#virginia trial

[lonestarbattleship]

PCU MONTANA (SSN-794) conducts initial sea trials in the Atlantic Ocean.

Date: February 1, 2022

US Navy photo: 220201-O-NO101-150

[trialbymagicks]

The Immortal Mike Mulligan and His Magic Steam Shovel

Mike Mulligan And His Steam Shovel is a classic children's tale about an American Adam and his mechanical familiar struggling to adjust to the changing times. But what else does this cozy story teach us?

How To Start A Blog Post

Some of you may be familiar with a little classic called Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel, written and illustrated by Virginia Lee Burton, which you may have read as a child, or perhaps chances are you’re familiar with the movie and its gloriously persistent earworms.

But for the sake of the uninitiated and those who might need a refresher, Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel is a children’s book first published in 1939 during The Great Depression and later adapted into a 25-minute animated short film aired by HBO in 1990.

The book depicts the rise and fall of the steam shovel and its effect on the working class. Mike Mulligan, the symbol of then-modern industrial America, is made to face the reality that progress births new machines and he (as well as Mary Anne) must adapt to the changing times or fall into obscurity. Like in much of Virginia Lee Burton’s children’s books, the overlying theme is the importance of the power of friendship, and old-fashioned hard work and ingenuity in overcoming adversity and embracing change together. Or at least that’s a pattern I noticed in her stories that I’m familiar with.

The short film was animated in the style of Burton’s illustrations and is a very closely adapted read-through of the book interspersed with song sequences, so if you haven’t watched it yet and want to, it can be found on Youtube. Since the story is short and to the point, I will be spoiling all of it, so definitely go watch it first if you want to experience it for yourself before I ruin it.

But first, a brief history lesson!

A Rough Timeline Of The Steam Shovel’s Role In History

1796: Grimshaw of Boulton & Watt devised the first steam-powered excavator.

1833: William Brunton patented another steam-powered excavator which he provided further details on in 1836.

1839: William Otis received a patent for his steam shovel design and is credited as its inventor.

1854-1859: First large-scale use of steam power in North America is the construction of the Grand Trunk Railway Victoria Bridge over the St. Lawrence River at Montreal.

1861-1865: American Civil War happens. Although excavators are starting to be used in the construction of the foundation of city buildings, the initial cost of the machines was high and the funds were low, particularly leading up to and during the war. Section gangs of men (a method perfected for work on railroads) were paid the costly wages of manual labor instead of hiring bulky expensive machines that would be difficult to maneuver and power throughout the construction site.

1884: Changes to the popular shovel design have been made by this point, but here the full-swing 360° revolving shovel was developed in England and became the preferred model. Expanding railway networks in the US and UK create high demand for steam shovels. The Marion Power Shovel Company, an American manufacturer, was founded and I mention this because it seems to be where Mary Anne got her name from in the book. Cute Easter Egg reference there.

1890: By this point, costs of non-powered labor for the construction of skyscrapers had risen to the point where switching over to steam power was the only option and the practice took off from there.

1904 -1914: The US took over the Panama Canal dig from France (which had started in 1881 but quit due to engineering problems and high worker mortality rates). One hundred and two (102) shovels worked in that decade-long dig: 77 were built by Bucyrus; the remaining 25 were Marion shovels. The shovel crews would race to see who could move the most dirt.

1914-1918: World War 1 starts a mere 2 weeks and 3 days before the Panama Canal officially opens.

????: At some point during all this, shovels start being used for mining and quarry work around the world and become more present in general construction operations.

1920s: Shovels gain more traction with the publicly funded road building programs around North America. Thousands of miles of State Highways were built during this time period, together with new factories, docks, ports, buildings, and grain elevators.

1929: The Great Depression began with the stock market crash.

1930s: Steam shovels lost out to the simpler, cheaper diesel-powered excavating shovels that were the forerunners of those still in use today.

1939-1945: World War 2 happened and… power shovel technology just kept advancing until the relics of the past became monuments to history. But hey, at least the Great Depression ended.

A historic Marion Steam Shovel located on Gulf Road in the Town of Le Roy, New York, United States.

In Which I Summarize The Plot

The tale of Mike Mulligan is a variation on the compelling classic of an American Adam alongside the likes of Rip Van Winkle, Paul Bunyan, and John Henry who walked before him. This archetype is a solitary figure – a self-made man, representative of immense possibilities, who follows his own whims or moral compass and is made vulnerable by his own ambition and optimism. He has a vision for the future of America that is inevitably altered and shaped by his experiences throughout the story. Generally, the American Adam will find himself faced with a change in the status quo and will have to either fight for “the old way�� or adapt, becoming a symbol for the people around him in the process.

Mike’s story begins with the steam shovel’s rise to fame. He and Mary Anne dug canals, they “moved mountains” to make way for railroads, they flattened the land for highways and airports to be built, and they dig cellars for city skyscrapers. Just the promise of getting to see Mike and Mary Anne in action is enough to draw crowds to their construction sites. After all, part of the romantic appeal of steam shovels was watching them work, as you could see its wires and gears move while it operated. In exchange, having an audience to perform for encourages Mike and Mary Anne to work faster and better – something they are both quite proud of.

But then everything changed when the gasoline, electric, and diesel shovels entered the scene.

These new models were cheaper to maintain and could therefore be worked harder for less expense. As a result, Mike winds up unable to find a job because he refuses to give up Mary Anne and the old way. Instead, he is more than ever determined to prove their worth. Mike had always said he believed Mary Anne “could dig as much in a day as a hundred men could dig in a week” and he gets his chance to prove it when he drives Mary Anne out to a small town that is looking to have a cellar dug out for their new town hall.

Before he can be turned away, he places his bet that Mary Anne can dig the cellar in just one day and offers to accept no payment if he can’t live up to that boast – a hard offer for any stingy capitalist to refuse. So, he starts digging at sunrise the following day and basically within the span of a song sequence five whole towns have flocked to this hole in the ground to watch them work, and naturally that means Mike and Mary Anne make the deadline just as the sun sets. The only catch is that they’ve forgotten to leave a way out of the hole, so they’re stuck and the sly selectman Henry B. Swap says they won’t get paid on a technicality.

Fun fact: this is where Virginia Lee Burton realized she had literally dug her characters into a corner until 12-year-old family friend Dick Berkenbush, inspired by the steam heating system in his father’s garage, suggested turning Mary Anne into a furnace for the new town hall. (For a little more on Dick, I recommend checking out Melinda Johnson’s picture book review.) Burton rolled with this idea and credited him with a footnote on that page of the book where a young boy is shown as presenting the solution of making Mary Anne the furnace and hiring Mike as the janitor.

Everyone agrees that this is a good plan and both of our heroes get to retire for the rest of their days, satisfied with their final accomplishment. It’s a nice and simple story, but I have some thoughts.

The Part Where I Overthink Children’s Literature For Fun

Mike Mulligan is clearly an immortal god who’s having a rough time adjusting to the changing times and it shows.

First of all, I cannot stress enough that Mike and Mary Anne were there from The Beginning. “It was Mike Mulligan and Mary Anne and some others” who changed the shape of the land “for years and years.” Looking back at our trusty timeline, this was progress that realistically took decades to accomplish and these two were there on the front lines to pioneer these developments! Neither Mike nor Mary Anne ever ages. She hasn’t suffered the wear and tear of years of hard work because Mike has been keeping her spotless and in tip top shape as if it were still the day she had been created for mass production. But you’re telling me that a man who smokes like a chimney still looks as baby-faced as he was in his youth after decades of dedicated hard labor?

I’m just saying there’s some kind of magic at work here that is only enhanced by the strength of their companionship. The more charisma they exude, the more people they attract to watch them work. The bigger the crowd around them grows to be, the better and faster and harder they work. The louder the standing ovation they receive from their accomplishments, the more they seem to glow in all their youthful glory. The years just melt right off them and it all hinges on this system they have developed between them! They have a very codependent relationship. One could not achieve this result without the other.

For one thing, Mike doesn’t seem to have a stationary home to return to at any point. The movie shows him in the garage of a house in the beginning, but according to the book he appears to live inside Mary Anne’s compartment and uses her to travel from one job to the next. There’s one scene after the “No Steam Shovels Wanted” segment where he’s sitting outside, moping about how no one wants him and Mary Anne anymore, which is honestly an understandable reaction from anyone who has just realized the job market has shut them out from continuing to make a living. But this man is never depicted as having any attachments beyond Mary Anne, so I am inclined to believe that he doesn’t have a family to miss him either, which would therefore make Mary Anne both his home and his family.

Speaking of Mary Anne, let’s talk about the fact that steam shovels and their electric, diesel, and gasoline powered counterparts are sentient in this world. When we see the steam shovels in the scrap yard, they even have faces like Mary Anne does. This was mass genocide! They were murdered and their corpses were tossed in a heap like it was no big deal. Just look at Mary Anne. She is horrified. No wonder Mike is so repulsed by the idea of condemning her!

Yes, this is a children’s book and, in a lot of children’s media, most inanimate objects and animals are given sentience as a way to encourage children to emotionally relate to them – the sun has a face and one of the horses even TALKS by the end of the movie – but come on… this was terrifyingly dark, especially when you look at the imagery. The other three antagonist shovels are so blissfully unaware of the fate that may one day await them in that pit. Sure, they are shiny and new and exciting now, but the moment they fail to live up to the standard set for them, their human overlords will reduce them to scrap metal just as quickly because they are all still machines after all… Sentient machines, albeit, but that evidently means nothing to the majority of mankind.

Furthermore, due to her sentience, Mary Anne can operate without Mike pulling her levers as long as the fire within her remains lit. Perhaps the fire is what keeps her alive, considering the major difference between her and the others in the pit is that their fires eventually went out and they were left to rust in a junkyard until their eventual dismemberment. This would seem to imply that the relationship between her and Mike is one of master and familiar. He keeps her fire burning and shares his eternal youth with her, and she does the physical labor for him in return.

But the big question that has yet to be answered is this: which of them is channeling the energy of the onlookers and converting it directly into power for Mary Anne while they work? Is Mike the catalyst or is Mary Anne?

Which leads us into the climax of the story and a lot more food for thought…

Five whole towns worth of people just take the day off from their jobs and their lives to watch this guy dig a hole in the ground. The fire department, the doctors, and even the police! I sure hope there aren’t any actual fires, public safety violations, or general health crises to tend to for the day because clearly this strange man and his steam shovel are far more important. After all, they’re going to need a lot of power to pull off this bet and if five towns have to become living batteries to do it – well! You only live once, right? You may as well see something worth your time!

So, if Mike spent the entire day from sunrise to sunset digging that cellar to the point where he left himself no way to get out of that hole, when and where did he go to the bathroom? Did he just hold it in the entire time? Did he pop a squat in a corner with everyone looking on? Does he just not have any need for mortal bodily functions? I don’t have the answers, but it warrants asking.

And then, the townspeople make a big fuss about what they’re going to do about leaving Mike and Mary Anne in the pit for a while until someone goes to get a ladder to climb down to talk to him as though they hadn’t just collectively been screaming down into the pit the entire time. He can HEAR you, you know! The moment they have his verbal agreement to the plan, they begin building the town hall around our two immortal heroes without further ado, so what I want to know is did they just shake his hand, then climb out of the pit and yoink the ladder up after them before he could climb up? “Sorry, buddy, we know you just accomplished this impossible task and honestly we’re not quite sure how to feel about it while the adrenaline’s still injecting itself straight into our hearts, but you’re stuck down there now. You live here.”

At least the construction is finished before winter, so he hasn’t been freezing down there in that hole for months, but how did they line the cellar with concrete while Mike was inside? Was he sitting in Mary Anne’s compartment the entire time while it set and everyone else worked? Did anyone feed him? Does he even eat? Mrs. McGillicuddy brings him a fresh-baked apple pie every day once the town hall is built, so I wonder if she has been doing this since that first day he arrived. Could that be all she feeds him? I will admit that there is something poetic about an American Adam sustaining himself on that coveted all-American apple pie life. It’s like two tropes being married into one concentrated dose of the American Dream so pungent it hurts.

Maybe Mary Anne is the source of his power after all and that’s why he can’t leave her. And now he’s stuck there with her in that cellar forever, trying to make the most of it. He didn’t get his job back, he didn’t get the exact happy ending he’d been hoping for, he didn’t prove steam power was better than the competition… but at least he has a sweet gig as a janitor in a town that hails him as a hero and he technically does have a fixed home now.

Mary Anne, on the other hand, has completely had her freedom taken away from her. She may not have been murdered and reduced to scrap metal in the junkyard, but she is unable to travel or go outside ever again. It’s supposed to be heartwarming that she and Mike have found a different way to be useful… a different purpose than the one they had had all their lives… but it does feel pretty morbid when you realize this was done to Mary Anne intentionally without her permission. But you know… it could be worse…

Some Sources and Interesting Material

You can find more information about Virginia Lee Burton’s work on the Houghton Mifflin website. The Virginia Lee Burton and Steam Shovel Wikipedia pages were also incredibly helpful for me while I was pulling together the context I needed to create a rough timeline, but you can read a briefer examination of Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel‘s historical context in this Newsweek article.

If you are interested in more in-depth reading material, I recommend Rise of the New York skyscraper, 1865-1913 by Sarah Landau. The excerpts I read to help fill out my timeline were fascinating. Alternatively, if you’re looking for something more philosophical to sink your teeth into, The Prindle Institute offers food for thought regarding the book’s themes.

Last but certainly not least, check out American Adam Myth for some other examples of characters in literature and how the trope evolved!

Note: This article was originally posted on WordPress on July 4, 2021.

[terrymcmurray]

Barter Theatre in Abingdon Virginia is very beautiful and has a lot to look at. A place worth checking out. The Barter Theatre in Abingdon Virginia is a great place to take your family.

Mountain View Trail System:

A multi-use trail system primarily designed for ATVs, Motorcycles, and Side by, Sides. With over 60 miles on 5365 acres of picturesque mountain views. Mountain View has expanded over 118 tree-lined miles of trials and 20 miles of Single Track. The trailhead is located in the ATV-friendly town of St. Paul, Virginia. Spearhead Trails Premiere OHV Trail System. Mountain View has expanded to over 100 tree-lined miles, with 10 miles of dedicated single track for dirt bikes.

[rnoonsetter]

you ever make something so good it scares you? like yeah i put a lot of work into this and i love it but it doesn't feel like i made it. or it's a fluke. it's /too/ good. i just. i was pretty easily able to tackle things i had struggled a LOT with in the past, with /some/ effort, but like, not nearly enough. i've done similar work in the past, and it never turned out half this good. i'm not even done with it yet. i'm scared to make the changes i want to make, in case i somehow fuck it up, even though it's digital art and i can easily undo it.

this isn't a humble brag, i swear, it's genuinely anxiety inducing, i just can't put my finger on why. maybe that it's that i'll never make something this good again.

[emmynominees]

peggy mccay as virginia bembenek in woman on the run: the lawrencia bembenek story

primetime emmy award nominee for outstanding supporting actress in a limited series or movie

[gurucave]

Jeffrey Epstein: New Revelations in Second Document Batch

A new wave of court documents has surfaced, shedding further light on the disturbing saga surrounding Jeffrey Epstein’s exploitation of young girls at his beachfront mansion. These documents provide intricate details about the recruitment process involving approximately 30 women, revealing a harrowing narrative of exploitation and manipulation. The testimonies within these filings, made public…

[reddyprasad]

[stealth-liberal]

Some good news from elections tonight:

1. Ohio enshrined abortion rights in its state constitution. Thus putting to bed any and all abortion bans in Ohio.

2. Democrats in Virginia maintained their majority in the half of the state legislature they already had and flipped the other section blue as well. This puts to bed discussed Republican abortion bans in Virginia as well.

3. Not election news, but Donald Trump continues to humiliate himself in his New York civil fraud trial. So... yanno... still good news.

[baileythebean]

I’m actually so so grateful to be in a private school - this school has educated me thoroughly about history without sugarcoating it, assigned books for reading that are banned in some states and we’ve put on 2 soon-to-be banned books as plays. High school theater did Fahrenheit 451 and the middle school did Animal Farm (I was in it.) They assigned us to read dystopian novels as summer reading last year, and there have been multiple times where I’ve addressed issues like censorship in front of the class and the teacher has very enthusiastically AGREED with me. We’ve got teacher rep for queer issues because we have queer teachers.

If you go to a public school, please learn lots and lots of history on your own time because you never know what they might be skipping over in class. Get educated and BUY BOOKS ON THE BAN LIST IN PHYSICAL COPY WHILE YOU CAN.

Here’s a little list -

1984 - George Orwell

Animal Farm - George Orwell

The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath

Speak - Laurie Halse Anderson

The Hate U Give - Angie Thomas (I’m reading this one in class)

Six of Crows - Leigh Bardugo

The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins

Catching Fire - Suzanne Collins

Mockingjay - Suzanne Collins

The Handmaid’s Tale - Margaret Atwood

Orlando - Virginia Woolfe

Never Let Me Go - Kazuo Ishiguro

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings - Maya Angelou

The Underground Railroad - Colson Whitehead

A Clockwork Orange - Anthony Burgess

Women Race & Class - Angela Davis

The Trial - Franz Kafka

The Secret History - Donna Tartt

Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov

Emma - Jane Austen

Hamlet - William Shakespeare

Looking For Alaska - John Green

Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery

Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen

Call Me By Your Name - André Aciman

Little Women - Louisa Malcott

The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde

The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky

Slaughterhouse-Five - Kurt Vonnegut

Turtles All the Way Down - John Green

Brave New World - Aldous Huxley

To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee

A Wrinkle in Time - Madeleine L’Engle

[watermelongirl01]

In Between Kisses

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Criminal Minds x Supernatural

Summary: What you and Aaron did back in Colorado follows you to Virginia.

Content Warning: Violence, fluff, not a lot of supernatural on this one though. It contains pieces of S6:E4, but with my fixes.

Hotch watched you from across the room, sitting at Prentiss's desk, laughing and chatting with her. Your skirt had ridden up just enough to catch his eye, but it was your smile, radiant, effortless, that held his attention. If this were a beauty contest, Hotch was certain you'd win. But it wasn't just your smile that captivated him. It was the way your pink lips seemed to draw him in, pulling his attention every time, as they had ever since Colorado. The kiss you'd shared for good luck was still vivid in his mind, and ever since, he found himself unable to look at you without thinking about it.

He knew it was wrong, so wrong. You were much younger, with a promising career ahead of you, full of life and potential. And yet, the only thing that had consumed his thoughts since that moment was kissing you again. And he was determined to make it happen, before leaving for the next case.

——

“We need to help them.” 

“They haven’t requested our assistance, Pen.”

“They never will, but they need it.” She took your hands between hers while looking at you hopefully. “Please, please.”

“Fine, let’s do it.” You sighed in surrender.

Ever since the kiss in Colorado, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Hotch had been avoiding you. Maybe, just maybe, you’d crossed a line. You hadn’t expected it to happen, at least not yet, but at that moment, with your life on the line, you’d wanted, no, needed, to kiss him before the chance was gone. And, if you were honest with yourself, you loved every second of it. But that didn’t mean you wanted to force yourself into his space or disrupt his cases, especially if he was actively trying to avoid you.

You grabbed your bags, previously packed, and followed Penelope as she led the way to Hotch’s office.

And there he was, his trademark frown firmly in place. He looked up at you both, his stern look and a hint of intrigue in his eyes. You let Penelope speak first, stepping back, well, more like hiding slightly behind her. You didn’t want to suffer Hotch’s intense stare, the one that made you feel as if he could see straight through you.

“What's that?” He asked looking at the bags on your hands 

“Our go bags.” 

“Where are you going?”

“With you, hopefully.” Penelope quickly replied. “Sir, I think we’re all still reeling since JJ is on vacation, and you need a communication liaison.”

“Garcia…”

“Sir, please hear us out, our jobs overlap with JJ’s the most.” She looked at him, voice steady. “Every time you are out in cases, she coordinates your needs with me. It makes sense.”

“Garcia, there are aspects of the job for which you have no training.” 

“But I do.” You stepped away from Penelope, moving right in front of Hotch. You swallowed hard. “I know how to interact with families and local law enforcement, and the media.” Hotch’s eyes flicked to yours, and you met his gaze

“You hate to deal with the media.” He said flatly. You rolled your eyes at his read of you, of course, he knows everything about you, but nodded. It was true; you hated it.

“Sir, I’m willing to tone down my wardrobe choices, we are ready to make sacrifices if you please give us the chance.”

"Wait, you’ll actually use neutral colors?" You raised an eyebrow, surprised. Then you looked back at Hotch. "That’s how you know it’s serious," You added with a smirk.

Hotch's gaze lingered a bit longer on you, before shifting back to Garcia. but he finally nodded.

“Alright. We could explore this on a trial basis until JJ returns. We’ll see how things go.”

“Are you two up to speed on the case?” He asked.

“Yes.” You both answered in unison.

“Can you be ready in three hours?”

“We are ready now.”

He nodded. "See you on the plane." He turned to Garcia but then looked back at you. "I’ll need to speak with you first."

"Oh, shit." You mouthed under your breath but quickly nodded. "Yes, Sir."

You watched in confusion as Hotch closed every single blind in his office. When he noticed you standing far from him, he gestured for you to come closer.

“Closer,” He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You obeyed. "Sir, if this is about the kiss... look, I’m really sorry." Before you could say more, he raised his palm, silencing you.

“It is about the kiss,” He said, his voice low. You swallowed hard. “But I figured, before you leave today to act as our communication liaison, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

You frowned, confusion clouding your mind as you tried to make sense of his words. But then, his breath brushed against your face, shutting down all your thoughts. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back so you had no choice but to look up at him. Your knees trembled when his thumb traced the curve of your bottom lip.

“You want me to wish you good luck?” He asked. You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

Your heart raced as his lips pressed against yours in a soft, fleeting kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut, but Hotch wasn’t satisfied with just a peck. He deepened the kiss, his lips capturing yours with an intensity that left you breathless. It only lasted a few seconds, but when he pulled away, you felt a sudden emptiness. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it.

“See you on the plane,” he said, his voice colder now, as he turned and left the office. You stood there for a moment, stunned, before you slowly opened your eyes, unsure of what had just happened.

What the fuck just happened? 

——

“Swingers?” you asked, clearly confused. “How does that go wrong?”

Everyone in the room, except for Emily and Derek—who hadn’t arrived yet—looked at you with surprise.

“I mean, I’m not into that, obviously.” You raised your hand defensively. “I’m just curious.”

“Apparently his partner left or cheated, so now he comes back to revisit old patterns to see if they still work.” Spencer explained to you.

“And when he finds that they don’t, he’ll be compelled to destroy them.” Hotchner added and you nodded in understanding. “And anyone engaging in them.”

“And yes, we know you’re not into that, you’re too possessive for it.”  And with that Spencer left the room, leaving in shock. 

Am I?” you asked, looking around the room at the remaining team. “Am I possessive?”

They exchanged looks and decided not to comment on it.

“Cowards.” You said under your breath, but before you could concentrate back into work, your gaze landed on Hotch.“So Hotch.” You began. “This means it’ll be an undercover operation, right?”

He glanced up at you, his expression as unreadable as always. “No.”

“Oh, come on. This case screams undercover.” you pressed, leaning forward.

For a split second, you thought you saw the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

“No.” he repeated, his voice firm.

You grinned. “I’m just saying, keep it in mind. Right, Pen?”

Penelope barely acknowledged you, too engrossed in her work to care.

“Busy,” she muttered, almost annoyed, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

You nodded and turned back to your laptop, but after just a few seconds, you couldn’t help it. You looked over at her again.

“Pen, do you think I’m too possessive?”

Oh, if only looks could kill.

——

“I knew it, undercover operation.” You grinned at Penelope, who seemed to be in a better mood today, her outfit bright and colorful again.

Morgan had just barged into the office that had been lent to you at the precinct to inform you and Penelope about the mission. As usual, you could tell exactly what he meant when he said "low profile operation to get the Unsub"—undercover, no doubt.

“Don’t get too excited,” Derek warned, his eyes locked on you as he took a seat at your desk. His smile was smug, a little too confident. “You’re coming.”

A laugh bubbled up as he tossed a set of clothes into your lap. “What? No, no, no,” you said, shoving them back at him. “I didn’t sign up for this, and I’m acting as a communication liaison right now.”

“You aren’t anymore, besides, you wanted in.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But now you are,” he insisted, unbothered.

You sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. But no offense, bros before hoes.”

You placed a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, giving her a pointed look. Derek crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow at your choice of words.

“Really?” he asked, amused.

“Yep. Sisters before misters.” You mirrored his stance, crossing your arms too.

Derek chuckled, but you weren’t done yet.

“Walls before balls,” you added with a wink.

“Are you done?”

“Sis before dicks.”

Derek's amusement only grew, but then he raised a hand, cutting you off. “I’m gonna stop you right there. The operation isn’t with me.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Spencer?” you guessed.

He shook his head.

“Nope. You’re going with Hotch.���

You blinked, surprised but... well, pleasantly surprised. You hadn’t expected that. “Wait, Hotch?”

“Yep,” Derek said, standing and heading for the door with a final grin. “Get ready, and don’t keep him waiting.”

——

“Ready?” Rossi asked, looking at you in your new outfit.

The whole team was about to get into the bar, Derek had already spotted the Unsub and now it was on you and Hotch to get him.

You nodded, your gaze falling on Hotch. “Does he know?”

“He knows.” Rossi assured you.

“Oh okay, I mean it is hard to say if he is okay with it, he’s kinda hard to read.”

“He's okay with it, don’t worry about it”

“But, did he want me to do this with him?” You asked. “Emily is here, she’s better with undercover assignments.”

He leaned his head a bit. “You being there it’s my idea.”

“Well, that makes sense.” You said looking down at your black high heels.

“But he didn’t resist it, not one bit,” Rossi said with a smile, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at you. “Besides, with all the undercover work you’ve been doing with the supernatural stuff, it’s practically in your job description.”

You nodded. “You’re right.”

“Alright.” You heard Derek’s firm voice, cut through the moment. “He’s there in the middle of the bar, he will shoot up the place, and you guys will act as a distraction.” 

You and Hotch nodded. 

“We will keep his focus off the crowd long enough for you to take him down.” Hotch said and then leaned forward closer to you. “Keep your gun in your purse.” 

You gave him a small nod.

“Remember, you two need to act all lovey-dovey like you’re into each other. Make it believable.” Emily reminded you.

“Like it’s hard.” Rossi snorted under his breath but quickly tried to disguise it with a fake cough. But you heard him. And so did Hotch 

Hotch’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone cold but amused. “What was that?”

Rossi gave an exaggerated pout and shook his head. “I said, good luck,” he said quickly, trying to play it off.

But you could see the smirk tugging at the corners of Hotch’s mouth, the briefest flicker of amusement before his usual stoic mask returned.

“Let’s go, then.”

You, Hotch, and a few members of the team made your way into the bar. Hotch guided you to a corner, giving you a clear view of the Unsub. You studied the man, noting how he stood casually with his hands in his jacket pockets, likely concealing a gun.

Hotch leaned against the bar, and you positioned yourself in front of him. Without warning, his arm slipped around your waist in a bold but necessary move, pulling you closer. Your arms instinctively draped over his shoulders, and your fingers locked together behind his neck. The proximity sent a wave of awareness through you. You were too close.

“Is he looking?” you whispered to Hotch, your voice barely audible over the noise of the bar.

Hotch shifted, leaning back just enough to check on the Unsub before looking at you again. “Yeah, he is.”

You had the unsub's full attention.

“I should go and talk to him.” You said pulling apart a little but Hotch didn’t lose his grip on you.

“Careful.” His voice tone was firm and serious, you nodded in understanding.

You walked and stood beside the Unsub.

“James, hey! I thought that was you.” You greeted him. “How's Mary Ann?

He looked at you, puzzled.

“Oh!” You giggled. “You don’t remember me, do you?” You grimaced. “We met at a party.”

“We did?” 

“Yeah. That was a crazy night.”

He smirked, nodding with his head. “I bet it was”

You tried to make a conversation with him based on what you figured out of him, for a while he seemed to follow the conversation but in the end, he caught your lies.

“You don’t know me and I don’t know you.” He said, he was clearly pissed.

Everyone could see how the conversation got heated, how the tension started to build up, and how he reached to grab something from his jacket.

You froze, but you got to hear a distant.

“Move, move.”

From Hotch.

And then you heard a gunshot, and you felt like everything stopped for a moment, you couldn’t breathe and your chest felt heavy. You looked at his eyes, they were still looking at you but then he dropped to the ground. Right on your feet.

Your eyes slowly lifted, and there she was Emily, standing in front of you with a gun in her hand. She had just saved your life.

“Thank you,” you mouthed, barely able to believe the moment.

She gave you a reassuring smile, then reached out, pulling you away from the chaos. Her arm slipped around your shoulders in a comforting embrace.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “Let’s just get on that plane and head home. We deserve a girls’ night after all this.”

“The Lord knows we do,” you replied, your smile finally reaching your eyes.

——

After a flight back home where you slept most of the time, it was time to get off the plane. Hotch saw your sleepy form trying to get a cab on the cold night.

“Need a ride?” You jumped a little.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother.” He shook his head 

“It’s not, your house is on my way.”

You looked at him with a smile, softly shaking your head. “No it’s not, and I’m sure Jack is waiting for you.”

He looked at you. “Let me get you home.”

“Alright, Sir. Lead the way.”

The car ride was quiet, the soft music in the background, the steady rhythm of the engine, and Hotch’s presence beside you relaxed you. Your head rested against the cool glass of the window, your gaze drifting between the road ahead and the focused expression on his face as he drove. You couldn’t help but steal glances at him multiple times until you arrived at your house.

Hotch insisted on helping you with your bags, walking inside to make sure everything was in order. He still wondered why you hadn’t moved out of your apartment after the Gordon incident, but he didn’t bring it up. Not tonight.

“Thanks for going out of your way to give me a ride home,” you said as you both stood on the porch.

“My pleasure,” he replied, stepping a little closer. “I should go.”

You nodded, moving a fraction closer as well. “Say hi to Jack for me.”

Both of you lingered there, the space between you growing smaller, tension hanging in the air.

“And good luck, on the road.” Being so close to Hotch stirred something within you, emotions that had been lingering after what happened in his office a few days ago. 

Hotch’s gaze darkened, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. 

Without another word, Hotch drew you even closer, your lips brushing for a moment before he took the final step. He kissed you like he knew exactly what his kiss was doing to you. You had been kissed before, yes, but never like this, not with this raw intensity, this urgency. His free hand cupped your face, his thumb brushing across your skin, and the hunger between you both became palpable.

Your tongue gently traced his bottom lip, and without hesitation, he parted his lips to welcome you in. The kiss was slow but fierce, a dance of desire that felt like it had been waiting to happen for far too long. You knew you needed to stop, you had to, his kid was waiting for him. But once again when he finally pulled away breathless, you couldn’t help but whimper at the loss of him, desperate for more.

He looked at you, your lips slightly parted and red from the swollen.  “See you tomorrow?”

You quickly nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

Tags: @adrienneleclerc @hayleym1234

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Wanna Make Purple?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fluff

Summary: After one woman takes a look into your studio, she suggests hosting a class so others may enjoy the art of finger painting. Youn thought she wanted to know about the class so she could join. No, it’s her son who walks through the door and turns your world upside down.

Square Filled: diana reid for @spencerreidbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Your small studio in the bustling city of Quantico is insignificant but you love it. You’re an aspiring artist who wishes to be featured in museums and have galleries open all over the country. If you work hard enough, you’ll get there one day. If you’re not in your apartment, you’re spending time in your studio that’s completely filled with art supplies, half-finished paintings, sculptures that you never finished, and furniture that’s paint-covered. You’re not a sculptor but you’re taking some classes to get better at it and broaden your artistic scope.

The curtains are open allowing natural sunlight to shine through the windows, and it gives your studio a homely feel to it. Even your apartment has bigger windows than it should because you love letting in natural light. The sun is setting which means it’s time for you to pack up and head back home for the night. You’re cleaning up the supplies you used when you notice someone standing outside the floor-length windows at the front.

The woman immediately leaves when she notices you looking but you don’t think much of it. Many people walk by when you’re in here to admire what you do so you’re not fazed by the woman. However, someone knocks on your door seconds after she leaves. You wipe your hands on your apron and open the door to see the same woman now standing right in front of you.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“Sorry for bothering you but I couldn’t help but notice what beautiful art you have.”

You look back at your art and smile at the compliment. You like to do a lot of things to stay relevant but you feel happiest when you fingerpaint. You love getting down and dirty with the art and using what you have instead of what you can buy to create timeless pieces. Finger painting is more than just putting paint on your finger and making lines. It’s precision and knowing when you use your pinkie instead of your thumb or when you use a knuckle or your palm. You’re in control of every little thing so in the end, you can truly say you gave it all.

“Thank you. I have a lot of fun finger painting. I think more people should do it.”

“Do you offer classes?”

“I never thought about it.”

“Well, I’m here in Virginia for a little while so if you reconsider, I know someone who would be eager to take a class.”

“Thank you. I will think about it.”

The woman leaves shortly after but her suggestion stays in your head long after she is gone. Teaching a class? Do you even have time for that? With school and your own business, you’re not sure if you have the energy to teach a dozen students. If you can, how old should they be? Children or adults? No, don’t be silly. Yeah, adults are going to be a lot easier to work with. Hosting a class whether that be once a week or a few times a week is a huge commitment, but you always said more people should be finger painting.

A few weeks go by until you’ve convinced yourself that teaching a small class would be beneficial for you. If you can put that on your resume, it shows commitment and willingness to work with a team. Thousands of people are following you on social media, so that’s how you reach out to everyone that you will be teaching a small class on a trial basis. If it works, great. If not, then you won’t lose any sleep over it.

Dozens of people around the country wish they could be in Virginia to attend your class. If all goes well, you might be able to visit other places and teach more people. One thing at a time, Y/N. The ones that are local have expressed interest but none of the people online look like the woman who met you that evening in your studio. You’re not sure how to get ahold of her or if she has social media and thankfully, you don’t need to deal with it.

The woman walks past your studio while looking at her phone, and you leave to catch up to her before she is gone forever.

“Ma’am?” She turns and stares at you as if she’s trying to remember who you are. “Hi, you stopped by my studio a few weeks ago. You asked me if I was teaching any classes.”

“I did?” Something crosses her eyes and she smiles immediately. “Of course, I did! Have you reconsidered?”

“Yeah. I’m actually putting together a class this weekend.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“It’s at my studio at two in the afternoon on Saturday.”

“Perfect. Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure. I hope to see you there.”

You two part ways shortly after that, and you go back to prepping your studio to fit at least half a dozen people. You want them to have their own space so you spread out the canvases evenly throughout with a side table for them to keep their paints. Saturday comes quicker than you think and before you know it, your studio is filled with everyone who signed up for it. The woman you met isn’t here and you’ve been trying to find something to do to stall time, however, you’re already running ten minutes past two.

It sucks but you’ll have to start without her.

“Alright, thank you all for coming. I appreciate your eagerness to finger paint. No, I promise you that this isn’t like most finger painting is.” The door opens and a very tall and lean man walks in wearing jeans, a white shirt, a sweater vest over that, and a tie tucked between them. “Hi.”

“Sorry to interrupt but my mother signed me up for this class. Are you Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m Spencer Reid.”

“Well, Spencer, take a seat. There’s one in the back.”

“Thanks. Sorry for being late.”

Spencer scurries to the back of the class and takes a seat, and you continue what you are saying.

“As I was saying, finger painting is so much more than putting paint on your fingers. I’ll have another class next week to go more into it but I want you guys to get used to the feel of paint on your fingers. I want you to create lines, and connect them if you want, but for the first ten minutes or so, I want you to really get used to the idea of not using paintbrushes. Use any color you like and begin.”

Everyone chooses the color they want and squirts the paint onto the palette on the small desk next to the easels. Two girls in the front giggle like schoolgirls at getting down and dirty with the paint while two men are apprehensive about getting their fingers dirty.

“Don’t worry about getting paint everywhere. It’s washable.”

Everyone seems to be in good spirits and you give encouraging words where you can. You approach Spencer who is having a hard time keeping paint long enough on his fingers to create a straight line.

“Having trouble?”

“A little, I guess. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay if you don’t like finger painting. It’s not for everyone.”

“No, it’s not that. I don’t get the point of finger painting. It’s messy and unpredictable and it’s hard to control what the paint is going to do.”

“Really? You think finger painting is childish?”

“Yeah.”

“Clean your hand. Let me show you something.”

Spencer does as he’s told while you squirt green, blue, and pink paint onto the palette. You grab Spencer’s hand and barely dip two of his fingers into the blue and two into the pink. You press his fingers to the canvas lightly, creating little dots that will represent the petals on a lavender flower. Once done, you have him clean his hand so you can create the stems of the flower.

“See? Finger painting is more than just putting paint on the canvas. It’s about manipulating the art as a whole and controlling every aspect of it. Brushes are different. They might have benefits that this way doesn’t but I’ve always found it harder to control a brush than it is my own fingers.”

“Impressive,” he says, looking deep into your eyes.

Spencer is in awe of your work. He doesn’t know what to say to this. He doesn’t mind being proven wrong. In fact, he finds it very attractive when someone can outsmart him. Someone calls your name and you leave Spencer’s side to help her out, but Spencer can’t take his eyes off you.

Throughout the entire class, Spencer has a hard time focusing on painting because he can’t help but notice you. He keeps asking for help knowing he can do it but he really wants to feel you right next to him holding his hand. You don’t mind. Spencer is the most attractive man you’ve ever laid eyes on.

It doesn’t hurt to play a bit.

After the hour is over, everyone clears out of your studio, eager for the next one. If all classes are like this, you might consider doing this more often. Spencer is the last one out but instead of leaving like he should, he closes the door so that it’s only you and Spencer alone.

“Good job today. With a few more classes, you’ll be an expert.”

“You’re the expert, not me.”

He gathers everyone’s paint tubes and places them in the box at the front of the class while you grab the palettes that you’ll clean later. You and Spencer meet at the last easel but neither of you pick anything up.

“You got a little something…” He gestures to his own lips. “You got red paint on your lips.”

“Like I said, it’s washable. It’ll come off with a shower. Plus, it’s non-toxic so it can get in your mouth and it won’t hurt you.”

“Good to know.”

He takes two steps closer to you and you’re suddenly aware of how tall and handsome he is. Your eyes shift down to his lips and you smirk slightly.

“You got blue on your lips.”

“Wanna make purple?”

You don’t have to answer him. Pulling him in and pressing your lips to his is a good enough answer in and of itself. Spencer pulls you closer by your hips and you wrap your arms around his neck. Damn, he’s even a good kisser. Whoever his mom is, you gotta thank her for bringing her son to your class.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[blushingreid]

Temporary Parents

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

A/N: hi bbs, it’s been so so long & I’m sorry :( Here’s a longer fic that’s been in the drafts for YEARS NOW LMAOOOOO (disclaimer: this was written before my like 3 yr hiatus, no proof read, just straight posted for y'alls enjoyment) Giving some type of dad vibes I think might've been a request, but enjoy & slide me some feedback ! <3

Gun drawn, Spencer cautiously entered the house and into the child’s bedroom. Y/n followed closely behind, her gun out, ready for any outcome. Hearing a shuffle coming from the closet, y/n grasped Spencer’s bicep to get his attention before silently signaling to the closet. Spencer slowly approached the closet and whipped the door open.

“FBI! Put your hands up!”

Regret instantly hit Spencer as he holstered his gun when he saw a crying child crawl out of the closet. It was Jayden, Jordan Richard’s five-year-old son. 

Y/n holstered her gun and approached him, arms outstretched. “Hey there, you don’t have to be scared anymore, we’re the good guys,” she quietly explained as she motioned for Jayden to come closer to her.

He hesitated and looked between y/n and Spencer before running into y/n’s arms. After they left the house, Y/n brought him to the ambulance in the driveway to get checked out, while the team talked about the next steps.

They had been called to a small town in Virginia to investigate a series of families murdered with the same m.o. The team had gone to arrest the unsub, Jordan Richard, well the person they originally thought was the unsub. What they didn’t expect was for the alleged unsub and his family to have been the next victims. This meant the real unsub was still out there and the team was back to square one.

The only miracle was that the unsub had gotten sloppy and overconfident that he had just assumed that “missing” Jayden must’ve been sleeping over someone else’s house. Now this child would be the unsub’s demise.

Y/n was about to go join the team when Jayden grabbed her hand, silently pleading for her not to leave them. She gave him a small smile and sat down next to him in the ambulance.

“He’s lucky. There are no signs of any physical abuse,” the EMT said while placing a small band-aid on Jayden’s finger.

“Y/l/n, we need to take Jayden to headquarters and see if he can remember anything that can help us,” Hotch said before getting into one of the SUVs.

Y/n explained to Jayden the plan to head back to headquarters for the day. He didn’t seem to entirely understand the plan, except that he would get to spend the day with y/n, so he nodded and followed her into the SUV.

When they finally arrived at the bullpen, y/n led Jayden into one of the lounges. JJ came in to drop off some drawing supplies and snacks to help him feel more comfortable. The two of them spent the rest of the day attempting to get Jayden to open up about anything he might remember from last night. To everyone’s disappointment, Jayden was still too traumatized and only responded with nods and shakes of his head. Penelope had tried to find out if Jayden has any other family near, but she couldn’t find any. The social worker permitted Jayden to stay with y/n and Spencer, given that he’s a key witness and potentially still in danger. Actually, he wouldn’t let go of y/n’s leg when the social worker tried to take him for the night, so the social worker permitted him to stay with them until the case was solved. 

Once the three of them arrived at Spencer and y/n’s shared apartment, Spencer quickly went to childproof the guest bedroom. After tucking him in, y/n slid into bed next to Spencer, his arms instantly wrapping around her. 

“You know you always wanted kids,... so here you go,” y/n joked.

“I guess you could say this is our trial period for parenting,” Spencer laughed and placed a kiss goodnight to y/n’s forehead.

The multiple late nights and early mornings for this case, had tired them out so much that soon they were bother knocked out for the night. So knocked out, that neither felt Jayden crawl into bed with them. 

The next morning, y/n rolled over in bed to find that it was empty. She didn’t plan to leave her comfortable bed, until she heard Spencer scream. Running out of bed, she stopped once she saw Spencer covered in some type of food, Jayden no where to be seen. 

“Spence what happened to you?” Y/n laughed, walking into the kitchen.

“JAYDEN THREW HIS YOGURT AT ME!”

“What’d you do to get him to do that?” She teased, looking around the apartment for Jayden. Y/n eventually found him watching tv in the guest room.

“Absolutely nothing. All I did was join him at the table and the next thing I knew he launched his yogurt at me. This is my favorite sweater too,” Spencer pouted, trying to wipe off the yogurt.

“It could be because the first time you met, you had a gun pointed at him. He could still feel threatened by you,” y/n sighed before grabbing Spencer a new shirt.

“By the end of this case, I swear to you, Jayden and I are gonna be best friends,” Spencer promised. 

Y/n didn’t doubt it one bit. She knew Spencer would be the best dad in the world. 

The next two days had gone quick, Spencer and y/n stayed with Jayden to keep him safe and were there once he was comfortable enough to give them more information about that night. 

Y/n had left Spencer and Jayden alone in the apartment, while her and Emily checked out some leads. She hoped, the two of them wouldn’t tear apart the apartment by the time she got back. They’d seemed to be getting along together the past two days.

After checking out the leads, y/n headed back to her apartment to check on Spencer and Jayden before heading back to headquarters. She mentally braced herself for whatever she would be walking into as she unlocked the apartment door. To her surprise, she heard Jayden and Spencer laughing together. As she entered the apartment, she saw Spencer and Jayden running and ducking behind furniture with nerf guns. She giggled at the scene in front of her.

Suddenly, she was hit in the forehead by a foam dart. Y/n looked in the direction the dart came from to see a guilty Spencer emerge from behind the kitchen counter.

“Sorry love, I thought you were Jayden,” Spencer said as he jogged to the door to greet her with a kiss.

“I see you two have been keeping yourselves entertained,” y/n laughed as she went to go sit on the couch. Spencer followed, wrapping an arm around her. 

Jayden finally emerged from their bedroom, nerf gun in one hand and a piece of paper in his other. He ran and jumped onto the couch in between Spencer and y/n. Y/n examined the paper Jayden had handed her. It seemed to be a drawing of a logo.

“This looks familiar Spence, like a company logo,” y/n said as she handed the drawing to him.

“T-th-the scary m-man,” Jayden said, pointing to a mean stick figure he’d drawn on the bottom corner of the paper.

“Is this how you know the man who hurt your family?” Y/n softly asked. Jayden quickly nodded his head before jumping off the couch and running into the other room.

“This might just be what we need to finally catch the unsub,” y/n exclaimed as she gave Spencer a quick kiss and ran out the door to tell the team.

Spencer wanted to be there with y/n and the rest of the team when they went to go arrest the unsub, but he knew he had to stay and keep Jayden safe. A small part of him was actually happy he stayed, that way he’d be able to spend more time with Jayden before a foster family takes him.

“Ok kid, how do we convince my wife to start trying for our own kid?”

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

Updated Version 2.

They were both overlapped in Minnesota for the North Tartan Summer Jam-June 2016. They had a lot of basketball overlap in June/July 2016 but again, separate age groups, with Azzi playing in a higher age group than Paige.

USA U16 Trials in May 2017 when they met.

Won Gold together with U16 on June 11, 2017.

Flew to Minnesota together where Azzi probably spent the summer doing her camping and State Fair in August 2017. Before this though: they participated in the North Tartan Summer Jam-June 2017 but different groups. I think that first birthday post from Azzi is probably from this tournament. Also, they may have also had an EYBL tournament in Indianapolis in July 2017. This is also when those crush snapchats were most likely sent because the song itself was released July 7, 2017.

Generally, they always have a lot of overlap in the summer because of AAU

Their visit to Maryland, Notre Dame and UConn in Fall 2017. Offered scholarships by UConn at that time.

Azzi and Paige were together at the beginning of Feb, training. Azzi's high school is WCAC Champs at the end of Feb 2018 and Azzi was also player of the year as a Freshman.

Late March 2018, both participated in the 2018 USA Basketball 3x3 U18 National Championship. Paige’s team got first, and Azzi’s got second. Paige’s team went on to rep in the youth Olympics.

April 2, 2018 Paige and her Hopkins teammates watched the UConn Notre Dame 2018 Championship game. Paige apparently watched this match up twice by April 2019 and Azzi watched the 12/3/17 game against ND in Hartford. Maybe overlap?

Paige and Azzi played in the Nike Boo Williams Invitational for their separate AAU teams in Virginia on April 20-22, 2018. Azzi's team (Fairfax Stars 17s EYBL) won platinum undefeated in their division where she stood out as one of the best players at 15 years old. Paige's team (North Tartan 15s EYBL) won platinum undefeated in her division. Geno was apparently at this tournament from what I read.

Paige was in DC to play in the Capitol Classic on April 28, 2018. You can watch the entire game if you want.

Reunited in Colorado May 2018 for USA trials.

The 11th annual North Tartan Summer Jam in Hopkins Minnesota was held June 15-17, 2018, where both Paige and Azzi's AAU teams played against each other. Paige’s team beat Azzi’s team 79-63 but both ended with a 3-1 record with Paige's team getting second place. Azzi watched Paige's final game.

Basically, together all of July because training was July 4-20, with a pre-tournament invitational in Latvia. Afterwards, won Gold with U17 on July 29, 2018.

Azzi attends her first Curry Camp in August 6-7 2018. She blows up after the three point contest. At this point I also assume Minnesota cabin trip and state fair was spent together. Azzi was recognized while on a cruise with Bueckers family after the contest (Date unknown but assuming summer). Azzi also helped with Paige's charity clinic at the end of August in Montana.

Azzi and her family were also in Minnesota for a family wedding in September 2018.

11/2/18 Visit to UConn together. Azzi’s sweet 16 on 11/11/18. We know Paige was there.

March 2019 Azzi is presented Gatorade National Player of the Year for Basketball. Azzi's team is 2nd in the nation.

Paige wins state championship on March 16, 2019. Azzi is there supporting (she's in that day after vlog episode of Paige's teammate wearing her St. Patty's day necklace and referred to as National POY which she just got beforehand).

Both of them flew to Montana and I'm guessing that's when the Yellowstone trip happened. Probably Spring Break.

Buckets with Bueckers camp in Montana - March 25, 2019. Azzi was there.

April 1, 2019, Paige commits to UConn (signs letter of intent in November 2019). I think this is also the day Azzi got her puppy Stewie.

April 4-6, 2019 Azzi’s high school team makes the Geico Nationals final but loses. Not sure if Paige was there.

April 13, 2019 Azzi tears hear ACL/MCL at USA 3x3 championship. Surgery on May 29, 2019 in Indianapolis. Paige was with her before surgery (video proof from Azzi herself).  

April 26-28, 2019 AAU together (Azzi not playing).

June 2019 – Paige participates in Summer Jam 2019 with Metro Stars.

July/August 2019 – After Azzi attends the ESPYS and SC30 Select Camp for both of them, Minnesota tradition (they have tiktoks from that time at the cabin and started their joint account that summer). I also think this is when that one Overtime video was filmed with the competition.

10/10-16/19 – Paige is in Doha Qatar for USA Basketball 3x3 tournament. Then she went to First Night at UConn and I think visited Azzi before she went to LA for ESPNW. Azzi visited UConn the week before First Night supposedly.

Dec 16, 2019: First HUDL recruiting video. End of December 2019, Azzi was presumably training with Mamba family in NYC.

Reunited in January 2020 in DMV. Azzi’s first games back from ACL were around this time and Paige was there (they filmed tiktoks together and there are videos of her in the stands). During her visit, Paige's second HUDL recruiting video for Azzi was published.

Azzi’s high school team wins state championships in early March 2020. Azzi travels to Minnesota in mid-March 2020 for Paige’s final but Covid shutdown occurs.

Paige stays with the Fudds from the end of April until June 2020 where she goes back for her graduation in early June and I think possibly packing up her stuff because I know her family was relocating to DMV at this time. She rejoins the Fudds in late June and stays with them and travels with them for Azzi’s GTS team up until end of July. Paige also gets her Gatorade award presented to her at the Fudd’s house on July 24, 2020.

Azzi is in Minnesota with her GTS in August of 2020 and Paige starts UConn.

Azzi visits Paige on her birthday and I believe tells her she’s committing to UConn in October 2020.

Azzi's Togethxr video of her day in the life with the facetime call was filmed November 5, 2020 (pop quiz had a date).

Azzi commits to UConn in November 11, 2020 and turns 18.

Paige's UConn season starts with her first games being cancelled because everyone is in a 14 day quarantine when one person tests positive. This was the reality of that time - they had to contact tracing and couldn't risk getting Covid during the season. They didn't have anymore cancelled games after the end of January but it certainly was an issue early on. UConn had nearly 75% of their courses online or hybrid for entire Fall 2020. Out of state students enrolled in online courses didn't live on campus. This was the reality of Paige's first year. Most likely not as social as people think and really just FTing Azzi at 1 AM apparently.

Azzi attends UConn-Tennessee game on January 21, 2021 to cheer on Paige.

Azzi attends UConn Final Four on April 2, 2021 and also attends the final (while being on FT with Paige).  

Paige has ankle surgery afterwards and hanging out a lot with the Fudds as she rehabs during April and May 2021.

Azzi has USA U19 Trials in May 2021. Then graduation and prom for high school at the end of May (Paige was present during this time). Then summer session at UConn. Paige has her ESPY award speech in July 2021.

Azzi wins gold with team USA before landing back in Mn in mid August 2021 and reunited with Paige and heading to UConn.

My God, you did it 👑. Here's Pazzi's updated timeline for the people.

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 15

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me."

summary: joel felt something's bad gonna come to him

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 15

masterlist!

previous | chapter 14

next | chapter 16

It’s been three months since Chicago—four or five months since you left the dusty plains of Texas behind, and it feels like a lifetime. You and Joel have crossed half the states now, weaving through the fabric of America, threading together the old and the new.

You’ve stood at the edge of the Atlantic, watched the crashing waves of Maine, and felt the bustling pulse of New York City beneath your feet. The journey hasn’t been easy, but the trials of the road have carved something deeper between you, something unshakable.

Now, in the heart of West Virginia, the air feels lighter, the weight of your past no longer suffocating your every breath. The mountains rise like ancient sentinels, cloaked in mist, and the trees burn with the colors of autumn—reds, oranges, and golds, like a fire that dances but never consumes. It’s Sunday morning, and the world feels hushed, as if creation itself is pausing to pray.

You stand in front of the mirror, smoothing down your dress, eyes tracing over the small gold cross that hangs delicately around your neck. It feels right to be heading to church again, even if you’re miles away from the one you grew up in.

God has not abandoned you, and in the quiet of your soul, you feel Him closer than ever. These days, prayer feels like a whispered conversation with the divine, a secret language only you and the heavens share.

The sunlight streams through the motel window, casting a golden glow over the room, as if the very hand of God is touching the space. Joel is sitting at the edge of the bed, lacing up his boots.

His face, marked by lines of experience and sorrow, looks softer in the morning light. You’ve seen him battle nightmares, wrestle with ghosts, but now, in this moment, there’s peace. A quiet, sacred peace that stretches between the two of you.

His face softens as he watches you in the reflection, a quiet admiration glowing in his eyes as you finish getting ready. You’re wearing a white dress, simple yet graceful, with a bandana tied in your hair.

It’s something about how the morning light dances on your skin, or maybe it’s the serenity you carry now—free from the burdens that once weighed you down. Joel is sitting on the edge of the bed, cleaning his boots, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you.

You catch him watching and smile through the mirror, raising an eyebrow. “What?” you tease, the soft curve of your lips pulling a smile from him.

Joel chuckles, shaking his head like he's been caught. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

You laugh, a quiet sound that fills the room with warmth. “Yes, three times already this morning, Joel.”

He smiles, a hint of embarrassment creeping into his expression, but it’s laced with affection. Joel always does this—quietly admiring you, slipping in compliments like they’re secrets meant just for the two of you. And in moments like this, it’s as if the world outside doesn’t exist—just you and him, wrapped in your own quiet corner of peace.

As you adjust the bandana in your hair, you turn toward him, your voice soft and inviting. “You know, Joel,” you begin, keeping your tone relaxed, “why don’t you come pray with me today? Just today? It’s been a while.”

The words hang in the air gently, like you’re offering him a hand to hold, not pushing but hoping. You’ve asked him before—sometimes gently, other times more persistently—but Joel has always refused. He never says it harshly, but you know the weight of his past, the loss, the guilt, and it keeps him distant from anything that feels too close to redemption.

He looks down at his boots for a moment, the lines in his face deepening slightly, like he’s wrestling with something unsaid. Then, he looks back up at you, his eyes softer now. “You know I’m not good at that stuff, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice gruff but tender. “But I’ll drive you. Always do.”

You knew he would say that, and it doesn’t hurt like it used to. Joel has his reasons, and you respect that. Still, you wanted to ask, to let him know the door is always open.

You nod, smiling at him gently. “Okay. Thank you.”

He stands up, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on as he walks over to you. He places a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a kiss on the forehead. “Go on,” he says quietly. “I’ll wait outside. You take your time.”

As he heads out to the truck, you take a deep breath, smoothing your dress one last time. You know Joel loves you—his way of showing it isn’t through prayer or words, but through the small acts, the way he always makes sure you’re safe, the way he waits for you, watches over you.

Outside, the air is crisp, the sun just starting to rise over the trees, casting long golden shadows across the parking lot. The church is only a few miles away, and as always, Joel will drive you there, wait in the truck or at a nearby diner. He may not join you inside, but his presence is always near, a quiet strength at your back.

You climb into the truck, Joel already behind the wheel, his hand resting on the gearshift. As you settle in, you glance over at him. “I won’t be long.”

He nods, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Take all the time you need.”

As the truck rumbles to life, you close your eyes for a moment, silently thanking God for this man beside you. You may walk different paths when it comes to faith, but in your heart, you carry prayers for him every day. Prayers for his peace, for his strength, and for the love you share.

You look out the window at the mountains in the distance, their peaks kissed by the morning mist. They remind you of the Psalms, where David speaks of lifting his eyes to the hills, asking where his help comes from. “My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.” That scripture echoes in your mind as you gather your things and head for the door. You know you’re not walking this road alone.

And maybe, one day, Joel will find his way back to prayer too. But until then, you’ll keep walking, hand in hand, carrying each other through whatever comes next.

The church is filled with people when you enter, the air thick with the scent of old wood and candle wax, whispers of faith blending with the creaking of pews.

You hold your Bible close, the one Frank gave you, its worn edges comforting beneath your fingertips. It’s funny how he’s become one of your closest friends now, even though you don’t call him or Bill often.

But whenever you borrow Joel’s phone, you laugh with Frank like you’ve known each other for years. He’s a light in your life, a reminder that friendship, like faith, can come from the most unexpected places.

But as you sit down, squeezing past strangers to find a seat, your heart aches for the ones you can’t call—Emma, her absence a hollow place inside you. You wish you could hear her voice again, see her smile, tell her everything that’s happened.

Ellie too, her mischievous laugh, her energy, her stubborn loyalty. You miss her so much it hurts, like a dull ache you can’t shake. And with it, there’s that lingering guilt—taking her father away, no matter how much she understands or loves Joel herself. You shake your head, pushing it aside as the service begins, but the feeling lingers like a shadow.

When it’s time to pray, you bow your head, hands clasped tightly around your Bible, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and gratitude.

“Thank You, Lord,” you whisper, the words barely audible but full of meaning, “for this life I have now. For the freedom You’ve given me.”

It feels like a confession every time you say it—as though you’re finally realizing the full weight of what it means to have left home, to have stepped out of the cage your father built around you.

Leaving wasn’t just about escaping the walls of that house; it was about breaking free from the chains of his control, his expectations. You hadn’t even known how trapped you were until Joel came into your life, offering you a way out, a hand to hold as you stepped into the light.

Now, the open sky stretches endlessly above you, the road ahead full of possibilities. And with Joel by your side, it feels like you’ve found a new kind of salvation.

Not the kind your father preached about, not the kind written in sermons, but one built on love, trust, and the quiet strength that grows between two souls walking together.

As the service ends and the congregation begins to trickle out, you stay behind. There’s something pulling at you, a need for extra time with God, to speak in the stillness, to let your heart pour out fully.

You approach the father of the church, an old man with eyes that seem to hold centuries of wisdom. You ask him if you can stay a little longer, to pray alone, and he smiles gently, nodding.

“Take all the time you need, child,” he says softly, his voice full of kindness.

You thank him, feeling a surge of gratitude for this small, sacred space where you can be alone with your thoughts, with God. You kneel at the altar, the stone cool beneath your knees, and close your eyes.

The church is quiet now, the echoes of footsteps long gone, leaving only the faint hum of the outside world drifting in through stained-glass windows.

You begin to pray—not for yourself, but for everyone you love. For Joel, who holds your heart in his rough, calloused hands; who carries your burdens as if they were his own; who has given you a life you never dreamed possible.

You ask God to keep him safe, to guide him through the shadows of his past, and to grant him peace—the kind of peace that reaches into the deepest corners of the soul and brings light where there was only darkness.

You pray for Ellie, wild and free, with a heart too big for this world. You ask God to protect her, wherever she is, and to remind her that she’s loved—even if it’s from afar.

You think of Tommy and Maria, and little Luke, their family growing like a tree rooted in strength and love. You ask for their safety, their happiness, and for the future they’re building together.

And then, you pray for your mother.

Despite everything, despite the silence between you and the choices she made, she’s still your mother. You still love her, and you pray that one day, she’ll find her own freedom, her own peace, even if it’s not beside you.

The words flow from you like a river, unstoppable, carrying all your fears, hopes, and dreams. You pour out your heart, letting the prayers rise like incense toward the heavens.

“Lord, I ask for strength—for myself, for Joel, for everyone I love. Help us to walk the path before us with grace, with courage, and with love. And thank You, God, for bringing me here. For showing me that there is more to this life than fear. That love can redeem, that freedom can heal.”

The air feels lighter now, as if the weight of your soul has been lifted, your prayers floating upward like smoke. You sit there in silence for a few moments longer, letting the quiet wash over you, before you slowly rise to your feet.

You feel lighter, clearer, as though the act of praying has unburdened your heart in ways you hadn’t realized you needed.

Outside, you know Joel is waiting for you, probably sipping coffee in a diner, his eyes scanning the windows, always watching for you. You smile softly, knowing that even though he didn’t come inside, he’s always with you.

Just as God is—always with you, guiding you, protecting you, even in the silence.

You slowly rise, the peace of the prayer still wrapped around you like a cloak, but the moment you turn to leave, you freeze. There, blocking your path, is a man.

His presence feels like a shadow that suddenly crept in unnoticed. “Hello, darlin’,” he says, his voice low and honeyed, dripping with a false sweetness that sends a shiver down your spine.

"My God, you scares me!"

***

Joel sits at the diner, his coffee steaming in front of him, his eyes locked on the church across the street. His fingers drum against the table, a habitual rhythm when his mind is restless. His thoughts drift between you and the call he’s just received from Tommy.

When the phone buzzes in his pocket, Joel picks it up, glancing at the church one last time before answering.

“Hey, Tommy,” he greets, keeping his voice low, the comfort of your presence still lingering.

“Joel,” Tommy starts, his voice lighter than usual. “Got some good news for ya.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, sitting up straighter. “What is it?”

Tommy continues, a note of relief in his voice. “Just heard from the sheriff—the state cops dropped your girl’s dad’s report. Said you didn’t kidnap her. Neighbors backed you up, saying she left with you willingly. She’s old enough to make her own choices, so... looks like you’re in the clear. No charges, no kidnapping.”

Joel exhales slowly, a weight lifting from his chest. Relief settles in, though it’s only partial. He knows your father, knew him for years—persistent, stubborn.

Joel’s not naive enough to think that just because the law’s off his back, your father will let this go. There’s still the nagging fear that he’ll do something crazy, something desperate to bring you back. Joel frowns, his jaw tightening as he watches the church door.

“Yeah, that’s a relief, but he’s not gonna stop lookin’ for her, Tommy. I know him. He’s not gonna let her go just like that.”

Tommy’s voice softens, offering some reassurance. “Look, I get it, but don’t go worryin’ yourself sick. We’ll handle whatever comes. You two just stay outta sight for now, keep layin’ low.”

Joel nods to himself, trying to calm the worry gnawing at him. "I hope you're right."

The conversation shifts to business after that, Tommy updating him on the construction company. “Listen, I got a job comin’ up that’s takin’ me down to Miami. Thought maybe we could meet there? You, me, and her—get together for a bit. It's been so long, I miss you brother,”

Joel considers it, glancing at the dwindling cash in his wallet. “Sounds good, Tommy. But, I’m runnin’ low on money. Almost out, actually. Everything I got left is what I’m carryin’. You know I ain’t got any cards with me, not after all the rumors started.”

Tommy chuckles, always the practical one. “Don’t worry, man. You know I’m takin’ care of the company. You still gettin’ your share as a founder, whether you’re workin’ or not. I’ll bring cash with me when we meet up in Miami.”

Joel hesitates. It feels wrong, relying on Tommy’s work when he hasn’t been pulling his own weight lately. “I don’t like not earnin’ it, Tommy.”

“Ah, cut the crap. You’re my brother. You helped build this thing from the ground up. That money’s yours too, whether you’re workin’ or not. I’ll bring it, and you’ll take it. End of story. or You make a new card and I can transfer it to you,"

Joel sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, alright, Thank you....Guess I’ll have to make a new card soon then. You think it’s safe now?”

“Yeah, it’s safe enough. The report’s dropped. No one’s lookin’ for you anymore, least not the law. Go ahead and get yourself sorted.”

Joel nods again, already thinking of the days ahead. “Alright. We’re headed to Richmond next, then maybe Charlotte or Atlanta. We’ll make our way down to Miami in four days.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Tommy agrees.

Joel finishes his coffee, his thoughts still swirling when he catches sight of you stepping out of the church. You’re looking around for him, and he waves from the diner window.

The sight of you, with your Bible in hand and that familiar smile on your face, grounds him. He waves you over, already ending the call with Tommy as you cross the street.

When you walk into the diner, Joel’s smile softens. “Sorry I took so long,” you apologize, sliding into the booth next to him.

Joel leans over, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “It’s fine, baby. You hungry?”

You nod, settling into his side. The age difference between the two of you is always something that gets people’s attention—whispers, curious stares—but you’re beyond caring.

Let them look. What you and Joel have is real, deeper than anything they could ever understand.

Joel waves over the waitress, and you order breakfast: pancakes, bacon, eggs, and a vanilla milkshake. You ask Joel what he wants, but he shakes his head. “Just more coffee for me.”

The waitress leaves, and you snuggle closer to Joel on the long booth, his arm draped around your shoulders, holding you close. There’s a comfort in his touch, a silent promise of protection and love.

“Feelin’ good after your prayer?” Joel asks, his voice soft and genuine.

You smile, your heart warm. “Yeah, I am. I prayed for you too, you know.”

Joel’s hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, his heart full of an unspoken emotion. He doesn’t say it, but he’s grateful—grateful for you, for your faith, for the way you love him despite everything.

He tilts his head slightly, his lips tugging into a small, teasing smile.

"Is that so? What’d you pray about?" he asks, his voice low and playful, a touch of curiosity in his tone.

You smile, leaning in close until your noses nearly touch. “A girl never prays and tells, Joel. Never,” you tease, watching his eyes darken with amusement.

When he leans in to close the gap, your lips almost touching, you pull back just in time, giggling as Joel’s expression turns mock serious. His lips curl into a smirk, and before you can escape, he reaches out to tickle your sides, making you squeal with laughter.

“Joel! Stop!” you manage between giggles, but he only grins wider, his fingers relentless for a few more seconds until he finally stops, letting you catch your breath.

Some of the older folks in the diner cast side glances your way, their eyes full of judgment as if seeing a couple of teenagers in love. But neither of you cares. Let them look, let them wonder—you and Joel exist in your own world.

As your laughter dies down, you sense a brightness in him today, a lightness in his mood that makes your heart feel fuller. With a sly grin, you nudge him. “You seems so bright today. What’s the story, mister? Tess from Chicago calling you?”

Joel rolls his eyes, clearly unimpressed by your teasing. “Stop it,” he grumbles, though his lips twitch with the hint of a smile. “She was just bein’ friendly and I don't even have her number."

You chuckle, knowing you’ve hit a nerve, but it’s all in good fun. “Oh, sure. Maybe she’s asking about her perfume again? What, is she sellin’ perfume or something?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him, making him chuckle softly despite himself.

Shaking his head, Joel leans back against the booth, his fingers still brushing your shoulder. “Enough about Tess. I’ve got some good news, actually.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head, curiosity sparking in your eyes. “What is it?”

Joel takes a breath, his eyes meeting yours as if he’s savoring the moment. “The cops dropped your dad’s report. Said you’re old enough to make your own choices. They had witnesses backin’ it up. They’re sayin’ it wasn’t kidnapping—you came with me willingly.”

"Baby, we're free." He said again.

The words hit you like a rush of wind, and for a moment, you just stare at him, processing what he’s said. Slowly, your face breaks into the biggest smile, your heart soaring with joy and relief. You let out a small scream of excitement, throwing your arms around Joel.

“Oh my God, Joel! You’re free! We’re free!” You hug him tightly, burying your face in his neck, your heart pounding with happiness. “Finally, finally we can go anywhere, do anything, and not worry about them coming after us!”

Joel wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can feel the tension leaving his body, the weight of it finally lifting. There’s a sense of freedom now, a door opening where there once was none.

Joel wraps his arms tighter around you as you excitedly chatter about the future—the life you’ve both dreamed of in California. You’re beaming, your words spilling out in an excited rush.

“Oh my God, Joel! We could build that sheep ranch you’ve always wanted! I could grow a garden—vegetables, herbs, everything! I’d cook and bake for you from our own garden, send Bill and Frank strawberries like I promised Frank! And Ellie could visit, stay with us whenever she wants. We could—”

You pause, breathless, as Joel chuckles softly, watching you with fondness in his eyes. His chest rises and falls with the rhythm of his slow breaths, but as your voice fades, something shifts in him. His smile falters.

You see his gaze drift over your shoulder, his brows furrowing as if he’s spotted something—or someone. His body tenses again, his grip loosening on you. His face turns pale.

“Joel?” You tilt your head, noticing the change in him. He looks past you, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

Behind you, to him, two figures stand—figures that shouldn’t be here. Jamie and Ben. Their faces are ghostly pale, staring back at Joel as if accusing him, their expressions twisted in a mixture of anger and sorrow. He blinks, trying to shake the image, his heart beginning to race.

No. No fucking way.

He looks again, but they’re gone. Vanished as if they were never there, just figments of his mind. Sweat forms on his brow, his breathing quickening. What the hell is going on? Why is he seeing them?

“Joel?” Your voice pulls him back to reality, concern written across your face. “You okay?”

Joel swallows hard, his chest tight, trying to steady his breathing. He forces a weak smile, but his eyes still dart around nervously, as if expecting the figures to return. “Yeah, baby. I’m… I’m fine.”

But his heartbeat betrays him. That vision, those faces—they still linger, like shadows at the edges of his mind.

You turn your head, glancing behind you, eyes searching the space Joel had been staring at so intensely. "What are you looking at?" you ask, your curiosity piqued by his sudden change in demeanor.

Joel shakes his head, a quick smile spreading across his face, hiding the flicker of fear still curling in his chest. "Nothin’, baby. Just… nothin’." He dismisses it, brushing the hallucination aside like a bad dream. "What were you sayin’? I like hearin’ about your plans for us."

You smile softly, sensing he doesn't want to ruin the moment, so you let it go. But the thought you’ve been carrying for so long lingers on the tip of your tongue. You’ve always wanted a family, a home filled with love and warmth. You know you’re young, but you dream of little feet running around, laughter filling the rooms—a family with Joel.

But you’ve never said it out loud, too scared to ask if he’d want more children. You’re afraid of the weight his past might carry, the pain of losing his daughter still etched deeply into his soul. What if he doesn’t want to marry you? The uncertainty gnaws at you, so instead of voicing your fears, you ask, "Where’s the news from?"

Joel glances over at you, his hand brushing your knee. "Tommy called. We’re meetin’ him in Miami in four days, but first we’re headin’ to Richmond, then Charlotte, Atlanta, and finally Miami."

You brighten, excited by the plan. "Is Ellie coming with him?"

Joel shrugs, "I dunno, maybe. Haven’t heard."

Just as your excitement peaks, the food arrives, and the conversation shifts into lighter territory over pancakes and coffee.

After breakfast, you head back to the motel, and before long, you find yourselves tangled in each other’s arms, making love again as the sun streams through the windows. The intimacy feels like a quiet surrender, an unspoken promise to each other.

Later, you take a shower together, laughing as water trickles down your skin, and then you check out of the motel. Bags in hand, you toss them into the back of the car, getting ready for the drive to Richmond.

As you settle into the passenger seat, you slip on the matching sunglasses you and Joel bought in Pennsylvania last week. You lift your feet onto the dashboard, wiggling them to the rhythm of Dolly Parton’s voice spilling from the radio. Joel glances at you, his heart skipping a beat as he sees you all carefree, a vision of wild freedom beside him.

“Four hours to Richmond, right?” you ask, looking over at him.

“Yeah,” Joel nods, his eyes still on the road. “We’ll stop at a gas station, grab you some snacks. I need to hit the bank too.”

You turn to him, raising an eyebrow. “The bank? What for?”

“Gotta make a new card,” Joel explains. “Money’s runnin’ low, and Tommy’s gonna send us what we need.”

You tilt your head, teasing, “Joel, you didn’t work. Where’s the money even coming from?”

Joel chuckles softly, glancing your way. “It’s still my company, darlin’. Even if Tommy’s runnin’ it, I’m still gettin’ my cut. Just haven’t been using cards, tryin’ to stay off the radar, you know?”

You smirk, biting into your bubble gum. “Wow, Joel, you sound like my sugar daddy now.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Now where’d you learn a word like that?”

“The song,” you giggle, the playful tone lifting the mood even further.

Joel shoots you a sideways glance, teasing, “You sure do like callin’ me ‘daddy,’ don’t you, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks flush, the heat creeping up your neck. “Stop it, Joel,” you mumble, embarrassed but laughing.

Joel isn’t done teasing, his grin widening. “What’s the matter, baby? Gettin’ shy now?”

You melt into your seat, trying to hide your smile. “Joel, stop,” you say again, but there’s no real weight to it. You’re grinning ear to ear.

He chuckles, clearly enjoying himself, and you lightly smack his arm. “Ow, ow!” Joel laughs, pretending to wince as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Honey, I’m drivin’ here!”

You shake your head, laughing with him, feeling light and free. The road ahead stretches out endlessly, like a new beginning.

Eventually, you pull up to a gas station. You hop out of the car, asking Joel for money to grab snacks while he fills up the tank. He hands you a couple of bills, his eyes still distant, lost in thought. His mind drifts back to Jamie and Ben, those ghostly figures still haunting the edges of his vision, like shadows slipping through the cracks of his reality.

He pumps the gas, staring blankly at the numbers ticking up on the pump, but in his mind, those faces linger—faces of the dead, reminders of a past that refuses to stay buried. The heat of the day wraps around him, but Joel feels a cold sweat trickling down his back.

No matter how hard he tries to shake it, the memory of Ben and Jamie pulls at him like a chain, dragging him down, making it hard to breathe.

His thoughts tangle and twist, a labyrinth of dread and confusion. Ben and Jamie—they haunt him like specters, their faces floating at the edges of his consciousness like reflections on a disturbed pond, rippling but never quite vanishing.

He tries to shake it off, like you would a bad dream clinging too tightly. But no matter how much he tells himself it's nothing, just fatigue, the feeling digs in deeper, like a chain wrapped around his lungs, squeezing with every breath. 

Why now? Why are they showing up like this, like ghosts clawing their way into his reality?

Something bad’s coming. 

Joel can feel it in his bones. It’s the way the sky seems too bright, too still, the air too thick with heat and tension. His hand tightens on the gas pump as he fills the tank, but his mind drifts back to the possibility of pills—just a few to calm his nerves, help him sleep, something to keep him grounded.

It’s been too long since he last swallowed the bitterness of them, too long since he tried to hold back the nightmares that seem to be creeping in from every angle.

As the tank clicks full, Joel locks up the truck and walks into the store, spotting you instantly. You’re at the counter, smiling as you talk to the cashier—a guy in his mid-30s, with a casual grin that’s a little too friendly.

Joel sees the way the man’s eyes linger on you, sizing you up like you’re a prize to be won. You’re polite, not flirting back, but Joel knows that look in the guy’s eyes all too well.

His jaw tightens as he walks over, the air between him and the cashier thickening with unspoken tension. “Hey,” he murmurs, sliding an arm around your waist, pulling you close.

He makes sure the cashier can see the possessiveness in the way he holds you, a silent claim staked like a flag in the ground. “You got all you need?”

You nod, oblivious to the tension, “Yeah. You need anything else?”

“Yeah, but you wait in the truck,” Joel says, his voice calm, but there’s an edge to it, like a storm gathering on the horizon. You smile, thank the cashier, and head out, leaving Joel to face the man alone.

Joel steps closer to the counter, his voice low, “I need somethin' for sleep—pills. And somethin' for anxiety.”

The cashier looks him over, sizing him up, then slides a small bottle across the counter. “This one’s a big dose,” the guy says, cocking an eyebrow. “You sure you can handle it?”

“Just gimme the damn pills,” Joel mutters, pulling out his wallet.

As he’s counting out the bills, the cashier’s grin widens. “She’s a pretty little thing, huh? You’re a lucky man.”

Joel’s fingers freeze on the money, his pulse quickening. He doesn’t look up, trying to focus on the task, willing himself to ignore it. Not worth it.

“Where’d you get her?” the cashier continues, a smug edge to his voice. “I like me some of that, you know? Look at those tits and that slim little—”

Before the words are fully out of the man’s mouth, Joel’s hand is at his throat, gripping his shirt by the collar, yanking him forward across the counter. The cashier’s eyes widen in shock as Joel’s face inches closer, the fury in his gaze barely contained.

“What’d you say?” Joel’s voice is low, dangerous. His grip tightens, and the cashier's breath hitches in fear. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you ever talk about her like that again.”

The cashier stammers, eyes darting around, looking for an escape. “I’m sorry, man! I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry!”

Joel’s fist flies before he can think twice, smashing into the man’s nose with a sickening crack. Blood spills immediately, and the cashier clutches his face, whining in pain as Joel steps back, grabbing the pills and tossing the cash on the counter.

As Joel turns to leave, something catches his eye—a muted TV screen hanging in the corner of the store. The news is on, and a reporter’s voice echoes faintly through the store,

“Another body has been found, a young girl has been mutilated beyond recognition, suspected to be the work of the cannibal killer last seen in Chicago. The remains were discovered this morning in West Virginia… The suspect seen to be a caucasian man in his late 40s or ealy 50s, always wearing black leather jacket."

But Joel’s not listening about the suspect's characteristic. His head is still buzzing with adrenaline, his mind too consumed with the memory of the cashier’s words, the sickening way he talked about you. His grip on the pills tightens as he pushes through the door and heads to the truck.

You’re already sitting inside, looking up as he approaches. “What did you buy?” you ask, your voice light and curious.

Joel forces a smile, tucking the pills into his jacket pocket. “Just vitamins,” he says, climbing into the driver’s seat and starting the engine. The truck rumbles to life beneath them, but his heart is still racing from the encounter inside.

You hum, seemingly content with the answer, as the sound of Patsy Cline’s “Lovesick Blues” fills the cab. You chew your bubble gum, tapping your foot to the beat, oblivious to the storm brewing in Joel’s chest. He glances over at you, trying to let the sight of you melt the tension away, but it clings to him like the humidity in the air.

Joel grips the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead as the truck pulls out of the gas station, heading toward Richmond. The past clings to him like a shadow, and even though he’s beside you, it feels like something darker is lurking just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to pounce.

***

The sun rises softly over Richmond, casting a golden glow that warms the pavement and the hearts of those wandering its streets. It feels like the city has wrapped you and Joel in a cozy embrace, the air thick with the scent of blooming magnolias and fresh coffee from the little café you found tucked away in a corner. The day unfolds like a beautiful tapestry, woven with laughter and stolen glances.

You spent the morning wandering through the cobblestone streets, hand in hand with Joel, sharing stories and dreams. The laughter you both shared echoed like a sweet melody, a contrast to the heaviness that often hung over your heads. You visited the local art museum, marvelling at vibrant canvases that danced with color, each brushstroke inviting you to lose yourself in its depths. Later, you strolled along the riverbank, watching the water glisten like scattered diamonds under the sun.

As the day drifted into a golden sunset, you found a small restaurant with outdoor seating. Candlelight flickered against the evening breeze, and the two of you shared a plate of garlic shrimp and creamy risotto, the flavors rich and comforting, like the connection growing between you. Joel looked at you, his gaze softening as if the world around you faded into a mere whisper, leaving only the warmth of the moment.

But now, as the sun rose on a new day, the horizon painted with the soft pastels of dawn, you were packing up, getting ready to hit the road again.

Joel had decided to skip Charlotte, choosing instead to spend two days in Atlanta before go to Miami, a fresh adventure that sparked a glimmer of excitement in your heart.

You could feel the anticipation buzzing in the air as he loaded up the truck, your spirits buoyed by the sweet memories of the previous day.

Two hours into the drive, the truck hummed steadily along the highway, classic rock filling the cab. The Eagles’ “Hotel California” danced through the air like an old friend, familiar and comforting.

Joel’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the steering wheel, a steady cadence that matched the beating of your heart. His face was focused, a portrait of concentration as the road stretched endlessly ahead, a ribbon of asphalt winding through the landscape.

You’re curled up in the passenger seat, your new book, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, in your lap. The words flow over you like a gentle stream, pulling you into a world where everything feels deeply real and beautifully haunting. As you read, the scenery rushes past the window—rolling hills painted in hues of green and gold, sprawling fields dotted with wildflowers dancing in the breeze, and the occasional farmhouse that looks like it stepped straight out of a postcard.

But something gnaws at Joel, the peace of the day shattered by an uncomfortable weight. He glances in the rearview mirror, a frown creasing his brow. A black car has been shadowing them since they left the motel in Richmond, its presence lurking like a dark cloud on a clear day. Not this again. The feeling is suffocating, tightening his chest as he thinks, Not this time. Just a coincidence.

Yet, as he studies the mirror, he can’t shake the uneasy feeling creeping in like shadows at dusk. Every time he thinks he might catch a glimpse of the driver’s face, the car swerves slightly, as if intentionally avoiding his gaze, slipping back into obscurity like a thief in the night. He mentally jots down the car’s license plate, the idea of keeping tabs on it soothing some of his fraying nerves.

“Doll,” he called softly, his voice breaking through your thoughts. You looked up from your book, "Hm?" a quizzical expression on your face.

“Can you help me with something?”

“What is it?” you asked, closing the book and focusing on him.

“Grab me a notepad and a pen, would ya? I want to note that plate number. Just in case.”

Your heart quickened as you registered the seriousness in his tone. Nodding, you scrambled to comply, shoving the book into your bag and grabbing the notepad from the glove compartment.

As Joel spelled out the license plate, you scribbled it down, your fingers moving quickly, the urgency palpable.

“Got it?” he asked, eyes still trained on the road.

“Yeah,” you replied, handing him the notepad.

He took it with his right hand, glancing at the rearview mirror again. But as his eyes locked with the driver, the black car swerved away, vanishing into the distance like a shadow at sunset.

“Who’s that?” you ask, fear creeping into your voice as you look back, your heart racing at the sudden shift in the atmosphere.

Joel’s jaw tightens, his mind racing. “I don’t know,” But even as he says it, the gnawing feeling persists, echoing in the silence between you.

He glances back at you, trying to calm the storm brewing in your eyes. “It’s okay. Just… keep that notepad in the truck, alright? Just in case he comes back.”

You nod, your unease palpable as you ask again, “Who is that, Joel?”

“It’s okay. Just some dude,” he reassures you, though the lie sits heavy on his tongue. It feels like he’s been following them since the motel.

You then telling him about the strange encounter with Negan in the church couple of days ago in West Virginia, how he seemed overly interested in your well-being, asking questions that made your skin crawl.

"It's funny how he always wear black leather jacket," you say

But Joel doesn’t hear you at all. His mind is miles away, tangled in dark thoughts about the car and the possibility that he’s being watched, that they might know about Ben and Jamie, that they suspect him. The shadows of his past loom larger with every mile they travel, threatening to swallow him whole.

The landscape shifts outside the truck’s window, fields giving way to towering trees that line the road like sentinels. Each passing mile is a testament to the journey you’re on together, yet the shadows linger, a reminder that safety is often an illusion, and sometimes the monsters are real.

[virginiaisforvampires]

Hey Virginia, what do you think will the angst level of Loustat be throughout season 3? Not the dynamic, the angst level itself, and why

Pretty fucking high.

They have a lot to discuss and reconcile — the interview itself, the Talamasca’s interference, Louis’ suicide attempt, Claudia’s death, Armand’s involvement, the rocks in Louis’ ankles, the trial, Lestat’s backstory, Lestat’s career, Louis falsely blaming Lestat, what happened to Lestat after Paris, what happened to Louis after Paris, Armand’s abuse of Louis, the call, their past/present/future relationship, the full truth of what happened in New Orleans and Paris, etc.

All of that will be incredibly painful for both Louis and Lestat. Lestat hurts when Louis hurts, and Louis hurts when Lestat hurts.

When you lance a wound…..it hurts.