested that Trump was bringing “fun” and “jokes” to politics to “lift people up.” But observers on social media noted that claiming that attacks are “jokes” is a key part of asserting dominance.

Vance himself went after Harris by saying that he had an early version of Harris’s CNN interview and then posting an old meme of a young Miss Teen USA who appeared to panic when answering a question and produced a nonsensical answer. When Berman told him that the young woman contemplated self-harm after becoming a national joke and asked if he would like to apologize for bringing up that old video, Vance declined to apologize, suggested we should “laugh at ourselves,” and repeated that we should “try to have some fun in politics.”

Vance got into deeper trouble, though, when asked to explain Trump’s statement when he told Dasha Burns that he opposes Florida’s six-week abortion ban. This November, Floridians will have to vote yes or no on a constitutional amendment that would put abortion rights similar to those of Roe v. Wade into the state constitution.

Trump’s opposition to that amendment reflects the political reality that abortion bans are unpopular even in Republican-dominated states, but the MAGA base is fervently antiabortion. “That ‘thump thump’ you just heard is the entire pro-life movement going under the bus,” one wrote.

A campaign spokesperson promptly tried to walk the statement back by saying that Trump “has not yet said how he will vote on the ballot initiative in Florida,” which Vance reiterated on CNN. When Berman pressed him on it, though, Vance appeared to lose the ability to hear the question, suggesting the feed was bad.

This afternoon, Trump announced he will side with the antiabortion activists and vote against the amendment to the Florida constitution that would restore the rights that were in Roe v. Wade. Harris and Walz, meanwhile, have announced a national bus tour to highlight reproductive freedom. It will start in Palm Beach, Florida, where the Trump Organization’s Mar-a-Lago property is located.

Today, lawyers for Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss, the election workers Trump ally Rudy Giuliani defamed by accusing them of fraud in the 2020 election, asked a federal court to enforce the judgment that awarded them $146 million. They have asked for a court order requiring Giuliani to turn over his properties in New York and Florida, his luxury car, and his personal valuables including three New York Yankees World Series rings. Giuliani’s spokesperson accused the women of bullying Giuliani.

The Lincoln Project, which believes that needling Trump is the best way to rattle him, today released a video that portrays Trump as a predatory animal who is old, past his prime, and abandoned by his pack. Rather than engaging in his final hunt, he has found himself the prey. The voice-over intones: “The circle of life eventually closes on all things.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

#election 2024 #Letters From an american #Heather Cox Richardson #abortion #women's reproductive rights #abortion rights #rule of law #Ruby Freeman and Shaye Moss #The Lincoln Project #Gary Taxali #Arlington Cemetery

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