#industrial filing cabinet

[dirt-mann]

dresser obtained!

[badathumanemotions]

Hey could you do a Spencer NSFW fic where you end up trapped in a confined space with him (maybe hiding from an unsub) and all your personal space is gone and stuff gets heated yk and then maybe it’s carried on later in a hotel room that they had to share (dom spence, degradation, size kink etc) whatever you want to do really 🫶🫶

Hidden Feelings

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Category: Smut CW: Smut, Oral Sex (fem), Praise, Dirty Talk, Use of Good Girl and Sweet Girl, Riding, Creampie, Breeding Kink, Aftercare, Love Confessions. WC: 7,194 My brains been foggy lately so it's taking me longer to write these. Sorry guys. Also because of the long breaks I totally forgot to add everything you asked for and my Dom Spencer's a little rusty. Sorry anon. m (Not Proof Read)

In the heart of a long-forgotten industrial district, the abandoned restaurant stood, a relic of a bygone era. The team had received an anonymous tip, a whisper on the wind that led them to this desolate corner. You and Spencer Reid drew the short straws, tasked with investigating the eerie structure.

Peeling paint and shattered windows cast a grim pallor over the faded sign that swung lazily in the breeze. You felt a shiver run down your spine as you approached, your footsteps echoing against the cracked pavement. Spencer, ever the intellectual, rattled off facts about the place's history, trying to fill the silence with something other than the heavy tension that hung in the air.

Inside, the restaurant was a maze of dust-covered tables and chairs, the smell of stale grease clinging stubbornly to the air. The kitchen was a jungle of rusty pans and forgotten spices, the floor sticky with a layer of grime that had built up over the years. Despite the emptiness, it felt as though you were intruding on a place where secrets had been left to fester in the dark.

The tip you received was vague, hinting at suspicious activity in the area. You and Spencer moved methodically, your eyes scanning every corner for the faintest trace of anything could help with the case. You weren't quite sure what you were looking for – a clue, a sign, anything to justify the uneasy feeling that had settled in your stomach. Spencer paused every so often, his sharp mind analyzing anything out of place.

It was in the kitchen that you stumbled upon the horror. The ticket holder, once used to organize orders, now held a different kind of queue – a series of surveillance photos of the victims. Each face hauntingly familiar from the case files you've studied. The sight of their images, captured unknowingly by the monsters you were hunting, sent a cold chill through your system. Spencer's eyes widened in surprise, his voice barely above a whisper as he pointed out the meticulously laid out schedules scattered around the kitchen counters. It was clear that these Unsubs had been stalking their prey, plotting their every move.

The two of you withdrew your weapons now on high alert. You continued clearing the place, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the lives at stake. You could feel Spencer's tension beside you, his breaths shallow and eyes darting around the room as he searched for any sign of the trio.

Approaching a back office, you pushed the door open with your foot, not taking any chances. The room was a time capsule of forgotten paperwork and dusty filing cabinets. A desk sat in the centre, with a table beside it covered by a faded tablecloth.

The papers scattered across the surface looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry. Invoices, receipts, and pay stubs lay in a disorganized heap. You squinted in the dim light, trying to make sense of the dates. They were from before the restaurant had closed, a mundane record of a business that no longer existed.

Then, the unmistakable sound of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, echoed through the empty dining area. You and Spencer froze, your eyes locking for a split second. The blood drained from your face as you both realized the gravity of the situation. The Unsubs had returned and you were out numbered.

You caught a glimpse of four men, their silhouettes looming through the dust. At least two were obviously armed, their weapons glinting in the sliver of light that pierced the dimly lit space. They were getting closer and you had to think fast.

With a burst of adrenaline, you grabbed Spencer by the arm and pushed him down onto the floor, under the protection of the dusty tablecloth. He tumbled backward, his eyes wide with surprise, and you quickly followed, landing on top of him in a desperate attempt to hide. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the fabric of the cloth billowed around you, threatening to give you away with every breath.

With quick hands, you pulled out your phone and silently typed a message to Hotch, your thumb hovering over the 'Send' button. The footsteps grew louder, each step bringing the danger closer. You hit 'Send' and shoved the phone into your pocket. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath yours, his muscles coiled like a spring, clearly thrown off by you sitting on top of him.

He begins to squirm, and you knew he was uncomfortable, not just from the fear of being discovered but also from your proximity. The cramped space made it impossible not to be aware of every inch of your bodies pressing together.

Spencer tries to sit up, but you're quick to react. You place a hand firmly on his chest and push him back down, shaking your head.

Suddenly, he whispered, his voice strained and urgent, "We should change positions, it's not…ideal." But before he could finish, you clamped your hand over his mouth. You didn't know if the Unsubs had heard you, but you couldn't take that risk.

"Quiet, we don't want them to hear us."

You felt Spencer's body stiffen even further as your breath danced against the sensitive skin of his neck. You could feel his pulse racing against your chest, a frantic drumbeat matching the tempo of your own heart. You shifted slightly, the movement pressing your ass against his growing arousal. His breath hitched beneath your palm. It was an accident, but one that sent a jolt of heat through you.

The voices grew louder, the Unsubs seemingly oblivious to the danger hiding in the shadows. They talked in hushed tones, their words muffled by walls between them and your hiding spot. You strained to listen, hoping for some clue as to their plans or identities. The words were indecipherable, but the tone was one of excitement and anticipation.

As the moments dragged on, the tension in the air thickened, coiling around you and Spencer like a serpent. His body was taut beneath yours, the fabric of your clothes the only barrier between you. The adrenaline had shifted gears, no longer just a fight-or-flight response but a potent cocktail of fear and desire.

You felt his hands grip the back of your thighs, knuckles almost white with restraint. The heat of his body was intoxicating, and the friction of your movements was setting something alight between you. It was a dangerous dance, one that had no place in the middle of a horror show, but your body didn't seem to care about the setting.

Spencer's eyes searched yours, looking for a sign, a silent question. Was this real or just the situation playing tricks on you both? But the desire was unmistakable, a palpable force that seemed to fill the air in the tiny space. You drop your head down, your nose brushing against his cheek, and for a heart-stopping second, you thought about what it would be like to kiss him right then and there.

The sound of the Unsubs grew closer, their footsteps echoing in the hall outside the office door. Spencer's hands slid from your thighs to your hips, his grip tightening. The heat of his touch seemed to burn through your clothes, setting every nerve ending alight. The fear was still there, a live wire running through your veins, but it had morphed into something more primal, something that made your skin prickle and your breath catch in your throat.

You met Spencer's gaze, and in that fraction of a second, everything changed. The hunger you saw in his eyes was raw and undeniable. It was a look you'd never seen from him before, one that made your heart skip a beat and your body respond in ways you hadn't anticipated. For a moment, the horror of the situation was forgotten, replaced by the all-consuming need to touch, to taste, to claim.

Your hand slowly slid from his mouth to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble that had formed over the past few days of non-stop work. His breath was hot against your palm, his eyes never leaving yours. The intimacy of the gesture was not lost on either of you, but in the face of the danger lurking outside, it seemed to be the only thing that made sense.

Spencer's arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until your chests were pressed together. The sound of the Unsubs' footsteps grew fainter as they moved away from the office, but the intensity between you only grew stronger. His hands slid up your back, tangling in your hair, and you both leaned in, lips almost touching.

Suddenly, salvation in the form of a vibration. Your phone. The team had gotten your message. You felt a rush of hope as you realized that rescue was on the way. The vibration against your leg was a silent shout of reassurance, a beacon in the dark.

You both knew that you had to keep it together, to keep the facade of professionalism until the danger had passed. The text message seemed to sober you both up, the urgency of the situation slapping you back into the stark reality of your predicament.

You glanced down at the screen, noting the time since you'd sent the SOS. It felt like hours, but it had only been minutes. The message was simple: "In position. Hold tight." Spencer's eyes met yours, understanding passing between you in a fraction of a second. The weight on your chest lifted slightly, the fear ebbing away just enough to allow you to breathe again.

The sound of the Unsubs grew fainter as they moved away from the office. You dared not speak, not even a whisper, as you both listened intently for any clue to their whereabouts. Spencer's hand slid from your hair to the small of your back, his fingers gently tracing the contours of your spine. You shivered at his touch, the line between terror and passion blurring further.

Suddenly, the air was pierced by the sound of shattering glass. The Unsubs had been spooked, and the cavalry had arrived. The SWAT team, alerted by your message, had come crashing through the restaurant's front windows, the shards raining down like a crystal waterfall in the dusty room. You could feel Spencer's body tense beneath you, his muscles coiled and ready to spring into action.

You both took this as your cue to come out of hiding. With a silent nod of understanding, you slithered out from under the tablecloth, drawing your weapon as you went. Spencer was right behind you, his eyes sharp and focused, scanning the room for any sign of the quartet. The office door was slightly ajar, and the sound of chaos outside grew louder with each passing second.

As you emerged into the corridor, the scene that met you was one of organized mayhem. The SWAT team was spread out through the restaurant, their movements precise and calculated as they secured the area. You saw Morgan taking down one of the Unsubs with a well-placed tackle, the man's body hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

The other three Unsubs were already in cuffs, their faces a mix of shock and rage as they were read their rights. You felt a wave of relief wash over you as you realized that it was over, that no one else would suffer because of them.

He approached you and Spencer, his gaze sweeping over the two of you with a practiced eye. "Are you both okay?" he asked, his voice low and steady. You nodded, still trying to catch your breath, and Spencer managed a tight smile.

Morgan's eyes lingered on the two of you, and for a moment, you wondered if he could see the unspoken tension that had arisen between you during the standoff. But he said nothing, only nodded and turned back to the rest of the team.

The wrap-up was a blur, a flurry of activity that seemed to happen in fast-forward. You watched as the Unsubs were led out of the building, their heads bowed in defeat. The SWAT team secured the perimeter, and the forensic unit began their meticulous dance of collecting evidence. Your heart was still racing, the adrenaline from earlier lingering.

Before you knew it, you were in the back of an SUV, the cool leather pressing against your heated skin. Spencer was sitting beside you, the two of you trading glances. The silence between you was deafening, charged with the electricity of the kiss you had almost shared.

You couldn't help but wonder if it was the adrenaline that had pushed you both over the edge, or if there had always been something more simmering beneath the surface. The team was busy around you, talking and filling in the gaps of what had just transpired. But all you could think about was the way Spencer's body had felt beneath yours, the way his hands had explored you in the dark.

Once back at the precinct, you were just going through the motions. While the majority of the team interrogated the Unsubs, you found yourself cataloguing evidence with a sense of detachment, your mind replaying the events in the abandoned restaurant.

The almost kiss kept playing in your mind like a record on repeat. You couldn't shake the feeling of Spencer's breath against your skin, the way his eyes had searched yours for something unspoken. Each time you reached for a new piece of evidence, your hand would tremble slightly, a reminder of the intimate moment you had shared.

The touch of his fingers on your spine had been electric, sending a shiver down to the very core of you. You found yourself acutely aware of every point of contact, every brush of skin on skin, feeling as if you were still entwined under that dusty tablecloth. The memory of his arms around you was a comforting embrace that seemed to linger.

You froze for a moment as the realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you were sharing a room with Spencer tonight. The implications of what had almost happened weighed heavily on your mind as you continued to process the adrenaline-filled afternoon. You'd been partners for so long, so close, yet this was uncharted territory. You couldn't help but wonder how this would affect your relationship, both personally and professionally.

The case was wrapped up. Everything else was left for the locals. You and the team had done your part, leaving the cleanup to the local law enforcement. The Unsubs were behind bars, and the victims could now find some semblance of peace.

As you and the team divided into cars, you found yourself paired with Morgan and Prentiss. Spencer ended up in the car with Hotch, Rossi, and JJ, his eyes meeting yours briefly before the doors slammed shut, leaving you to wonder what might happen next. The drive to the hotel was a blur of city lights and the muffled chatter of your colleagues. You were lost in thought, replaying every heart-pounding moment in the abandoned restaurant.

When you finally arrived at the hotel, the lobby was a bustle of activity. The team checked in with weary efficiency, the gravity of the case still weighing on everyone's shoulders. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment as Spencer's gaze didn't seek you out among the crowd. Perhaps it was better this way, you thought, a chance to cool off and sort out the tumultuous emotions that had taken hold of you.

You headed up to the room, the elevator's slow ascent feeling like an eternity. You were sure that the conversation that was bound to happen would be a letdown. It had to be the adrenaline, you reasoned with yourself. It was the only explanation for the way your body had responded to his touch. But as the doors opened and you stepped into the quiet corridor, the memory of his arms around you seemed to follow you.

You fished the room key out of your pocket and slipped it into the lock, turning the handle with a click. The door swung open, revealing a space that felt too small for the emotions you were carrying.

Standing in the middle of the room, you took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before Spencer joined you in your shared hotel room. The walls felt closer than they should, the air filled with the anticipation of an unspoken conversation that loomed. You studied your reflection in the mirror, smoothing out any signs of distress, hoping to maintain a facade of calm.

As the lock clicked open, the sound echoed through the room. Your entire body tensed, not ready for what the night might hold. Spencer stepped in, his eyes briefly scanning the room before they settled on you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching out between you. His face was a mask, revealing nothing. You searched his gaze, desperate to find some clue, some hint of what was going through his mind. But Spencer was a master of poker faces, and he wasn't giving you anything to work with.

Then, without any warning, Spencer closed the distance between you, his hands coming up to cup your face. His touch was surprisingly firm, yet gentle, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw as he leaned in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was as intense as it was unexpected, stealing the breath from your lungs. You felt your knees wobble as you kissed him back with an equal fervour.

You gripped onto Spencer's shoulders, your nails digging into his shirt as you tried to keep yourself tethered to reality. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, his hands splayed against the small of your back.

He broke the kiss abruptly, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your heart flutter. "Tell me you want this" he growled.

"Yes," you assured him, the word coming out as a breathless whisper. "I want you," you clarified.

With frantic movements, you both began to undress each other, the fabric of your clothes seeming to dissolve away in your haste. Buttons popped and zippers hissed as the barriers between you fell away. You could feel the heat from his skin as your shirts were discarded.

Spencer reached around and unclipped your bra with an ease that made your stomach flip. He took his sweet time peeling the fabric away, revealing your breasts to his hungry gaze. He didn't waste a second before his mouth found them, his lips closing around your nipple with a gentle suction that sent a jolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your back arching, pushing your chest closer to his face.

With a groan, he began to suck, his tongue flicking and teasing the sensitive bud as you tangled your fingers in his hair. His hands followed suit, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over the peaks as he played with your nipples. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. Each nip and suck sent electricity through your body, making your legs threaten to give out.

Once he had his fill, he moved on to your trousers, taking them and your underwear down with a gentle urgency. You stepped out of the fabric pooled around your ankles, feeling vulnerable and exposed. He knelt before you, marvelling at the sight before him, his eyes dark with desire. You felt a blush spread across your cheeks as he looked up, a wicked smile playing on his lips.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul. "All mine to taste." He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as his eyes travelled down your body.

With a gentle but firm tug, Spencer's hands slid down to the back of your thighs, urging you closer. You stepped into the embrace, feeling his warm breath against your sex. The sensation sent a shiver through your body, and you bit your lip to hold back a whimper of need. His fingers dug into the flesh, gripping tightly as if he needed the anchor.

He leaned in, his tongue tracing the seam of your pussy. You felt his hot breath against your clit, the anticipation making it throb with desire. He circled the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, the touch so light it was almost maddening.

You moaned, your hands finding their way into his hair, gripping the soft strands as he began to apply more pressure. Spencer's eyes never left yours as he started to devour you, his mouth working magic on your clit, his tongue flicking and teasing until you were grinding against his face, desperate for more.

He chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands moving to grip your ass, pulling you closer until you were practically riding his face. His tongue plunged into your wetness, tasting you deeply, and you couldn't hold back the moan that escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, a delicious mix of pleasure and vulnerability that had you teetering on the edge.

"That's right, sweetheart," Spencer murmured, his voice muffled by your flesh. "Cum for me. Let me feel you come apart." His words were a command, a demand that sent a thrill through your body. You could feel the muscles in your abdomen tighten, your orgasm building in your core.

Obeying his urging, you began to rock your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue. The pressure was exquisite, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils blown wide with desire, his mouth wide open collecting your juices. His hands tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in, urging you to move faster, to give him what he wanted.

And then, with a final, needy grind against his mouth, you shattered. The orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you leaving you trembling and gasping for air. You could see the triumph flash in his eyes as he felt you come apart. He didn't stop, though, continuing to lick and suck until your legs gave out needing him to catch you.

With a firm grip on your waist, he guided you to the bed, his movements sure and decisive. The mattress dipped as you sat down, and he didn't waste a second before he was beside you, his body pressing into yours, his mouth claiming yours in a kiss that was as possessive as it was hungry.

"Good girl," he murmured against your lips, the words a dark praise that sent a thrill through your body. He pushed you back onto the bed, his body following yours, his weight a delicious pressure that made your heart race even faster. You felt the heat of him, his arousal pressing against your thigh, and it was all you could do to keep from reaching down and taking him in your hand.

Spencer sat up, his eyes never leaving yours as he removed the rest of his clothes. Each article of clothing fell away, revealing more of the toned body you had only ever seen glimpses of. His chest was bare, a blush trailing down it, and his erection was clear through his boxer briefs. He watched your reaction, a smug satisfaction in his gaze as he revealed himself to you.

"You have no idea how much I've wanted this," he murmured, his voice thick with lust as he pushed the last of his clothes off. "How hard it was to keep my hands to myself while we were hiding." His hand slid down his body, gripping his cock, giving it a slow stroke that had you biting your lip.

The admission sent a bolt of desire through you, making your heart race even faster. You had known there was something between you, something that went beyond friendship and partnership, but to hear him voice it so bluntly was exhilarating.

Spencer climbed over you, his breath hot against your neck as he whispered in your ear, "While you were on top of me, I couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have you riding me like that, taking me deep inside you." His words were raw, unfiltered, and they sent a shiver down your spine. You could feel the heat of his arousal, his cock pressing into your thigh as he spoke.

He trailed kisses down your neck, each one a silent promise of what was to come. "I wanted to rip your clothes off right there," he confessed, his voice a low growl that resonated through your body. "To feel you wet and ready for me, to hear you scream my name as I made you cum."

The words alone were almost enough to push you over the edge again. Your pussy throbbed with need, your inner walls clenching around emptiness, desperate for his touch. A moan slipped past your lips, and you threw your head back, giving him full access to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and you felt a shiver of pleasure that went straight to your core.

"Please," you begged, the word a breathy whisper that seemed to hang in the air. "I need you inside me." Your voice was ragged with desire, your eyes never leaving his as you made your plea. The raw need in your eyes seemed to be all the permission Spencer needed.

With a final, lingering kiss, he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against your slick folds. "Don't worry, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice low and dominant. "I'll take care of you."

He slammed into you with a force that made you gasp. The feeling of being filled by him was almost painful in its intensity, but the pain quickly gave way to pleasure as your body adjusted to his size.

Spencer's eyes were hooded with desire as he watched your reaction, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm. His hands gripped the headboard, the wood creaking under his grip as he thrust deeper and deeper, his whole body taut with the effort.

You could feel the mattress shift with every pounding stroke, the springs groaning in protest beneath you. The sensation was almost overwhelming, a delicious mix of pain and pleasure that had you panting and writhing beneath him. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, urging him deeper.

Spencer took your cue, his hands moving from the headboard to your hips, his grip unyielding as he set a rhythm that had you seeing stars. His hips snapped against you, his cock filling you completely, the sensation of fullness making your eyes roll back in your head. He was a force of nature, a storm of passion that you had unleashed, and you were helpless to do anything but ride the waves of pleasure that he brought.

You could feel the headboard knocking against the wall with every thrust, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing through the room. Each time he pushed into you, your breath hitched, a whimper escaping your lips. His eyes watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face, his expression one of fierce concentration.

"Look at me," Spencer demanded. You obeyed, locking your gaze onto his, unable to look away as he claimed you, body and soul. His dominance was intoxicating, the way he took control of your pleasure, leaving you powerless to do anything but submit to his will.

With a slight adjustment of his hips, he angled himself just right, and you felt the electric sensation as his cock hit your g-spot. A shocked yelp escaped your lips, your eyes widening with surprise. The intensity was almost too much, but you didn't want him to stop.

The sound of your moans grew louder with every thrust, filling the small room. Spencer smirked, his eyes dark with arousal as he leaned in close, his hand coming up to cover your mouth. "Quiet," he whispered, his voice a seductive rumble in your ear. "We don't want them to hear us, do we?" It was a playful reminder of your earlier words.

You moaned against his hand, the muffled sound only serving to add to the intensity of the moment. The heat from his palm was like a brand on your skin, searing your lips as you fought to keep your noises contained.

As the pleasure mounted, he slowly switched to putting his thumb in your mouth while the rest of his hand cupped your cheek. The act was both innocent and incredibly erotic, a silent plea for more as your teeth grazed his skin, your tongue swirling around the digit.

The sound of his groan filled the room, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through the very air. It sent a bolt of electricity through your body, making your pussy clench around his cock. Spencer's eyes darkened with need, his thumb pressing deeper into your mouth, his hips moving faster, his strokes more urgent.

"So fucking tight," he murmured, his voice a low, guttural growl. "You're so wet for me, aren't you?" His words went straight to your pussy, your body responding instinctively to his words. You nodded, unable to form coherent sentences as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

"Tell me," he demanded, his hips grinding into you, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels." You moaned around his thumb, the sound muffled and wanton.

"Am I fucking you so good you can't answer?" he taunted, his voice low and full of smug satisfaction.

You could only nod, the words caught in your throat as he hit that spot again and again. The feeling was so intense that you could feel yourself climbing towards another orgasm.

With a sudden shift, Spencer rolled over, flipping onto his, and you straddled him, his cock still buried deep inside you. "Fuck, I need to see you ride me," he grunted.

Wasting no time, you immediately got to work, arching your lower back and slamming your ass down against his pelvis. The pleasure had your eyes rolling back in your head. Each downward thrust was met with an upward surge of his hips, filling you completely.

Spencer's fingers dug into your hips, his grip tightening with each bounce, leaving the promise of bruises in his wake. You could feel the pressure building again, his cock stroking your g-spot with an almost punishing precision that had your toes curling.

"That's right, be a good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "Ride my cock just like that." The words were a command that had your pussy clenching around him, desperate to please. You picked up the pace, the slap of your ass meeting his thighs growing louder with each passing second.

Spencer's eyes never left yours, his gaze a mix of hunger and admiration. "Look how much you want it," he said, his voice a dark whisper. "Look how much you need me to fill you up, to make you scream." His words were like a drug, sending a rush of pleasure through your body.

"You like me praising you," he murmured, his eyes flicking down to where you were joined. "Calling you a good girl?" His hand moved to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin gently as his hips began to move again, his cock still buried deep inside you. "I felt the way your cunt started squeezing me," he continued, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. "Every time I say it, you get wetter, don't you?"

You couldn't help but nod, the truth of his words evident in the way your body was responding. You felt the heat of his palm on your cheek, the gentle pressure of his thumb against your skin grounding you.

With a growl of pure need, Spencer brought your face down to meet his in a passionate kiss that was both possessive and tender. His tongue claimed your mouth, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. You moaned into the kiss, the sensation of his cock inside you making your head spin.

Both his hands grabbed your ass, the firm grip of his fingers digging into your flesh. He used the leverage to slam your hips down onto him, the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the muscles in his arms tensing, the power behind each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The sensation was overwhelming, and you could feel yourself tightening around him, the beginnings of another orgasm building deep within you.

Spencer's voice was a low growl in your ear, his words a mix of praise and need. "You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I want to fill you up, have you dripping with my seed." The thought of his release inside you had your pussy clenching around him, the walls quivering with the anticipation of his climax.

"Will you let me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for an answer. The question was loaded, filled with a mix of hope and desire that made your heart race even faster. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, waiting for your permission.

You nodded, the word "yes" barely escaping your mouth before it was swallowed by his kiss. Spencer's hips bucked up into you, the urgency of his movements increasing. He broke the kiss, panting. "I need to feel you come around me," he groaned.

The frantic pace continued, your bodies moving in perfect synchronicity as you raced towards the peak of pleasure. Spencer's grip on your ass was bruising, but you didn't care. You needed this, needed him to make you feel alive in a way you never had before. His cock slammed into your g-spot over and over, causing non-stop pleasure.

Your kiss grew sloppier, tongues tangling and breaths mingling as if you were trying to breathe each other in. The taste of him was intoxicating. You felt the pressure building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to break at any moment.

"Cum for me, sweet girl," Spencer begged, his voice strained with his own need. And as if those words were the key to your release, your body obeyed. You felt the orgasm crash over you, a tidal wave of sensation that had you throwing your head back and screaming his name. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body spasming on top of him, your pussy clenching around his cock like a vice.

The sight of you, lost in the throes of ecstasy, was too much for Spencer. With a roar, he reached his own climax, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled you with his cum. The feeling was indescribable, a mix of pleasure and relief that had him seeing stars. His hips jerked upwards, his body shuddering with the force of his release, his hands gripping you tightly.

You moaned at the feeling of him cumming in you, the sensation of being filled sending you spiralling over the edge into another orgasm. Your pussy clenched around him, milking every last drop from his cock as he emptied himself inside you. The feeling was primal, a deep-seated satisfaction that resonated through every part of your being.

As the last tremors of pleasure passed, you collapsed boneless against him, both of you trying to catch your breath. Your cheek was pressed against his chest, his heart pounding against your skin. You could feel the stickiness of your juices between your legs, mingling with his seed.

Spencer's hand came up to draw patterns across your spine, the touch gentle and soothing. His fingertips traced the contours of your back, moving in a lazy pattern. You leaned into the caress, the tension in your body slowly beginning to melt away.

For a while, you both lay there, just breathing, the sound of your harsh pants slowly evening out as your heart rates returned to normal. The silence between you was conent, a shared understanding that didn't require any words. You felt the warmth of his body, the steady thump of his heart, and the sticky warmth between your legs.

Spencer was the first to move, cupping your cheek gently and turning your face to look at him. His eyes searched yours, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brought you into a sweet, lingering kiss. When he finally pulled away, the words he whispered were filled with wonder and a hint of disbelief. "I can't believe I finally have you," he murmured, his voice filled with emotion.

The truth of his words hung in the air, the weight of them heavy on your chest. You had both crossed a line, one that could never be uncrossed. But as you stared into his eyes, the warmth of his gaze and the tender way he held you made you feel that this was right. That this was what you both needed.

You felt his cock begin to soften inside you, the pulsing subsiding as your bodies slowly calmed from the intense climax. The feeling was strange, almost bittersweet, as if your body was mourning the loss of his hardness. Gently, he pulled out, his movements careful and deliberate, mindful of your sensitivity. A gush of warmth accompanied his exit, leaving a wetness that was both a reminder of what had just occurred and a promise of what was to come.

Spencer looked down at you, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray hair from your face. "Come on," he prompted. "Let's get cleaned up." He offered you a hand, helping you to your unsteady feet. Your legs felt like jelly, weak from the pleasure he had wrung from your body. You took his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead you to the bathroom.

Spencer turned the shower on, the sound of rushing water filling the small space. He stepped in, testing the temperature with his hand before turning back to you with a nod, extending his hand once again. You stepped in, the warm spray cascading over your bodies, washing away the sweat and semen.

He took a washcloth soaking it in the warm water, and gently began to clean you. You watched him, the tender way he moved the cloth across your skin, wiping away the sweat and slick. His eyes were focused on his task, the intensity of the moments before replaced by a softness that made your heart ache.

You leaned into his touch, your body relaxing against his as he took care of you. Each stroke of the washcloth was like a caress, soothing the ache in your muscles and the throb of your pussy. He was thorough, paying special attention to every inch of your skin, as if he was worshipping your body.

Once he was satisfied that you were clean, Spencer quickly cleaned himself and stepped out of the shower. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist before turning his attention back to you. "Let me dry you off," he murmured, his eyes gentle.

You stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water leaving your skin glistening. Spencer took a towel from the rack, his movements methodical as he began to gently pat you down. Starting at your face, he moved down your neck, taking special care around the sensitive areas.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent, as if he was afraid to break the spell that had been cast between you. You felt his hands on your shoulders, sliding down your arms, and around to your back, his touch feather light as he dried your skin. Each brush of the terrycloth cause goosebumps to break out.

Once Spencer had you thoroughly dried, he wrapped the towel around your body, tucking it in tightly, almost like he was afraid to let you go. He took your hand, leading you to the second bed. The mattress dipped under your weight as you sat down, the softness a welcome relief after the intense moments that had passed.

He took a seat beside you, his eyes searching yours. "I need you to understand something," he began, his voice serious. "What we just did, it's not just about the case or the adrenaline. It's not just about the physical attraction we have."

Spencer took a deep breath, his hand reaching out to cover yours. "I want you, not just your body, but all of you," he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. "I want to know every part of you, every thought, every fear, every dream."

You could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way his heart was laid bare for you. "This isn't just about scratching an itch," he continued. "It's about connecting on a level that goes beyond anything I've ever experienced." His words were a declaration, a promise of something more substantial than the fleeting moments of passion you've shared.

You took a deep breath, the warmth of the shower still clinging to your skin as you searched for the right words. "Spencer," you began, your voice a whisper. "I feel the same way." The confession felt like a weight lifted off your chest. You had been holding it in for so long, the fear of ruining your friendship and professional relationship had kept you from saying what you truly felt.

His eyes searched yours, the intensity in them making your heart race. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice hopeful yet tentative.

"Yes," you whispered, the word a promise that seemed to echo through the quiet hotel room. "I do." Spencer's hand tightened around yours, his smile growing as he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It was a kiss that spoke of relief and joy, a silent acknowledgement that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

As the tension between you dissipated, you both got ready for bed, moving with a newfound ease. You slid under the cool sheets of the second bed. Spencer followed, his body fitting against yours as if he had been made for you.

You were so giddy with the intensity of what had just transpired that you weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep. Yet, as you cuddled against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, the comfort of his embrace began to lull you into a peaceful slumber. His arms tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your very bones.

As the night passed, you both slipped into a deep sleep, your bodies entwined like lovers lost in each other’s embrace. The tension of the case and the passion between you had drained you both, leaving nothing but peaceful rest.

[inbabylontheywept]

The Fridges. Oh My God, The Fridges.

This is a continuation of the last piece I wrote on the weird shit that happens in classified facilities. The building I work in has somewhere around 30-35 people in it. It also has around 20 fridges. There's kind of a saga that goes into this, so I'll start with the first part: The Hoarding.

The building has an insane overabundance of space. They just keep adding new rooms every time an old room needs an update, so it just sprawls on forever. There's also an extremely limited ability to get anyone who does not work full time in the building, into the building. This means that while we work on missiles, we also clean our own desks and vacuum the floors and mop and all of those other tasks that most places would consider "non-engineer work." This is fine if it's something anyone with a body can do, but this causes problems when you're looking at the physical limits of engineers. Namely, we are not very muscular people.

Thus, if something needs to get manhandled into a space, it gets manhandled by whatever group of nerds you can bribe, threaten, or guilt into joining you. When a fridge dies, it is a motherfucker to remove it from the building, so they often just...didn't. What they did instead was get the fridges onto dolleys, which isn't too bad, wheel those dolleys to the elevator, and then park them in a relatively empty part of the basement that we shall call The Graveyard of Fridges. This wasn't originally meant to be a permanent solution, but when you have space but lack muscles, it can become permanent really fast. Eventually, someone realized that you can padlock the fronts of the fridges and use them as document storage, which has the added perk of meaning that the people on site don't have to assemble more filing cabinets. Everyone here hates assembling filing cabinets. It's fucking terrible. (It is worth noting that in this era, you would occasionally get directions to a secret file that looked like "1970's model, lime green, left crisper.")

We will call this the peak of the Hoarding Era. It is followed by the Mechanical Engineering Era.

Around 2015, it was realized that the group needed engineers familiar with industrial machinery, and not just standard electronics, so mechanical engineers (MEs) began to get hired. The new ME's made it a sort of rite of passage for proceeding new hires to repair an old fridge. So the site went from having 4 functioning fridges and 15ish being used for document storage to around 15 functioning fridges and 4 used for file storage.

Every time a fridge got fixed, people just put them back on the dolley, wheeled them back in the elevator, and got them wedged in their personal office spaces. If you were a bigwig, you might be able to get dibs on your own personal fridge, and if you were a new guy confined to the cubicle jungle you might have to share one with four or five other guys. But it was still a ludicrous amount of fridge space.

And that is how a base with 35 people on it wound up with 15 fridges.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Office Space 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you're an assistant to private and corporate investigator, Nick Fowler, and find yourself brought into the fold of his shady professional life. 

Characters: Nick Fowler, Jonathan Pine, this reader is known as Elfie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Another thick folder falls on your desk. You look up as Mr. Fowler strides without a word into his office. No explanation, no directive, as ever he's elusive but demanding. 

You sigh and push your mouse aside, bringing the folder in front of you. You open it up and find stacks of hand-written notes, receipts, and reports. You get the happy task of digitizing each one and sorting it into the electronic archive for investigation.  

Your boss closes himself into his office as you sit in the vacant silence of the small lobby. It's no walk-in location. PI work doesn't exactly operate that way. Corporate investigations are even less advertised. Fowler does more than find the corruption, he scrubs it when necessary. 

You expect the discretion of the work is why he hired you. You don't talk much. You do you work without question and clock out. Still, it doesn't keep you from after hours or early arrivals. He texts and you're where you need to be. 

You sort through the thick folder. Chronological or by type? Some don't have dates and what would you categorize a cocktail napkin as? You get up and haul it all into the copier room. It's the smallest room in the rented space, made tighter by the filing cabinets and the industrial printer. 

You unhook your laptop and bring it into the copier room. You put it on the narrow table and go to task. It's mindless work. You fall into the pattern of scanning, numbering, and cataloguing. The copier hums in the empty static. 

No music, no noise. Your request for white noise was declined without consideration. You accept without argument. Fowler isn't the type to entertain pushback. He's the boss. 

Whatever, you wouldn't trade the silence for the top ten on repeat at your previous retail gig. The people are enough to make you tolerate the isolation. Besides, it's a job, it's not meant to be fun.  

You get your kicks after work; a drink with your fellow corporate drones down at Retro's. Thinking of, it's been some time since you had a spicy margarita. You pause your work and go to retrieve your phone from your purse. As you find it hiding in the middle pocket, Fowler's door opens and he promptly marches over to stamp his mug down on your desk. Shoot. 

"Emergency?" He wonders as his blue eyes narrow at your grip on the phone. 

"No, sir, checking the time," you lie and drop the cell back in your purse and hide it in your drawer. "Coffee?" 

He doesn't answer, merely taps the brim and walks away. He leaves his office door open as he retreats. You give a tight smile to the empty office and snatch up the dark blue cup. 

You take it into the little room meant to be some sort of break space. You don't take breaks and neither does he. You approach the expensive nespresso machine and go through the motions. Cappucino. You've become a pseudo-barista since you started the job. 

The smell of coffee tempts you. You're permitted to have one of your own but you have to supply your own coffee and dairy. It's easier to hit the cafe on your way or pack a cup from home.  

You carry it out and tentatively approach Mr. Fowler's door. You peer inside and clear your throat. He sneers at his phone without acknowledging you. You near and place his cup on the marble coaster beside his apple mouse. 

"We have an extra mug?" He asks without looking up. 

"Yes, sir, I think--" 

"I don't need you to think, I need yes or no." 

"Yes," you swallow down his bluntness. As you least you never have to wonder what's on his mind. He'll tell you. 

"I'm in expecting someone in twenty minutes." 

That's it. You have the pieces, put it together. His visitor will require their own beverage. Lovely. A rare drop-in is hardly exciting, more stressful. If they're important enough to come in, they're important enough to be concerned. 

You go to find a second cup. You have your own, a red travel mug without a handle. You’ll leave the silicon lid in your drawer and give it a quick rinse.  

You wait behind your desk, the mug clean and sparkling beside the nespresso in anticipation. You’ll go back to your scanning once you have the visitor settled. You know Fowler wouldn’t want them walking into an empty desk. In the meantime, you sift through another case file on your screen. 

When the door opens, you pop up, overly alert. That’s not your usual state. This place makes you sleepy. You stand up to greet the man as he steps through. 

He’s tall, taller than Fowler, but slender. While his shoulders are broad, the rest of him is trim. His blonde hair is kept neatly and his blue eyes are crystalline where your boss’ are dark and stormy. This man is like sunshine compared to the usual grim cloud over this place. 

“Hello, uh, sir,” you smile, “you must be here to see Mr. Fowler.” 

“Yes, that’s me,” he says breezily, “Jonathan Pine.” 

“Okay, erm, I’ll let him know you’re here,” you round the desk, hitting your hip on the corner but hiding the pang it sends down your thigh, “uh, would you like a coffee?” 

“How kind to offer, but no, I’m more of a tea drinker,” he replies, “pardon, but I didn’t get your name.” 

“Elfie,” you utter instinctively, “er, excuse me, I’ll just go let Mr. Fowler--” 

You scurry to the office door and it opens before you can reach it. Mr. Fowler steps out and sends you a sardonic look. You wince and step back out of his way. He struts by and approaches Jonathan, Mr. Pine properly, with his hand out in offering. 

“Pine.” 

“Nick,” the man answers familiarly, “long time.” 

“Not long enough,” Fowler counters as they shake hands firmly. He’s a few inches shorter than Pine though hardly falters at the fact. “Elfie, coffee.” 

“She did offer,” Pine intones, “I politely declined. You know it isn’t my style.” 

“Mm, yes, I know your style too well,” Fowler rebuffs and lets him go, gesturing him through his office door. As he follows, he glances back at you and arches a brow. What did you do wrong this time? 

[wellnoe]

This is aperture au: an AU made up by Will (@boo-cool-robot, who did most of the plot and writing) and me (visuals) where Magneto takes a teen Scott in before Xavier, and Scott’s subsequent radicalization causes him to undergo a schism with x-men leader/lover jean after he eventually joins the team. Because if you really love characters, you just want them to have an ideological divorce! 

The au is named after the code-name scott is given by magneto, which he returns to after the events of this comic (Aperture–like an opening for light to pass through, a focus in a lens.) 

[Image description: Full color comic. Whole comic has a layout where each page has 3 columns. Jean is in the left column, and scott is in the right.

Page 1

Panel 1: Scott and Jean explore a grim, industrial, apparently abandoned basement lab. Jean inspects a peeled back vent cover. Scott bends down to open a filing cabinet drawer. Jean: "This is too clean to have been opened by a crowbar. Almost looks like how I would have used my TK a few years ago."

2: Scott leans back, back of his fist to his mouth in shock. He says: "Marvel Girl, you need to see this. Use my eyes. Please."

3: Jean turns, using her telepathy to look at the file Scott has found. Her telepathic eyes see what he sees. There is a Polaroid of young Scott and Alex. Alex smiles at the camera, while Scott holds his brother and glances away. Alex's file describes him as 'Yearly tag and release'.

The other page in the file has a letterhead reading “Home for Foundlings” and a logo depicting an abstract parent and child, forming a red diamond shape. Cut-off text reads, “Summers, Scott/Seong-Mi/S-...Impaired expressive speech and sound sensitivity worsened after 3 days of social ostracism from peers…electroconvulsion. Energy generation potential unaffected. Continued social impairment, likely auti…”

Scott has already turned toward a door, frowning. 

4: Jean puts a comforting hand on Scott’s shoulder while he turns away from her. Scott (Telepathically): "I used to remember having a brother. He told me I was just confused, that I’d imagined him." Jean (Telepathically): "Who told you that?"  Scott reaches to open the door. Scott (Out loud): "I don’t know, it was all…"

5: Scott, quietly: "Sinister."

They have stepped through into the next room, where Mister Sinister’s silhouette looms in the foreground, breaking the barriers between the three columns. Jean puts her arm out in front of Scott to shield him. Scott has shrunk in on himself. 

Page 2:

Panel 1: Scott has his arms crossed. Jean, glowing with telepathy, puts a hand next to Mister Sinister’s head where he lies between scott and jean. Jean: "He can’t hear us. He’s in some kind of psionic trance. His body is here, but his mind is on the Astral Plane."

2: Scott: "So he’s vulnerable." Jean is startled: " What?" Scott: "We could end him here. Before he gets to-- anyone else. Before he gets to Alex again." 

3: Jean’s telepathy flares, she is confused, but stubborn. Jean: "We’re X-Men, we can’t just kill someone defenseless. We won’t get anything out of him if he’s dead." Scott faces her, angry and disbelieving. Scott: "You really think if you [Telepathically: implicate, integrate] ask him, he’ll say anything that those files out there don’t?"

A figure approaches through the open doorway, obscured by Jean and Scott’s world bubbles.

4: Jean’s telepathy flare is the strongest yet. She is hurt, beseeching. she says: "The Professor taught us to give people chances. He gave you a chance when you joined the team." Scott is quietly angry. Scott: "Maybe if he were smarter, he wouldn’t have. You wouldn’t–..." Jean:  "Are you saying you shouldn’t be here with me?" 

 The figure gets closer, raising a board to her shoulder. 

5: The figure is revealed to be madelyne pryor, wearing the marvel girl dress, as she swings a board at Sinister’s head. She hits him with a “KRAK”. Telepathy flares out from Sinister’s form and from the panel as he’s hit. Jean and Scott watch her, Jean’s mouth open in shock, her telepathic eyes watching from Scott's eyes as well, while Scott looks untethered.

Page 3: Mads is in the middle column.

Panel 1: Jean and Scott reach their hands out towards Mads. Mads has her hands up in front of her. They are all frozen in place. Scott [Telepathically]: "Who is she?"

Mads [TP]:  "I can hear them."

Jean [TP]: "She looks like me." Mads [TP]: "I was supposed to be her."

Scott [TP]: "She killed him. That could have been Jean." Jean [TP]: "Scott thinks it should have been me." 

2: Mads flees past Scott, who is still frozen. Jean turns as Mads runs, half reaching out toward her. Mads [TP]:  "I can’t be her. I can’t be here." The thoughts become disjointed, unattached from the people who are thinking them, hanging in the air of the room.

3: Scott runs after Mads. The unattached thoughts begin to fill the space between him and Jean: "I can’t be her, That could have been me, I can’t be here". Jean watches Scott, frozen in place, and starts to cry. Telepathic energy comes off her in waves. Scott [TP]: "That could have been Jean."

"I can't be here" repeats until it goes through the bottom of the panel and into the next panel. 

4: Jean is still frozen, crying. Her hands are pressed to her head as she is crowded by the telepathic thought bubbles surrounding her. She gets stuck on bubbles repeating over and over:

"I can’t be here, I can’t be here, I can’t be here."

Page 4:

Panel 1: Jean is still surrounded by thought bubbles. She reaches into the middle pane and tears a black rip through it, telepathically and with her hands. Her head and hands flare with telepathy. The edges of the rip burn like fire. She is still crying, angry. 

2: Thought bubbles disappear. Jean’s head is snapped back by the force of telepathic feedback. The black rip spreads wider, telepathic flame at edges, continuous with the previous panel.Scott, chasing Mads outside the lab, trips forward. Both Jean and Scott are losing control of their bodies, falling.

3: Jean and Scott both fall to the ground, unconscious, as the rip in the page spreads wider. 

4:  Black/end id]

[performativezippers]

This is a departure from what I usually do, but I'm hiring a bunch of people at my work right now and thought I'd leave you some tips in case you're going to be job searching anytime soon. Disclaimer: nothing applies to everyone, etc, whatever. I work in higher ed as a staff member which is big and bureaucratic and of like a dysfunctional nonprofit, but this will apply to many other jobs/industries as well.

tl;dr: make your resume relevant and clean, customize and personalize your cover letter, use every interview question as the chance to share an experience from a previous job that makes you look good, and remember the answer is never just "no."

Resume Tips

Include past job history for 5 years if you're young or 10 years if you're older. If your only experience isn't directly relevant (ex: you've only worked in fast food and it's a receptionist job), frame the duties in ways that make it seem more relevant, such as "customer service" instead of "500 hot dogs a day."

include dates of employment -- i fyou don't, i assume you have something to hide (you got fired after 3 months)

Each job should have 3-5 bullet points describing the duties. Don't lie, but you can make them sound cool. "Answered the phones" could be "First point of contact for all clients and contractors."

Format it so I can read it. I should easily be able to see position, company, dates, and duties. The page should have a decent amount of white space so my eyeballs don't explode, but it's very obvious if you have nothing to say and are making the margins big to make it look full. Don't do that!

Cover letter Tips

WRITE ONE, oh my god. We asked for resume and cover letter for the application and automatically rejected everyone who didn't write one. I know they suck, but if you're applying for the job, actually apply for the job.

Address it to the right person/job. We are hiring for a case manager, and we got several that said things like "i look forward to joining your company as a project specialist" or whatever. (a) not a company, (b) not a project specialist. I KNOW you use a template that you update for each job you apply to, but you have to actually update it, buddy.

Customize it. "I will bring valuable skills to your company" is nothing. That's meaningless. I ignore that. The cover letter is for you to tell me why you'd be a good fit for my job, not a job.

The format can be: "Dear X, I am writing to enthusiastically apply to the position of [job] at [company]." Paragraph on your related experience. Paragraph on why what you can bring is perfect for what they specifically need (include something you learned from your research on their website for bonus points). A sentence or two on what excites you about this job. "Thank you very much for your time and consideration, Your Name."

Interview Tips

Be on time. Dress in a way that demonstrates effort (like a button down shirt). If you have a natural resting bitch face, try not to for the interview.

If you're doing it in person (not on zoom or phone) bring something to write things down on, like a notepad. This is where you can keep your questions for them, as well as jot down ideas that occur to you as they're asking the question. Don't use your phone, it looks unprofessional.

Write down questions in advance that you have for them. DO NOT ask about pay or benefits or vacation (you can do that later). You can ask things like "what would a typical day in this role look like?" or "how would you describe the company culture?" or whatever. if you've done research, the more specific questions you can ask, the better. "I'd love to hear about the origins of X project, which I was reading about on your website." Nice.

Every question is a chance for you to share a specific story from your work history that paints you in a positive light. If they ask "How would you organize all of our client files?" don't say "in a filing cabinet or hard drive." That's because I know about filing cabinets and hard drives; assume the interview isn't stupid. You can say, "At my previous role, we had a lot of client files and what I did to organize them was ____." I KNOW you don't know how I organize my files, and that's okay because you don't work here yet. What I'm really asking is, "do you understand the ways that not organizing things is bad, and have you had experience with organizing similar stuff in an effective manner? Prove to me I can trust you with my files."

Do not ever speak about yourself or your previous job negatively. If they ask why you're leaving your current job (they shouldn't), be vague and polite. You're "looking for a new challenge," or "my current position has taught me a lot, and while it's really great, my future career goals are much more in line with [something this company or job does]."

If they ask about your experience with something you have zero experience with, like "have you used salesforce" and you're like, bro, no, i worked at wendy's, YOUR ANSWER IS NEVER JUST "NO." You can say something vaguely positive about yourself like "I haven't, but I learn new systems quickly and that's something I'm really looking forward to learning and becoming fluent with in this role" or you can mention something similar, like, "I haven't used salesforce, but my previous role used a different database to manage our client contacts and [some stuff you think is relevant about that and how good at it you are]."

Questions? feel free to ask!

[sleepyserenssims]

Cantina Collection

Straight from Oga's Cantina comes this cobbled together industrial set.

A bit later than planned but finally here. All items are very low poly as they are all frankenmeshed from the original bar back counters.

The textures are all composites and rearrangements of the originals, as a result they are not seamless - but we'll say it just adds to the look that they've just been made from whatever scrap metal was around!

Also as the cabinet doors all have the same rust pattern, it looks odd/repetitive on very big kitchens but works fine for small spaces.

There is only one swatch for all items except the seating, which comes in the same colours as the originals.

All items are base game compatible, except the resized bar backs which require Journey to Batuu.

See below for further details, pictures and download links.

Comfort (5 items):

Industrial Bar Stools x 2 - Low Back & No Back

Industrial Dining Chairs x 2 - Low Back & No Back (shown with original JtB high back chair)

Metal Dining Chair (shown with original JtB bar stool)

Surfaces (16 items):

Kitchen Counters & Islands

Bar Table

Dining Tables x 2

Coffee & End Tables

Console Tables x 3

Smaller Replicas of the original Cantina Barbacks x 5 - resized to match the height of regular counters NOTE: You'll need to use bb.moveobjects on to align these properly. JOURNEY TO BATUU PACK IS REQUIRED.

Industrial Shelf

Decor (2 items):

Metal Splashbacks x 2

Activities & Skills (3 items):

Oga's Bars x 2

Sabacc Game Table NOTE: BGC but JOURNEY TO BATUU is required in order to change the game type to Sabacc. Without this it will function as any other base game card table.

Download All (Downloads ZIP file from Google Drive)

Pick and Choose (Opens Google Drive folder)

If there's any problems with any of these items or you have any constructive feedback, suggestions or questions, please just get in touch, I'm still learning every day!

My TOU

Credits

All textures and meshes are edited or frankenmeshed from in-game EA assets.

@myshunosun - for their gorgeous sona dining chair which I cloned in order to have an object with the necessary transparency for the chair and bar stool - can be downloaded here.

Lizbot3000 - for their base game bar tables, which I cloned for my bar table and can be found here.

@ravasheencc - for her Crop It Like It's Hot Backdrops which I used to take some preview photos and can be downloaded here.

CC created using Blender, Sims 4 Studio & GIMP. Preview images using Canva Pro.

Everyone on the S4S forums and the Creator Musings discord group for all the tutorials and advice/help.

[simstorian-blog]

New York City: ONE

(CC List + Links)

World Map: San Myshuno

Area: Spice Market – Old Salt House

Lot Size:  30 x 30

Capacity:

4 Apartments: 2 bedrooms, 1 bathroom, washer/dryer per unit

1 Townhouse: 4 Bedroom Suites, 6 Baths, 2 Half Baths, A Sauna, Indoor Pool, Gym, Office Space, Entertainment/Hosting Floor

Shared Areas: Café, Game Room, Laundromat (non-functional), Press Conference Room, Security Booth

Gallery ID: Simstorian-ish

Packs Needed

Expansion Packs

City Living

Discover University

Eco Lifestyle

For Rent

Get Famous

Get Together

Get To Work

Growing Together

High School Years

Horse Ranch

Snowy Escape

Game Packs

Dine Out

Jungle Adventures

Spa Day

Strangerville

Vampires

Stuff Packs

Laundry Day

Kits

Cozy Bistro

Desert Luxe

Recommended Gameplay Mods

(Please read through what each mod has to offer before deciding if it fits your gameplay style or not.)

City Vibes Lot Traits

Lock/Unlock Doors for Any Lot

Use Residential Rentals shared areas as Community Lots

Build Mode

Felixandre

Berlin Pt. 2 (Doors, Ionic Column)

Chateau Pt. 2 (Marble Tiles, Stone Stairs)

Colonial Pt. 3 (Column 1, Fence 2, Railing 2, Spandrel 1)

Georgian (Arches, Doors)

Gothic Revival (Pilaster 4m, Socket, Trim 1)

Paris Pt. 2 (Bar, Bistro Table, Counter, Espresso Bar, Glass Display, Island, Paneling 3 Tiles, Stone Wall, Window Decal)

Soho Pt. 2

Soho Pt. 3

Soho Pt. 4

Versailles

Harlix

Kichen (Fresco Wall)

Tiny Twavellers (Trim Wall)

Harrie

Brownstone Pt. 2 (Traditional Items, Stone Wall)

Brownstone Pt. 3 (Wallpapers)

Klean Pt. 2

Klean Pt. 3 (Plaster Window Frame Large)

Hey Brine

Indonis Bathroom (Penny Floor & Wall Tiles)

Joyce

 Summer Garden (Floor Tiles)

Lili’s Palace

Folklore (Smoky Kitchen Wall)

Intarsia (Polished Marble Floor + Florence Fresco Add-ons)

Lijoue

A Louer Collection (Apt Mailboxes, Door, Intercom, Iron Fence, Railing, Stone Stairs)

Peacemaker

Multi-Level Carpet

Pierisim

Combles (Module Medium 2, Paneling Middle)

Sooky88

Victorian Tiled Flooring

Syboubou

Industrial Elevators (This Mesh Needed)

Buy Mode

AroundTheSims4

Laundromat (Chariot, Folding Table - Metallic, Seating x3, Laundromat Sign, Soap Machine)

CharlyPancakes

Lavish (Wardrobe Pieces)

Lighthouse Collection (3-Seater Sofa)

Felixandre

Chateau Pt. 4 (Fridge, Cabinets, Counters, Sink)

Chateau Pt. 5 (Bookshelf V2 – Medium)

Grove Pt. 2 (Timber Shelves)

Flirtyghoul

Lavanderia (Note: Non-functional)

Harlix

Bafroom (All Wall Mirrors)

Baysic Bathroom (Shower Wall, Toilet Roll)

Orjanic Pt. 2 (Medium Curtain + Rod)

Harrie

Brutalist Bathroom

Coastal Pt. 3 (Marble Kitchen Sink)

Coastal Pt. 6 (Bathtub, Landscape Mirror, Shower, Toilet)

Spoons Pt. 2 (Cake Boards, Pastry Display Platter)

Meinkatz

Light Fixture (DL on Patreon)

Thermostat

Pierisim

Coldbrew Pt. 2 (Books, Menu, Napkins)

Coldbrew Pt. 3

Oak House Pt. 4 (Bathtub, Shower, Towel Holder, Wall Hanging Light)

Woodland Ranch (Dining Chair 1 + 2)

Ravasheen

Thermostat

Tuds

SHKR

DO NOT REUPLOAD MY LOTS.

DO NOT CLAIM THEM AS YOUR OWN.

DO NOT PLACE BEHIND A PAYWALL.

Tray Files: DOWNLOAD

[beemers-hell]

Do you have any Doc headcanons??

idk what specifically you're looking for but like, for base stuff:

He's around 49~51

Cis dude, strictly Gay

Around 6'05"

Chinese-American

Apathetic as hell, but quite the sardonic jokester

Has EDS, part of why he has a tendency to avoid combat unless necessary, and does shit behind the scenes/has people do his dirty work for him. He uses a cane 24/7 but will use other aids if he's having a particularly hard day for his body!

Major conspiracy theorist, that's why he even started looking into the inner machinations of Nevada and The Machine in the first place. He thinks he's hot shit for being right about that!

Him and Hank were a couple before the events of the series, but things became difficult for them when like...yanno...Hank freaked the fuck out and kickstarted all this bullshit lol

He isn't like, evil or whatever, but he definitely knows how to manipulate the shit out of people, and absolutely will do so in order to get what he wants. He most often does this with other faction leaders and his enemies, of course, but he will put these tactics to use on his own employees if he feels the situation calls for it. This includes Hank, Deimos, and Sanford, though it's never done for severely malicious purposes! He's just kind of an asshole sometimes.

While he most definitely does have a very strong grasp over the fate of Nevada, he isn't super smart nor cunning, that's not what led him to stumbling into having incredible amount of power over Nevada's inner workings. He just got unbelievably lucky from his crackpot conspiracy theory deep dives and investigations. S.Q. is only so powerful because he's a super lucky nutjob, and the cards fell into his lap by chance (for the most part)!

Now I'm not saying he's paranoid or a control freak but when it comes to the people he keeps around him, dude has to know damn near EVERYTHING about them in order to feel like he has shit under control. He keeps extensive files on everyone of his employees, the factions he works with, information he's stolen regarding his enemies and opposing factions/groups, as well as any additional info he can gather from anyone about shit regarding how Nevada operates. His brain is a fuckin filing cabinet of extensive information about everyone he's ever come into contact with!

Nu Metal/Industrial Rock/Noise freak, loves Slipknot and Skinny Puppy!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Criminal Detectives Part 2

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

The human’s words and observations certainly caused a stir back at police HQ. Trem and Morbin’s chief was not pleased to have had his two star detectives not only mislabel a murder as a suicide, but to have also had those determining facts shown to them by a human who had been on the scene for less than ten minutes.

With the case reclassified as a murder investigation the human government had taken control and placed Douglas Finch in charge moving forward. Their Chief had fought against such a decision, but it was standard policy that in the event of a human murder case the human government would oversee all investigations into the matter. The Mayor of the city had even called the chief to “reinforce” the new structure and told the chief that they should offer Finch every courtesy in the matter.

It was a phone call so heated officer’s two floors below could still hear the Chief’s voice shouting.  

So it was now that both the alien detectives watched their crime scene now swarmed over by a host of humans snapping pictures, collecting samples for testing, and interviewing not only the rest of the building’s occupants but reaching out to several people who frequented the outside office areas who may have saw or heard anything strange during the time of death.

Finch, the CSI human who had been dispatched, was standing in the hallway outside the murder victim’s office reading a data file when Trem and Morbin approached.

“Glad you two could find your way back so easily.” Finch remarked to the two alien detectives as they approached. He didn’t even bother to take his eyes off the data pad as he continued scrolling through its contents.

Morbin was smart enough not to rise to the bait, but Trem was less than cordial.

“We’ve served on the force for over thirteen stellar rotations!” Trem replied sharply.

“Yet you missed the file cabinet’s lock being broken open, several missing files, that the murder weapon was put into the wrong hand of the victim to fake a suicide, and thought it wasn’t odd that the victim would wait for a passing train to blow his brains out to muffle the sound.”

“We…I….you!” Trem stammered as he boiled in rage as Finch tucked away his data pad and walked past the alien detectives.

“Where are you going?” Morbin demanded. Finch didn’t even bother to turn around to answer and just shouted over his shoulder as he left the building.

“Going to see what I can dig up on my own.”

Both alien detectives looked at each other in astonishment as the human left before quickly following after them.

------------------- Three sector grids later the pair of alien detectives watched from the shadows as the human got out of his hover car. They’d been trailing him the moment he left the crime scene and despite a few instances of nearly getting caught they were sure the human wasn’t aware of them.

To his credit the human had covered their tracks surprisingly well. They’d transferred into four different hover cars during their wanderings across several different city levels until finally ending up in the industrial district. Neither Trem nor Morbin knew what the human could want here, but they were both well aware they were in the shady part of the city that had unsuspecting cops vanishing all the time.

“What’s he doing now?” Morbin asked as Trem focused on the scanner lenses.

“He just got out of his car and is walking down the street.”

Morbin was at the wheel of their hover car while Trem was next to him in the front with the scanner lenses. They could pierce through solid materials and focus on certain living organisms but only within a range of about 50-60 feet.

“I hope he gets in another car soon so we can get out of here.” Morbin kept his eyes peeled to either side of the street. “You don’t hover into the Pipelands unless you got a police battalion behind you.”

“Relax,” Trem quipped as he adjusted the scanners, “it’s not like the human is going to meet-“

Trem’s voice trailed off as he finished adjusting the scanner.

“What is it?” Morbin asked as he sat up. When Trem didn’t respond right away he upholstered his laser pistol with one hand and tightened his grip on the steering wheel with the other.

“That flesh sack,” Trem stammered, “is meeting Fnar.”

“What?!?” Morbin snatched the scanner lenses out of his partner’s hands and brought them up to his eyes. The scanners quickly cut through the building between him and their human target and sure enough he saw the outline of Finch slowly take shape; and standing over him like a looming tower was a new bio-signature that identified itself as none other than Fnar Batal, the unofficial ruler of the Pipelands.

His criminal operation spread across sixteen sector grids and he ruled them with an iron fist. Even the mayor was too scared to cross Fnar directly, but thankfully the crime lord had learned that make a big show of power tended to get his kind jailed or killed. Fnar had opted to rule through intimidation and a deaf hand to not invite a similar fate and was the oldest crime lord on the planet.

“What are they say?” Trem asked as he reached for the scanner lenses back. Morbin swatted his hand away while he kept his eyes glued to the outlines of Finch and Fnar.

Finch’s back was towards Morbin so he couldn’t make out what he was saying, but the human was making several hand gestures and Fnar seemed to be nodding. Whatever the human was saying was clearly the right words to be used. Finch’s outline then turned in Morbin’s direction and a hand came up to point directly at the alien detective.

“FRAK!” Morbin shouted as he dropped the scanner lenses and made to hit the accelerator when a pair of massive arms smashed through the driver’s window and yanked him from the hover car. The blaster in his hand was snatched away by another thug while Trem was likewise hauled from the vehicle.

“Thought coppers like you knew the Pipeland’s were off limits.” The thug holding Morbin remarked; the smugness dripping from every word as the other thugs chuckled. The thug’s grip tightened further and Morbin could hear his exoskeleton creaking under the intense pressure. He tried to speak again but his voice was little more than gasps at this point.

“Ease off lads.” A new voice cut in. ‘I just wanted to give them a bit of fright, not kill them.”

Morbin followed the voice to see Finch standing in front of the hover car pulling out a cigarette. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a match which he immediately struck off against the hood of Morbin’s car and lit up while the thugs watched on.

“We don’t take orders from you flesh sack!” The thug holding Morbin shot back.

“But you do listen to your boss,” Finch countered, flicking the burnt match at the thug dismissively, “and I don’t think he’d take kindly to you making his guest feel unwelcome.”

Finch walked over to the thug and tilted his head back a smidge to look up into their face.

“So kindly put them him and his friend down, and then piss off somewhere else.”

The thug mashed their teeth together in rage before relenting; dropping Morbin followed shortly after by Trem on the other side of the car.

“Next time we see them we gut them like sigs.” The thug spat before leaving.

Morbin and Trem grasped their throats and coughed several times as air flooded back into their lungs. When Morbin’s eyesight cleared again he saw Finch smiling down at him.

“Need a ride?”

--------------------- “What….was…that about?” Morbin gasped as he and Trem were flown out of the Pipelands by Finch in his own vehicle.

“Bit of field work.” Finch said dryly, turning to avoid an oncoming hover hauler. “I needed to get some info about the case and Fnar was the only one who could provide it.”

“What could you…”, Trem spoke up, “possibly have that Fnar wants?”

“A promise to move his incarcerated son to a max level human prison for one thing.” Finch said with a grin. “Seems he’s got a whole list of enemies that wouldn’t mind gutting the little runt in prison to get back at dear old papa, so he was all too willing to make a trade for the kids safety.”

“You deal with criminals?” Morbin spoke up; his voice returning to his stable tone. “I thought you were a human enforcer of law?”

“You spend enough time fighting crime you eventually learn that it never goes away,” Finch replied seriously, “and that having someone with their ear to the ground can be even more productive than someone behind bars.”

Morbin was astonished to hear that human could so easily rationalize dealings with criminals. The idea of allowing criminals to exist just so they could turn on other criminals was beyond his comprehension of law and order.

“And did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you get information?” Trem asked.

Finch nodded.

“It seems Morgan Solis was very good at accounting and had noticed some irregularities with the book keeping of his company.” Finch opened up. “Large sums of money were being swept under the table and were written off as charity donations.”

“That’s nothing new.” Trem admitted, “Corporations do that all the time.”

“True, but Morgan made the mistake of tracking down who the money was being diverted to and was in the process of going public with that information.”

“And how would Fnar know all this?” Morbin inquired.

“Not too long ago a contract was floated around about a B&E job paying big credits. Fnar remembered it since it was rather light on details aside from it involving a human. He passed on the job, as did many of the other main providers, since crossing humans tends to lead to bad business; but he kept a copy of the contract and the details match up with the crime scene.”

“We’re looking for someone who is heavily invested in staying in the shadows and is not afraid to kill someone to keep themselves there.”

Morbin and Trem say in silence for a time taking in the new information they had just been given. “So,” Morbing finally spoke up as they neared the upper sectors of the city again, “what do we do now?”

“I don’t know about you,” Finch said cockily, “but I mean to find these bastards and drag them into the light myself; kicking and screaming all the way if needed.”

[simspaghetti]

Ancient Modernity Makeover DOWNLOAD

Hello!! I had a few requests to put this build up for download, and since I just recently hit 800 followers (eeek!! Thank you so much 😭😭) I figured this was a good gift to show my thanks!

Disclaimer: The original version from Gen2 of my Random Legacy uses a ridiculous amount of CC but this is a stripped-back model to make it more accessible for most players, if it looks different that’s why!

Tour Pictures:

Download & more info under the cut! ⬇️

Basic Information:

Price: Furnished = §85,896 / Unfurnished = §48,259

Lot Size: 40x40

2 Bedrooms / 2 Bathrooms

Furnished for 2 Sims (A Couple), 1 Baby/Toddler and 1 Dog 

Potential to turn the upstairs fashion studio into a bedroom as well

Expansions Needed:

World Adventures / Ambitions / Supernatural / Late Night / Seasons / Pets / University Life / Generations

I appreciate that this build still uses quite a bit of CC, so for my minimal CC playing folks, I’ve also made an unfurnished shell version, which uses much less!

Unfurnished Shell CC:

BlamsEAStore:

Casually Corrugated Wall

Plants: Lovely Lupin / Bird of Paradise / Swiss Cheese 

Dolly Door

Posture Glass Double Door

Greenhouse Window

Muntin Window

Other Creators:

AA6x7 Halved Progress Industrial Chic Window (Only the ‘top’ version)

(Solar Redux) A Sensible Panel 

Additional CC for Furnished Version:

‼️You also need everything from the 'Unfurnished Shell' CC list‼️

Blams EA Store:

Bedside Cabinet-Ish End Table / Tropical Leaves of Repose / Murano Retro & Ripe Fruit Bowl / Alvar Vintage Chill Well Refrigerator / Grandmother’s Cooktop / Dirty-No-More Changing & Bathing Station

AroundTheSims3:

Ilona’s Kitchen Cabinet / Bree-KEA Kitchen Cabinets (Just the Normal version & the shorter version) EcoLiving Power Generator / Summer Festival Stylist Station

Other Creators:

Basimcly Simple Curtains Mutske (TSR, sorry!) Florence Curtains ChasmChronicle (MTS): DIY Curtains, Blinds & Shutters - Only the 'Medium rolled up blinds' are needed! Twinsimming: Curtain Call - Both Billionaire’s Curtains & Fashion Forward - Trending Style Board (final) / Industrial Clothing Rack / Clothes by MLys (without dress) KandiRaverSims: Cats&Dogs - Bella Curtain (Both sizes) & Laundry Day - Ironing Board / Shelving Essentials

TOU: Don’t reupload or claim as your own, tags on posts aren’t necessary but are definitely appreciated :) - Feel free to modify or refurnish the build however you want!

➡️ DOWNLOAD IT HERE

(Simfileshare Folder with both Furnished & Unfurnished versions included)

These are library files, so they go in your The Sims 3 -> Library folder

Alsoo this is my first time uploading a build, so please let me know if you encounter any issues!

Have fun using this build in your game! I’d love to see pictures of your sims using the build if you do tag me, and thank you again for 800 followers - it's bananas that I've hit that number, I'm so thankful to all of you!! :D

[holdupjack]

They’ll Be Much More Interested In My Wife

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Hollywood film stars hiding their love.

WARNING: SMUT 18+/MINORS DNI

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Los Angeles California, 1958

Hermione had moved to the States in 1955, a month after her 18th birthday, She had hugged her mother and father goodbye to pursue a career in the biggest film industry in the world.

She was destined to become a star.

Her soul yearned for it.

The young girl was cast fairly quickly due to her beauty and the seemingly natural talent she had for capturing her emotions onto film.

Hermione did many movies within the last few years, having to mask her accent for most due to the 'all-American girl fantasy' the whole word was stuck on.

Then again, she understood the charm.

She had reluctantly gone on dates with many male stars, all of them being less than fruitful as they talked on and on about their successful movies and Oscar wins.

On one of the days on the set of a 'romantic' war film, she was the lead. Y/n Y/l/n walked in dressed as a secretary, her character's 'roommate'. Whom she was supposed to fight with, in the next scene.

This movie had more secret gay underlining than straight movie buffs would ever realize.

She hoped the future generations would see it and appreciate the risks the writers took.

Y/n is a beautiful woman, always smiling as she read her lines, or laughing at something one of the stagehands said.

Hermione couldn't keep her eyes off her as they waited for everyone to be ready for shooting, their eyes met from time to time as Hermione sat in her chair with her legs crossed, her thumb holding her chin as she blocked her growing smile with her index finger.

This wasn't their first encounter, not even their second, and you could tell from the way they greeted and looked at one another.

It wasn't a surprise that in the time they lived in, openly dating someone of the same sex was a death sentence, with your career and literally.

They had first met a few months into Hermione's first year as an Actress, circling each other like predators.

It was a secret hostility they shared, since Y/n had a few years on her in acting, even though they were the same age, and considered Hermione a threat to her career when it came to the chances of getting leads in movies.

Y/n had been a child star, and Hermione even grew up watching her in the family-friendly movies she saw with her parents.

Hermione found her pretty then, and even more gorgeous now.

She had known of her feelings towards women for many years now, she honestly knew it was the whole reason she detested men.

Yet, she had to keep up the act. No journalist or paper could know how she felt, so if that meant unfulfilling dates and sex, so be it.

They only had a month left with each other until this movie wrapped up for editing, and the male lead, Joesph Cotten was hitting on them relentlessly.

(A/N: actual actor back then btw, but I know him best from Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte...also no idea if he was a lady's man, so consider this satire)

The girls just gave fake giggles and thanked him for his kind words before they were called onto the stage. They took their places and waited for the director to call the scene to action. Y/n sat at a desk while Hermione stood behind a door that led into the area.

"Action!"

Hermione walked into the room and shut the door behind her, Y/n didn't look up as she pretended to sign papers, she then glared at her.

"What are you doing here?" She whispered in her very convincing American accent as Y/n looked up and had a confused look on her face.

"Pardon me?"

"You told me that you were going to stay home today" Hermione states as she walks toward the desk and peeked past her and into the window that had her boss (Joseph) sitting inside talking to an associate.

"I'm a secretary for an important general of the U.S. Army, I can't call off because you told me to Lily" Y/n replied as she stood up and walked over to a filing cabinet, opening it to a slew of blank papers inside.

Hermione loomed next to her and stared at her face in a soft panic, the corner of their eyes saw the camera slowly make its way to capture their emotions.

"Please Mary, go home after lunch." Hermione whispers as she stands closer to capture Y/n's gaze.

This movie wasn't focused on expressions like the others they had been in, instead of close up of their faces to make a statement, it was told through body movement.

Yet, the gazes shared between them told another story, a relationship between a spy and her 'roommate'.

The whole plot was that Hermione's character, Lily Sullivan, is tasked by the United States military to coax a confession out of Scott Willis (Joseph Cotten) as an enemy of the country. When in reality, "Lily" was the one selling secrets to other countries, she was covering her tracks by killing Scott. The man that was hot on her trail.

Yet, she only says goodbye to one person before she goes on the run.

Mary, her 'roommate' for many years.

They end up leaving together.

The studio said it was a friendship built on lies but was still strong after everything. While Hermione and Y/n knew what it really was.

The girls have on-screen chemistry better than most male and female actors, the papers had said it paid off that they were such good friends off-screen.

"If it bothers you that much Lily, I'll go home after lunch. May I ask why with the urgency?" Y/n asks as she shuts the filing cabinet and Hermione freezes as she pretends to think of a reason.

"I'll explain everything to you later, alright?" She replies and Y/n nods with a bit of hesitation, before ultimately verbally agreeing.

"Okay, Lily."

Y/n then walks out of frame, leaving Hermione to act as if she was thinking deeply for a few moments as the camera zooms in closer.

Her eyes just flickered up and down Y/n's body as she stood a few feet away, it took everything in Hermione to not smile and ruin this take.

Y/n didn't smile, but the glint in her eye showed her that she was enjoying their little staring contest.

"Cut! Great job everyone let's take five and do the next scene with Y/n and Joseph, then will do another take of this after!" the director yells as a bell rings for their dismissal.

A few assistants crowded around the girls as they were pulled towards their chairs for any hair or makeup fixes.

It was late into the night, and they were behind schedule due to a broken camera last week. So today everyone was forced to pull an all-nighter and come back the day after next.

Hermione loved an all-night shooting, it happened once in a blue moon, but when it did?

Y/n came home with her.

No paparazzi would be staying out late to catch them holding hands inside her car, where they could hear the giggles as she chased Y/n into her home and kept the lights off.

Where they would worship each other without fear of being caught by unwanted eyes.

Oh, Hermione loved all-nighters.

——————

When the set was closed and everyone had gone home for the...well it was 3 A.M, so morning. Hermione parked her car behind the studio and waited for Y/n to jump in, the walls were high around the Hollywood set buildings, and even bushes blocked anyone dumb enough to try and climb it for a rare photo.

Hermione loved it when the entire studio was almost vacant, besides the security that watched the gates. They never cared that Y/n had been coming with Hermione to set every morning, or that they left at night together too.

Everyone knew they lived close by, so in their heads, it was just carpooling with a good friend. Of course, the tabloids wouldn't see it that way during all-nighters like this. Where she didn't drop her off at home, or at times where they didn't even make it out of Hermione's garage.

She couldn't keep her hands off her all-American girlfriend, and Y/n couldn't stay away from the British Vixen.

Y/n emerged from the shadows beside the building and quickly slipped into the passenger side of Hermione's 1957 Chevy Bel Air.

"Hello my darling" the Brit whispers as she looks around for any prying eyes, then kisses her cheek softly.

"Hiya doll, did you have as much fun as I did on set?" Y/n asks as Hermione starts the car and drives off to the exit, her hands were aching to touch her like she wants to.

"Very much, but Joseph needs to back off" Hermione mutters as they turn into a small alleyway between two set buildings. The windows were down, the air softly blowing on their faces.

"Awe, still jealous that he grabbed my ass?" Y/n snickered as her girlfriend groaned softly as she thought back on the action from earlier today.

They both knew that if they wanted to get far in this world, they had to let a few hands touch them without objection.

The women could only hold back slaps to the face when this happened, and act as if it didn't bother them.

Of course, when Hermione watched their male lead grab her girlfriend's ass, it took everything in her not to stake her claim in front of everyone.

"I'm not jealous. I'm pissed" Hermione responded as they pulled up to the security guard, who smiled at them as he came up to the passenger side window.

"Get some rest Ms.Granger and Ms.Y/l/n," He says as they smile back at him as he walks towards the gate and opens it for them.

The car crept out into the street and then turned to the start of their way home. Y/n looked out towards the high-end clothing stores, their display windows dim, but you could see the shine the fashion produced.

"I'm still surprised you haven't gone shopping during our lunch breaks," Hermione says as she catches her stare, to which Y/n chuckled in response.

"No time, you know our 'breaks' are only fifteen minutes" Y/n sighed as she looked back at Hermione. They were stopped at a red light, the glow of all the street lights illuminated Hermione's face as they stared at one another.

"I've missed you as of late my love" Hermione whispers as she rests her hand on the space between them, her palm open and ready.

(A/N: this was in the days when there was no center console in between the front seats so you could literally lay someone down in the front and have a grand old time lol)

"We've seen each other almost every day for the last three months" Y/n replied as she slipped her fingers between her girlfriends. Hermione squeezed slightly and hummed in dissatisfaction at her lover's answer.

"I know, but if I had it my way, I'd hug and kiss you after every scene and performance you gave" Hermione whispers as she notices the streets are empty, no cars coming or going, or even a single person walking the lonely sidewalks.

"You just want to find every reason to touch me" Y/n whispers back as Hermione looks around them one last time before through the car in park and unbuckling herself, leaning over their intertwined hands.

"If God told me touching you was a sin, I’d go down to hell with a grin on my face" Hermione states as she kisses Y/n's neck, leaving a bright red lipstick stain in its wake.

A guilty moan slipped past Y/n's lips as her girlfriend happily nipped and kissed her sensitive skin like a hungry mosquito.

"Hermione" Y/n warns as she feels a hand land on her knee and slowly trail under her skirt. Her eyes fluttered closed and snapped open multiple times as she kept watch for any signs of life.

Hermione's fingers traced the lining of Y/n's undergarments, earning another moan as she leaned her head back.

Suddenly Hermione backed away and put the car back in drive, but her hand grasped Y/n's thigh and pulled her close enough to not raise any suspicion.

Y/n looked back up and realized a car was coming up behind them, thankfully the light turned green and they were on their way.

Hermione was now only less than an arm's length away, which worked in her favor as she hooked her fingers around the fabric covering Y/n from the greedy hands of her girlfriend.

"Hermione are you-"

"Shhh, just enjoy our extended ride home" she states as she pulls her garments away enough to slip her hand under it with less resistance.

Hermione kept her nails short, which was unusual for most actresses, but she cared about her Y/n more than nonsensical questions from the media about her defiance of social norms.

If only they knew.

Her fingers slowly circle Y/n's clit as she turned onto a back street neighborhood.

Y/n's legs spread slightly as Hermione trailed down her folds, teasingly slipping the tip of her finger inside her, and then removing it swiftly.

Hermione just chuckled as Y/n moaned softly, and looked at her with pleading eyes as they cruised down the quiet neighborhood.

"Be quiet my love, as much as I want the world to hear how good I make you feel, you have to be quiet" she whispers as trailed back up to her clit and gently pinched it. Y/n hissed and gave a glare to the side of her head, to which her girlfriend chuckled in response as she stared at the road.

The pads of her fingers seemed to apologize for her as she soothed the bundle of nerves with small circular motions.

Hermione slowly halted at the stop sign and let her eyes fall onto her beautiful co-star as she tried to bite her lips from moaning in pleasure.

"Lay your head on my lap" she whispers as she retracts her hand and lets Y/n lay down on her thighs.

Hermione could see her underwear had fallen below her knees, peaking out under the skirt, showing the beautiful purple she was wearing,

The Brit's hand snuck back under the fabric of her skirt in desperation, feeling her fingers begin to coat with her slick as she traced her folds again.

"Please Hermione" Y/n pleads in a hushed voice as she grasps the seat in agony. Hermione cooed in response as she turned onto a long narrow street, finally slipping two fingers into her lover's aching entrance.

A moan got caught in Y/n's throat as her head was thrown back in pleasure, a hand grasping Hermione's shirt so she wouldn't crack the leather of her car.

Hermione stalled her fingers and buried them deep inside of her favorite girl, watching from the corner of her eye as she squirmed under her touch.

"Fucking tease!" Y/n whispers as Hermione curls and separates her digits inside her. A soft chuckle left the woman's throat as she continued her sweet torture.

"But you feel so nice around me, can you blame my passion for you?" Hermione asks as her eyes darted around the road, feeling her cunt quiver around her fingers.

"Are you going to cum just from my motionless hand?" She teases as she curls them again, Y/n's mouth hangs open from the sensation.

"You know, if we had soundproof dressing rooms, I'd fuck you senseless during every break. No matter how short it was." Hermione admits as she begins thrusting her fingers at a slow and calculated pace.

"W-We'd never get anything done" Y/n replies between her groans, to which her girlfriend chuckled again.

"Oh my love, if you weren't so headstrong about acting, I would have moved us out to the middle of nowhere by now, so I can have you like this all the time" she whispers as the car rumbles over a pothole, causing the vibrations to stimulate Y/n for a moment.

"Oh god" She whispers as Hermione's pace speeds up slightly, quiet lewd sounds fill the space. If anyone got close enough to the open windows, they would certainly hear the heavenly noises.

Jazz played from the only lit house on the block, tons of people stood within its walls as the starlights drove by.

"Would you like to host parties if our kind is ever allowed to love freely?" Hermione asks as the curling of her fingers becomes more constant with each thrust.

Y/n tried to respond, but the curve of Hermione's palm began to rub against her clit in delicious circular motions.

"You'd be a cute little host, I'd smile proudly as you greeted our friends and introduced me as your lover" Hermione whispered as they turned onto a street that was a straight shot to their homes.

Y/n's hands grasped Hermione's forearm as the pit of her stomach began to tighten familiarly. It took everything in the woman not to dig her nails into her girlfriend's skin, knowing that the bruises would be hard to cover up with makeup.

"You're going to cum already? I was ready to drive around the block a few times" Hermione hums, but the smug and teasing tone didn't slip past Y/n's fading coherent thoughts.

The Brit quickened her pace, noticing cars she recognized all too well, that were parked around the corner to their homes. Also her hand was starting to cramp at this angle.

Fuck, why are they out here?

Paparazzi are waiting nearby, ready to pounce on the women unprovoked from the open windows. She should stop, and just ask Y/n to, loudly, ask her in for a quick drink in case any cameras were watching them.

But, Hermione was too enamored by the fact that only she could bring Y/n to this state. Feeling her body squeeze and tremble around her fingers was delightfully maddening.

Hermione continued down to Y/n's home, they had maybe less than a minute.

"Cum for me my love, we're almost to your house" Hermione whispered as her palm slapped against her clit in a frantic motion from her thrusting.

Y/n's mouth hung open as she uncontrollably dug her nails into her lover's skin. Oops.

Hermione watched from the corner of her eye as Y/n's legs shook and a generous amount of slick covered her fingers, dripping onto the fabric of Y/n's skirt.

"F-Fuck!" Y/n moaned quietly as her head pressed into her girlfriend's lap, and her back arched from the pleasure. Dots of white poked holes in her vision as she stared at the ceiling of the car.

"I think some of our 'friends' are waiting for us." Hermione commented as she reluctantly pulled away her hand and sucked them clean. So she wouldn't ruin her steering wheel...obviously.

Y/n didn't even give herself time to recompose, slipping her underwear back around her hips and sitting back up. Even after a quick session in the car, Y/n still looked as if she had just come out of makeup.

A bright red lipstick stain shined through the dark.

"Don't forget my signature on your neck" Hermione chuckled as Y/n quickly rubbed away the stain, not wanting to take any chances with the journalists.

Hermione had been right, when the headlights hit the tree line when she was turning into Y/n's driveway, two photographers were waiting for a chance at a picture of Y/n or herself bringing home a costar.

Technically it would be true, but they would just say that they two shared drinks after a long day on set. Oh to be so naïve.

The girls acted as if they didn't see them, instead as Y/n got out of the car, she asked her 'friend' in for a cocktail and to talk about some...unfinished business.

Hermione accepted and shut off her car, locking it behind her as she got out. They could hear the clicking of cameras as they walked to the front door. It took everything in the English woman to flip them off.

They slipped into the house with ease, Hermione watched Y/n lock the door and flip on the living area light. She signaled her to follow, and they instead went upstairs and stepped into her bedroom.

It was pitch black, but Hermione knew this room better than her own, so she easily made her way onto the bed.

Somewhere in the darkness, she could feel Y/n's eyes on her, Hermione then felt a hand start from her calf and trail up to between her thighs.

Goosebumps were left in its wake.

"Let me return the favor, won't you Granger?"

[dbmars]

NOW ON A03...

The H-Files, Episode 1 Part 1

Relive everything you loved about the pilot of the X-Files but better now that it's Hannibal as Scully and Will as Mulder... "Spooky Graham"...!

The aliens may be responsible for Will's empathy powers, and Mischa was abducted...

If I get a decent response/support I'll finish the episode and maybe write some more!

No time like the present. I make my way back through the violent crime section, and downstairs, revisiting the secretary. She directs me to an elevator that sinks me down to the first sub-basement level. The doors open and I move through the cinder block hallway that smells of industrial floor cleaner and wet ceiling tiles. At the end of the hallway, past shelves of case file boxes, is an office door cracked open. The placard reads GRAHAM. I can hear shuffling within, the movement of a chair. My nose wrinkles against cheap aftershave and stale coffee.

        I knock. I knock again. “Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” comes a wry voice. 

        I push the door open, revealing a small, windowless room packed with filing cabinets and shelves of still more files and paperwork. Despite what must be the vast amount of material crammed into the space, it is remarkably tidy, stacks neatly organized, lines clean. The bulletin board above the desk, however, is a mess of photos and handwritten notes. My eye is immediately drawn to a large poster of a science-fiction style flying disc, emblazoned with the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.” 

        They don’t look like inverted bowls. More like saucers, thin and fragile, somehow meant to support an even more fragile teacup. 

        Against my will, my mind shows me the images that have haunted me most of my life – my mother’s teacup shattering against the floor, the white light filling every window of our hunting lodge, my sister’s screams, the whining, mechanical hum of the silver beast that descended from the heavens. My mother’s terrified shrieking as I raced out to save my sister, only to be rendered weightless, floating in searing blindness, and borne away. 

        I slam that door in the memory palace and attach another lock to it. They seem to rust and break at the most inopportune times.

         Agent Will Graham is bent over a light box, examining a series of slides. He, too, seems to forego the typical FBI uniform of dark suits and white shirts with uninteresting ties. He looks more like a rumpled professor or domesticated outdoorsman in brown pants and a green collared shirt that could just as easily be worn for yard work. His hair is curly, untidy in places, and he wears a layer of scattered stubble. When he turns to me, Will Graham lowers his tortoiseshell glasses down from his head. Fascinating. Nearsighted? 

        I give him my best introduction smile, oozing friendliness and ease. “Agent Graham. My name is Hannibal Lecter.” I approach and offer a hand. He shakes it very briefly, and a shadow flickers over his expression as I hold on just a little too long for his comfort. “I’ve been assigned to work with you.” 

         He glances at my eyes for a fraction of a second before turning his head, putting the frames of his glasses between us as a barrier. “Nice to, ah, suddenly be so highly regarded,” he says, all barbed irony. Rude. He turns in his seat and fiddles with the slides, deliberately disengaging. Ruder still. “So, who’d you piss off to get stuck with this detail, Lecter?” 

    He knows full well why I am here, it seems. Rather, why I’ve been sent. But they could have sent anyone. I was not chosen at random. There are multiple chess pieces moving at the same time on a three-dimensional board, and I have control of the queens. I am here because I seek truth. Because I cannot trust my memories – they might be nothing but a traumatized child’s nightmares, a wounded brain trying to explain what happened the night the world went away. Will Graham may very well be the lantern to light my way.

         “As it happens, I’ve heard a lot about you,” I say pleasantly as he gets up from his desk chair and opens a tidy file cabinet drawer, thumbing through the immaculate plastic tabs. I wonder if his drawers at home are kept just as meticulously. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

         “Really? I was, ah, under the impression you were sent here… to spy on me.” He opens the file and glances through a few typewritten pages before returning it to its proper place. I let my eyes wander over him as he stands in profile. I’d jump at the chance to spy on him. Voyeurism is one of my favorite parts of my process - to see without being seen. To stalk. I imagine him moving through his assuredly modest home, stretching, scratching his head, sleepy. Ready for bed in, oh, a pair of dull boxer shorts. I think of him illuminated by the light of his refrigerator as he searches for a little something before bed, uplit by its unholy glow as I watch him through the window.

            Interesting. My body is responding sexually to the image. I wipe it away as though I’d drawn it in steam on a mirror. “Agent Graham, if you have any doubts about my credentials or qualifications-”

            “-you’re a medical doctor and you’re teaching at the academy.” He interrupts me. Rude. Instead of imagining my knife piercing his skin, I picture him on his knees, waiting to make it up to me. Again, I force the image to dissolve. “You did your undergraduate degree in physics, while, ah, concurrently double majoring in psychology and art history with a focus on Renaissance Italy.” He selects another file from the cabinet and slides the drawer shut. “I dunno about your artsy stuff, but your senior thesis was ‘Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A New Interpretation’. Now, there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.” 

            I successfully mask my surprise that he’s so familiar with my work. “Did you happen to read it?”

            He returns to his desk chair and compares something in the file to a slide. I glance over at his computer screen as he bends over to retrieve a dropped report from the file. I make out the words force, abduction, and light before he rights himself. “Yeah. I liked it,” he says, still not looking at me directly, the rims of his glasses in the way. “It’s just that in, ah… in my line of work – the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.” He adjusts another slide, then turns on the projector, flashing a washed-out image on the blank bit of cinder block wall kept clear, it seems, for this purpose. He has a curve to his lips on one side that strikes me as impudent. I want to wipe it off his face, one way or another.

            “Not fond of eye contact, are you?” I say, an attempt to derail and destabilize. 

            Now he swivels in his chair and looks directly at me. His eyes are like the ocean between islands in Greece. “Eyes are distracting. You see too much. You don’t see enough. And it’s hard to focus when you’re thinking those whites are really white, or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein?”

            I can’t help but smile, returning his gaze steadily. 

            “So… yeah. I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. It’s even easier in the dark.” Agent Graham steps behind me and switches off the lights. The windowless cell is lit now only by the projected image – a young woman, lifeless on the ground. Ah. I had wondered when we’d discuss murder. While Will Graham is apparently very aware of my career and accomplishments, he doesn’t know of my finest work as the Chesapeake Ripper. Perhaps, someday, he will. 

            Will leans his hips against his desk, crossing his arms over his midsection. It catches the loose fabric of his shirt, drawing it against the bow of his back. Distracted again. I refocus on the image he’s elected to show me. “Maybe you can give your medical opinion, though,” he says. “Oregon female. Age twenty-one. No explainable cause of death. Nothing in the autopsy.” He switches slides, showing me a close-up shot of the young woman’s lower back, marred by two livid red welts. According to the ruler nearby for scale, they are roughly the size of an American dime. “Two distinct marks, however, are found on her lower back. Can you ID these marks… Dr. Lecter?”

            I move closer to the projected image. Despite not liking eye contact, I can feel him watching me. Perhaps he has some voyeuristic tendencies as well. “Needle punctures, perhaps. An animal bite. Electrocution is a possibility.” 

            When he switches slides again, I hide my surprise. It is not the body from another angle, but a diagram showing a chemical compound. 

            “How’s your chemistry? This is the substance found in the surrounding tissue.”

            I study the image, my brain humming steadily. I do love a challenge, and I find them so rarely. “It’s inorganic. Perhaps a synthetic protein.”

            “Hell if I know,” Agent Graham says. 

            “That’s surprising. You must have had your fair share of chemistry studying entomology. Your monograph on determining time of death based on insect activity required a high level of understanding to compose, I’m sure.” 

            “By all means, be sure,” he snarks, but the subtle pink staining his cheekbones tells me he’s pleased I’m familiar with his work as well. “I’ve never seen it, either. But here it’s found again, in Sturgis, South Dakota.” He switches slides, this one depicting a large man in a motorcycle club vest with the same two raised welts on his back. He switches again, showing me another male body with the same marks in the same place, spanning the thoracolumbar fascia and the internal oblique muscles. “And again, in Shamrock, Texas.”

            A true mystery. This is delightful. I haven’t had an afternoon so pleasant since I murdered the man sent to evaluate me by my life insurance agency and stretched his corpse across two rows of bus seats. “Do you have a theory?” 

            “I have, ah… plenty of theories,” he dismisses, joining me in front of the projected image, the dead man’s outline juxtaposed over him, throwing the kind of light that both obscures and reveals. His forehead bears a gentle shimmer of perspiration, and I can smell more of him now, the scent beneath the cheap aftershave – dogs, fresh splits of pine, machine oil, and something sweet I’d need more time and a closer proximity to identify. He doesn’t look at me, turning his head to the side a few degrees to let the slide’s light catch on the lenses of his glasses instead. “What has me stumped is why Bureau policy is to label these cases as unexplained phenomena and ignore them.” 

            I can sense the rumble of anger beneath his sardonic tone, taut with frustration. 

            “So, Dr. Lecter, do you believe in the existence of… extraterrestrials?” He says it with a wry twist that might be a kind of bitter smile. I tilt my head. “As a scientist,” he prompts, leaving me to lean against the edge of his desk again. 

            “Logically, I’d have to say no.” I do strive to tell the truth in my own way. Logically, I shouldn’t. But I am here because I need his help with the illogical – to determine, once and for all, if something happened to me, or I happened. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed–”

            He interrupts, shaking his head. “Conventional wisdom. That girl in Oregon – she’s the fourth member of her graduating class to die under mysterious circumstances. When convention and-and science offer no answers, might we not consider the, ah, the fantastic as a plausibility?” 

            He tested me at first, showing me the chemical compound and the crime scene photos. Now, he wants to make the boundaries clear. Impudent. Wants to get a rise out of me, surely, to define the methods of interaction. 

            My answer is mild, clinical, the kind of voice I’d use if I’d chosen to become a psychiatrist. “The girl is dead. Death occurs for a reason.” Sometimes, I am that reason. “If it was natural causes, then it’s plausible something was missed in the postmortem. If she was murdered, it’s plausible there was a sloppy investigation. What I find fantastic is your willingness to sidestep human error and search for answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, I’m sure. You just have to know where to look.” I raise an eyebrow to add in the sentence I won’t let my mouth say. Apparently, you don’t know where to look. Or you want me to think you don’t know where to look. 

            Agent Graham looks at me now, a brief glance up through his side-lit lenses. His left eye is illuminated as well, making it unearthly blue and leaving the other subdued, its subtle green and brown tones shimmering through the dominant color. He smiles, the most genuine expression I’ve seen yet, and I’m momentarily distracted by his beauty. It’s like visiting the Louvre, making one’s way quickly to see a great work before a crowd forms, and catching sight of an exquisite but uncelebrated painting in a forgotten side gallery that makes one lose all sense of purpose, the internal compass spinning and spinning. 

            “And that’s why they put the I in FBI.” He breaks away and sinks back into his desk chair, rolling over to the glowing blue screen of his computer monitor. “See you bright and early then, Dr. Lecter. We leave for the, ah, the very plausible state of Oregon at 8 am.” 

            I can’t help but smile back, a beam of pleasure, as he turns away from me and begins clacking at the keys. “Until then, Will.”

            I’ve taken a risk, demanding a first name basis. He makes no comment, waves a hand over his shoulder.

            I take my leave and hurry home to pack. 

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this story from Mother Jones:

Americans of a certain age tend to throw around the term “Orwellian” willy-nilly. But the expression really suits in describing the behavior of our felonious, twice-impeached president-elect.

In George Orwell’s classic novel 1984, a dictatorship represented by the all-powerful “Big Brother” dictates the reality its citizens must adhere to, however topsy-turvy. Official slogans include “ignorance is strength,” “freedom is slavery,” and “war is peace.”

In this context, another slogan comes to mind: “Drain the swamp.”

Trump didn’t invent this populist expression, but he made it a centerpiece of his first campaign—a vow to rid DC of the toxic influence of special interest money, lobbyists, etc. Of course, politicians of both parties have long railed, often without much credibility, against special interests in Washington, and the US Supreme Court’s trashing of campaign finance safeguards has indeed created a cesspool of oligarchic influence in DC that crosses party lines.

It’s not the slogan itself that’s Orwellian. The Orwellian part is Trump’s evocation of the Swamp as he appoints foxes to guard the federal henhouse yet again. It’s a trolling of the libs, but a trolling with potentially dire consequences—and a signal that our government is for sale, more openly now than ever.

Exhibit A: Trump’s selection of Chris Wright, the CEO of a Denver fracking services company called Liberty Energy, for the position of energy secretary. Wright has no government experience and certainly no experience related to the nuclear weapons whose oversight is a critical part of DOE’s role.

Meanwhile, as typical of Trump’s cabinet picks to date, Wright’s other qualifications for the job are—to use Orwellian “Newspeak”—doubleplusungood.

It has escaped nobody’s notice that Trump’s top consideration in doling out key positions is loyalty to the boss. For attorney general, he chose Matt Gaetz, an inexperienced lawyer (but fierce loyalist) who has been accused of sexual impropriety—no charges were ever filed—and is notorious for allegedly foisting upon House colleagues videos of women he’s bedded. For his director of national intelligence, Trump picked Tulsi Gabbard, a former congresswoman my colleague Dan Friedman describes as a “uniquely bad choice.” Namely, she lacks intelligence experience and is so in sync with Vladimir Putin’s propaganda machine that her nomination was even celebrated on Russian television. To oversee White House communications, he picked a bomb-thrower who cut his teeth at UFC. For Health, he chose Robert Kennedy Jr., a man with no academic expertise in the areas he would oversee, and whose views and priorities are far from the mainstream, as my colleague David Corn has reported. (In this administration, apparently, ignorance is indeed strength.)

Wright, too, is a loyalist, but this pick feels distinctly transactional—Swamplike. Trump, after all, met multiple times during his campaign with top fossil-fuel CEOs, promising that, if they gave him money and helped him get elected, they would be richly rewarded. Wright, who denies the climate crisis and completely dismisses the US clean energy transition—which is weird, because it is well under way, despite the fossil fuel industry’s attempts to thwart it—is the industry’s reward. As was Trump’s choice for Interior, North Dakota Gov. Doug Burgham, who is apparently champing at the bit to expand drilling on federal land.

The New York Times reports that Wright’s wife, Liz, co-hosted a Trump fund-raiser in Montana, and that the couple donated a total of $350,000 to a Trump campaign committee. Most notably, Wright was the preferred choice of oil billionaire Harold Hamm, a major Trump donor and co-host of gatherings where candidate Trump wooed oil executives with what sounded suspiciously like a pay-to-play pitch.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 5, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 06, 2024

Today the S&P 500, which tracks the stock performance of 500 of the biggest companies on U.S. stock exchanges, closed at a new record high of 5,354. The Nasdaq Composite, which is weighted toward the information technology sector, also closed at a record high of 17,187. The Dow Jones Industrial Average was also up, but not to a new record. It closed at 38,807.

That notable economic news got very little attention, likely in part because there is so much else going on.

Most dramatically, House speaker Mike Johnson elevated Ronny Jackson (R-TX) and Scott Perry (R-PA) to the House Intelligence Committee, giving them oversight of the entire U.S. intelligence community and access to the nation’s most sensitive foreign intelligence. The Intelligence community includes intelligence from the U.S. Navy, the U.S. Army, the U.S. Air Force, the U.S. Coast Guard, the U.S. Marine Corps, the U.S. Space Force, the Central Intelligence Agency, the Defense Department, the State Department, the Department of Energy (which oversees information about nuclear weapons), the Treasury Department, and the Department of Homeland Security.

It also oversees the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and that oversight is likely a key reason Johnson put Jackson and Perry on the committee. 

A former Navy admiral, Jackson was Trump’s White House physician. Trump liked him enough to try unsuccessfully to promote him into the cabinet and within the U.S. Navy, and then to back him successfully for Congress after he retired from the Navy in 2019. In 2022 the U.S. Navy demoted him from admiral to captain after a 2021 report by the inspector general of the Defense Department showed he had “disparaged, belittled, bullied, and humiliated” his staff and abused alcohol on at least two occasions when he was supposed to be providing medical care to government officials.   

Perry is more problematic than Jackson. Cassidy Hutchinson, former aide to Trump’s chief of staff Mark Meadows, told the House Select Committee to Investigate the January 6th Attack on the U.S. Capitol that Perry played an important role in the plan to keep Trump in office after he lost the 2020 presidential election. She told podcast host Scott Lamar in October 2023 that Perry was “central to the planning of January 6,” and she has said repeatedly that Perry asked Trump for a pardon before he left office.

Federal authorities from the FBI seized Perry’s cell phone in 2022 as part of their investigation into the effort to seize the presidency; he is the only member of Congress whose cell phone was seized. Like Trump, who has attacked the FBI since then-director James Comey refused to drop the investigation into the connections between Trump’s 2016 campaign and Russian operatives, Perry has complained bitterly about the FBI’s investigation of him.

Now, Perry will be on the committee that oversees the FBI. In a statement, he said: “I look forward to providing not only a fresh perspective, but conducting actual oversight—not blind obedience to some facets of our Intel Community that all too often abuse their powers, resources, and authority to spy on the American People.”

Former director of the CIA General Michael Hayden wrote: “That’s unbelievable. Both of them. Intelligence Committee? God help us.” 

There is other news about the attempt to overturn the results of the 2020 presidential election: yesterday Wisconsin attorney general Josh Kaul filed felony forgery charges against attorney Kenneth Chesebro, who planned the use of fake electors; former judge James Troupis, who managed Trump’s 2020 campaign in Wisconsin; and Michael Roman, a political operative who allegedly delivered the paperwork for Wisconsin’s fake electors to a congressional staffer to try to get them to Vice President Mike Pence. 

On January 6, 2021, after the document was delivered, Troupis texted to Chesebro: “Excellent. Tomorrow let’s talk about SCOTUS strategy going forward. Enjoy the history you have made possible today.” 

In Georgia, a court of appeals paused the case against Trump and his co-conspirators from proceeding until it rules on Trump’s appeal to disqualify Fulton County district attorney Fani Willis. It has tentatively set a hearing date for October 4, meaning that voters will not get to learn the outcome of the trial until after the election. If Trump is reelected, the trial will almost certainly not go forward. 

The federal criminal case against Trump for retaining classified documents is also stalled. Judge Aileen Cannon not only has put off hearings, she has added a hearing on June 21 to consider whether Special Counsel Jack Smith was properly appointed in the first place. She is revisiting a decision already decided in the affirmative in 2019 by the Washington, D.C., Court of Appeals. She has also taken the highly unusual step of inviting three people not involved in the case to argue in that hearing: two will argue that the appointment is invalid, one will argue that it was done properly. 

Meanwhile, there were signs over the past few days of the deeply different party principles at the heart of the 2024 election. At an event to reach Black voters in what Julia Terruso and Sean Collins Walsh of the Philadelphia Inquirer described as “one of the whitest and most conservative parts of Philly,” Representative Byron Donalds (R-FL), who is Black, illustrated the grip of a fantasy idyllic past on MAGA Republicans. 

Donalds praised the Jim Crow era of American history—which was literally named for a vicious caricature of African Americans that helped to justify the lynching that characterized the period—because “during Jim Crow the Black family was together.” He blamed the Great Society programs of President Lyndon Baines Johnson, including civil rights and social welfare programs, for eroding family values. 

On the House floor, Minority leader Hakeem Jeffries (D-NY) urged Donalds to “check yourself before you wreck yourself.” Democratic National Committee chair Jamie Harrison was less poetic but more succinct. He wrote: “These fools have lost their damn minds….”

In the Senate, Democrats forced Republicans to vote on advancing a bill to protect access to contraception. Republicans threatened a filibuster, meaning it would take 60 votes to bring the bill forward. And so the measure failed by a vote of 51 in favor to 39 against (Senate majority leader Chuck Schumer of New York voted no so he could bring the measure up again). Republican senators Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska voted in favor of the measure. All the other Republicans either voted no or did not vote. 

All the Republicans running for reelection this year voted no: John Barrasso (R-WY), Marsha Blackburn (R-TN), Kevin Cramer (R-ND), Ted Cruz (R-TX), Deb Fischer (R-NE), Josh Hawley (R-MO), Pete Ricketts (R-NE), Rick Scott (R-FL), and Roger Wicker (R-MS). 

Some of them said they voted no because there was no danger that Republicans would attack contraception, claiming that Democrats were just “fear-mongering.” But in 2022, House Republicans overwhelmingly voted against protecting contraceptive rights, and in an interview last month, Trump said he was looking at restrictions on contraceptives before his campaign walked the statement back. Yesterday, in a hearing of the Senate Health, Education, Labor and Pensions (HELP) Committee on “How Abortion Bans Have Created a Health Care Nightmare Across America,” a Republican witness, Dr. Christina Francis, chief executive officer of the American Association of Pro-Life Obstetricians and Gynecologists (AAPLOG) took the position that IUDs and Plan B emergency contraception constitute abortion and should be banned. In the Senate itself, Jodi Ernst (R-IA) has already proposed getting rid of Plan B.

A February 2024 poll showed that 80% of American voters said that protecting access to birth control was “deeply important” to them.  

For all their rhetoric about “America First,” MAGA Republicans are out of step with actual Americans. The Trump loyalists now in charge of the Republican National Committee also appear to be remarkably ill-informed about the country itself. Sam Brody, political reporter for the Boston Globe, noted yesterday that on their website promoting the Republican National Convention to be held in July in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, Republicans used a photograph not of Milwaukee, but of Vietnam’s Ho Chi Minh City.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[thedurvin]

Kirby and the Forgotten Land is such a weird concept, Nintendo was just like “Kirby has explored enough magical kingdoms, I think it’s time he went to an abandoned modern world that feels like humanity was killed off a hundred years ago and now nature is reclaiming the desolate cityscape. Needs lots of dirty concrete and failing industrial infrastructure. Maybe even an old employee break room with some folding chairs!” I mean yeah it’s also a fucking beautiful game but still

“What amazing new abilities will Kirby have?” “Oh he can borrow the abilities of, uh, an old car or a filing cabinet or even some old scaffolding!” “What powers does old scaffolding have?” “Uh, falling over?”