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mostlysignssomeportents · 8 months

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How Google’s trial secrecy lets it control the coverage

I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.

"Corporate crime" is practically an oxymoron in America. While it's true that the single most consequential and profligate theft in America is wage theft, its mechanisms are so obscure and, well, dull that it's easy to sell us on the false impression that the real problem is shoplifting:

https://newrepublic.com/post/175343/wage-theft-versus-shoplifting-crime

Corporate crime is often hidden behind Dana Clare's Shield Of Boringness, cloaked in euphemisms like "risk and compliance" or that old favorite, "white collar crime":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/07/solar-panel-for-a-sex-machine/#a-single-proposition

And corporate crime has a kind of performative complexity. The crimes come to us wreathed in specialized jargon and technical terminology that make them hard to discern. Which is wild, because corporate crimes occur on a scale that other crimes – even those committed by organized crime – can't hope to match:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/12/no-criminals-no-crimes/#get-out-of-jail-free-card

But anything that can't go on forever eventually stops. After decades of official tolerance (and even encouragement), corporate criminals are finally in the crosshairs of federal enforcers. Take National Labor Relations Board general counsel Jennifer Abruzzo's ruling in Cemex: when a company takes an illegal action to affect the outcome of a union election, the consequence is now automatic recognition of the union:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

That's a huge deal. Before, a boss could fire union organizers and intimidate workers, scuttle the union election, and then, months or years later, pay a fine and some back-wages…and the union would be smashed.

The scale of corporate crime is directly proportional to the scale of corporations themselves. Big companies aren't (necessarily) led by worse people, but even small sins committed by the very largest companies can affect millions of lives.

That's why antitrust is so key to fighting corporate crime. To make corporate crimes less harmful, we must keep companies from attaining harmful scale. Big companies aren't just too big to fail and too big to jail – they're also too big for peaceful coexistence with a society of laws.

The revival of antitrust enforcement is such a breath of fresh air, but it's also fighting headwinds. For one thing, there's 40 years of bad precedent from the nightmare years of pro-monopoly Reaganomics to overturn:

https://pluralistic.net/ApexPredator

It's not just precedents in the outcomes of trials, either. Trial procedure has also been remade to favor corporations, with judges helping companies stack the deck in their own favor. The biggest factor here is secrecy: blocking recording devices from courts, refusing to livestream the proceedings, allowing accused corporate criminals to clear the courtroom when their executives take the stand, and redacting or suppressing the exhibits:

https://prospect.org/power/2023-09-27-redacted-case-against-amazon/

When a corporation can hide evidence and testimony from the public and the press, it gains broad latitude to dispute critics, including government enforcers, based on evidence that no one is allowed to see, or, in many cases, even describe. Take Project Nessie, the program that the FTC claims Amazon used to compel third-party sellers to hike prices across many categories of goods:

https://www.wsj.com/business/retail/amazon-used-secret-project-nessie-algorithm-to-raise-prices-6c593706

Amazon told the press that the FTC has "grossly mischaracterize[d]" Project Nessie. The DoJ disagrees, but it can't say why, because the Project Nessie files it based its accusations on have been redacted, at Amazon's insistence. Rather than rebutting Amazon's claim, FTC spokesman Douglas Farrar could only say "We once again call on Amazon to move swiftly to remove the redactions and allow the American public to see the full scope of what we allege are their illegal monopolistic practices."

It's quite a devastating gambit: when critics and prosecutors make specific allegations about corporate crimes, the corporation gets to tell journalists, "No, that's wrong, but you're not allowed to see the reason we say it's wrong."

It's a way to work the refs, to get journalists – or their editors – to wreathe bold claims in endless hedging language, or to avoid reporting on the most shocking allegations altogether. This, in turn, keeps corporate trials out of the public eye, which reassures judges that they can defer to further corporate demands for opacity without facing an outcry.

That's a tactic that serves Google well. When the company was dragged into court by the DoJ Antitrust Division, it demanded – and received – a veil of secrecy that is especially ironic given the company's promise "to organize the world's information and make it universally accessible and useful":

https://usvgoogle.org/trial-update-9-22

While this veil has parted somewhat, it is still intact enough to allow the company to work the refs and kill disfavorable reporting from the trial. Last week, Megan Gray – ex-FTC, ex-DuckDuckGo – published an editorial in Wired reporting on her impression of an explosive moment in the Google trial:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/03/not-feeling-lucky/#fundamental-laws-of-economics

According to Gray, Google had run a program to mess with the "semantic matching" on queries, silently appending terms to users' searches that caused them to return more ads – and worse results. This generated more revenue for Google, at the expense of advertisers who got billed to serve ads that didn't even match user queries.

Google forcefully disputed this claim:

https://twitter.com/searchliaison/status/1709726778170786297

They contacted Gray's editors at Wired, but declined to release all the exhibits and testimony that Gray used to form her conclusions about Google's conduct; instead, they provided a subset of the relevant materials, which cast doubt on Gray's accusations.

Wired removed Gray's piece, with an unsigned notice that "WIRED editorial leadership has determined that the story does not meet our editorial standards. It has been removed":

https://www.wired.com/story/google-antitrust-lawsuit-search-results/

But Gray stands by her piece. She admits that she might have gotten some of the fine details wrong, but that these were not material to the overall point of her story, that Google manipulated search queries to serve more ads at the expense of the quality of the results:

https://twitter.com/megangrA/status/1711035354134794529

She says that the piece could and should have been amended to reflect these fine-grained corrections, but that in the absence of a full record of the testimony and exhibits, it was impossible for her to prove to her editors that her piece was substantively correct.

I reviewed the limited evidence that Google permitted to be released and I find her defense compelling. Perhaps you don't. But the only way we can factually resolve this dispute is for Google to release the materials that they claim will exonerate them. And they won't, though this is fully within their power.

I've seen this playbook before. During the early months of the pandemic, a billionaire who owned a notorious cyberwarfare company used UK libel threats to erase this fact from the internet – including my own reporting – on the grounds that the underlying research made small, non-material errors in characterizing a hellishly complex financial Rube Goldberg machine that was, in my opinion, deliberately designed to confuse investigators.

Like the corporate crimes revealed in the Panama Papers and Paradise Papers, the gambit is complicated, but it's not sophisticated:

Make everything as complicated as possible;

Make everything as secret as possible;

Dismiss any accusations by claiming errors in the account of the deliberately complex arrangements, which can't be rectified because the relevant materials are a secret.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/09/working-the-refs/#but-id-have-to-kill-you

My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!

Image: Jason Rosenberg (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/underpants/12069086054/

CC BY https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

Japanexperterna.se (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/japanexperterna/15251188384/

CC BY-SA 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

#pluralistic #secrecy #opacity #google #antitrust #trustbusting #wired #working the refs #megan grey #semantic matching

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todayontumblr · 1 year

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Friday April 14.

Stop: time for kitty cat facts.

Stop! Arrêtez! Hou op! Спри се! Halt! Pare! Detener! 停止! रुकें! 중지! Dur! やめる! توقف! תפסיק! Imani! Itigil! Kwụsị! Prohibere!

You get the idea. It is of the utmost importance that you stop right there—because it's Friday, and times are tough and friends are few. So, we thought we would both complement and/or remedy this situation with a prescription that goes down smooth every single time: an assortment of the finest kitty #cats combed from the dashboard's discerning cat fandom, as well as a series of fascinating cat facts with which you can show off next time the need arises. Impressing friends? Check. Games night? Check. Dinner party? Check. The International Conference For Interesting Cat Facts (ICFICF)? Check. For all things four-legged, fascinating, and feline, you've come to the right place. We like to think this post has found you for a reason, in fact.

The oldest known pet cat existed 9,500 years ago

Cats spend 70% of their lives sleeping

A cat was the Mayor of an Alaskan town for 20 years

The record for the longest cat ever is 48.5 inches

Ancient Egyptians would shave off their eyebrows when their cats died

House cats share 95.6% of their genetic makeup with tigers

Cats walk like camels and giraffes

Isaac Newton invented the cat door

In 1963 a cat went to space

A house cat can reach speeds of up to 30mph

The oldest cat in the world was 38 years old

The richest cat in the world had * seven million dollars *

That, as they say, is that. Call us The Post—because we promised cat facts and we delivered. And then some. We will now bid you on your merry way towards not just the Friday you need, but the Friday you deserve. With some #cats.

#today on tumblr #cats #cat #cats on tumblr #cat facts #how very interesting #now kitty time #kitty cat #what do we want #when do we want them #well actually they are here right now

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star-anise · 2 months

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are we talking about broke therapists yet?

I've been out of things for a couple of years now, which is why I'm willing to talk about it, and maybe the pandemic has helped things a little, but holy shit the counselling and psychotherapy field is not equipped to help its practitioners in the gig economy.

Of all my interests and talents, I pursued a degree in psychology because being a therapist is supposed to be a safe, stable, well-paid job. Every therapist I met who was registered before 2008 worked and lived under that assumption. And oh boy are all the fee structures--registration, supervision, continuing education, conferences--set up for that scenario.

After getting my Master's, I struggled like hell to get a job. It was especially bad because to get my license, I needed a supervisor to take me on. To take me on, most supervisors wanted me to already have a caseload and client base. To get a caseload and client base, I needed a job.

Friends: Every single job I heard back on wanted me to have my license before I could even land an interview.

Professors and career advisors and professional development specialists all advised me very earnestly to just keep cold-calling people on the supervision list, and it began to feel a lot like my parents' friends telling me to hit the bricks and hand out resumes. That's what worked for them, right?

I finally got a supervisor who agreed to take me on, and I'd be able to use her clinic for advertising and workspace, and we were doing the paperwork to send in with my registration, when she called me up and said, "Is this job going to be your only source of income? If you're trying to depend on getting clients and building your practice for your basic needs, this is not going to work out. This has to be something you're doing on top of a basic salary. Okay, so you're not working anywhere else right now? I'm sorry, I can't move forward with this."

Even once I landed a supervisor and a job building my own private practice, I struggled. I have ADHD and am not great at self-promotion, so trying to do all my own advertising, scheduling, bookkeeping, billing, and records management (on top of counselling) was an enormous strain. One my bosses, supervisors, and other senior professionals watched with a slightly critical eye, but consoled me about because in their early days, their clinics had had business managers, receptionists, filing clerks, and accountants, and getting used to doing everything online yourself was a bit of a learning curve, wasn't it?

I counted my pennies very carefully, because I had to pay my supervisor roughly $180 for their services every 6 hours of in-person counselling I did. This meant that to break even I had to charge my clients an average of about $30 (plus room rental and service fees) an hour--and my clients, being people with complex trauma, were frequently poor, disabled, unemployed, and had no health benefits, so even $10 or $20 a session was a lot for them.

Maybe it would have been easier if I could have taken some of those nice comfortable organization positions where they find clients and funding for you and you work 40 hours a week and get benefits and a pension, but I had to be disabled into the bargain, so working 40 hours a week just isn't possible for me. I start passing out from stress and exhaustion. Older colleagues gave me serious-faced advice about approaching my employer and asking them for some flexibility and accommodation in my schedule, and I tried to explain across the gap between us that employers simply did not hire me if I made the slightest noise about the workload. They weren't going to invest in me as a person; they were hiring 40 units of work a week, and if I wouldn't do it there were a dozen applicants after me who would.

At one point I broke down enough to email my licensing body because the Annual General Meeting/Professional Development Conference was coming up, and I wanted to attend, but I could not produce $500 to do it with. Was there some kind of way I could attend anyway? I felt ashamed to have to ask, and then absolutely mortified when the response came from the organization president, who needed to personally sign off on me being too poor to attend the single most important event in my profession's calendar year.

I honestly felt so ashamed all the time at how I was apparently failing to be a successful therapist, failing to be rich and successful, and every time I mentioned it around mentors and bosses, I could feel myself shrinking from a person to a problem to be solved. My closest therapist-friends and I have reflected on how much more difficult, poorly-paid and underworked, our various career starts have been than we were ever warned about. About the classmates and coworkers who couldn't get disability exceptions when they fell behind in their registration requirements, or burned out and left the field, or dropped their registrations and took up as life coaches, or moved their whole family somewhere exceptionally remote or rural because it was the only good job available, or worked for some godforsaken app skirting the bounds of malpractice like BetterHelp.

I like those conversations, because I feel less like an absolute fuck-up in them. There's less "Hey Lis, you were so talented in grad school, I really admired you, what are you doing now?" "Oh, I, uh... am professionally disabled, so I get government benefits, and I... sell embroidery patterns on Etsy now."

My own therapist kept asking if and when I felt like going back to being a counsellor, and I finally told him: I don't, actually. I don't want to go back and do it like I was doing it before. It was a profession I loved to the depths of my soul, and it profoundly did not love me back. I can't even imagine what would have to change, in me or it, to make it have a space in it that could fit me.

All of which I was way too scared to admit to at the time, because the more I let people know I was struggling, the more they hinted that maybe I just wasn't in a place in my life where this was a job I could do, and I needed to take a little break and wait to come back until money and disability just weren't issues for me anymore.

Eventually my cups of doubt and exhaustion did overflow, and I quit. I'm here now, living a much different life. And at the very least, all my years of helping people in bad life situations set me up perfectly for my own. I already knew what form to fill out for financial assistance, which student clinics to access for mental health support, and which government agency would, if pressed, cough out pharmacy coverage for the genuinely destitute. It gave me that much.

I hope this is just me being in extraordinary circumstances, sitting at the intersections of a few different shitty life situations that most people skip right past. Because it's on one level comforting, but another deeply infuriating, if I'm not, and I've just missed it or we've just all been too afraid to admit it to each other.

#staranise original #therapisting

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fanfoolishness · 2 months

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I like to imagine that in the future, people remember the clones. After Palpatine falls for good on Exegol, imagine an explosion of freedom and knowledge in those days after the final defeat: imagine archaeologists and scholars plumbing the depths of Imperial and First Order records, trying to figure out what had happened so it could never happen again. And through it all they find the clones’ story woven into everything, until a new field emerges of Clone Studies, a loose alliance of military history buffs and research biologists and anthropologists and ethicists.

They catalogue the Kaminoans’ research; they review the clone memorials on Coruscant, on Zeffo, monuments as large as a massive wall or as small as a quiet statue, from people throughout the galaxy who were grateful for what they did. They study the great tragedy and betrayal of the chip, finally understanding the scope of Palpatine’s plans and bringing them out into the open, sharing the truth that the clones never chose to betray the Jedi Order and Republic they had served faithfully. They study old war vids and oral histories from people of long-lived species or whose grandparents remembered the clones; they build, memory by memory, a sense of the culture, the camaraderie, the brotherhood, the loyalty. They collect vids of battle songs and in-jokes and an interior language shared among them, springing up over the years.

They find and list their names, self-chosen or given by their brothers: Rex, Fives, Howzer, Echo, Tup, Gregor, Wolffe, Cody, Boil, Waxer, Cut. They study the clones whose differences defined them and knit them into a family whose ties could not be broken, Hunter, Wrecker, Tech, Crosshair, Omega. They study the discarded who nevertheless still had value - 99, Emerie, the clones who were culled in infancy for being wrong. There are specialists who devote their entire branch of study to the only male unaltered clone and his infamous exploits throughout the galaxy, so alike his father’s. They study the years of the clone rebellion, a fight that paved the way for the next wave of fighters and the next after them.

The clones are gone. That is undisputed. Their kind came for a little while, and then vanished, burning brightly; their tale was a tragedy, but one unique in all its seeming sameness. There are conferences and holovids and books. There are debates and research firing up young scholars about a time only their great-grandparents can remember.

In the future, after all the clones are gone, there are still stories.

#the clones #clone wars #the clone wars #the bad batch #Star Wars #clone force 99 #I’m just having feelings okay #Star Wars meta #clone wars meta #bad batch meta #clones

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chaosandmarigolds · 16 days

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Last Call (Fluff portion)

(Fluff. All fluff till the very very end <3)

Monday was normally the most chaotic within the Riley household, as you had to get to work early which would leave Simon with a wailing six-month-old and very stubborn seven year old to get ready. However on that snowy day, even half past nine not a sound was heard, and that could be summed up to the very evident fact that it was winter break. Somehow even the slumbering baby knew of this and had chosen to not make a single sound during the night, sleeping through the snowstorm that hissed outside the warm walls.

Yet. like always, there always had to be something to break the silence, shriek the peaceful slumber into reality, and that thing just happened to be Simon’s phone buzzing. Not bothering to open your eyes you grumble, burying your face into the pillow- his only muttering being heard as he leaned over you to grab the phone. When his weight moved off of you the sense of being awake was a bit overwhelming, so you moved to sit up with a yawn- not quite caring to listen in on what he was saying.

“’S Johnny, asking me to pick him up for the training in forty,” His words were hushed, more of a mumble as he set the phone down, leaning back to where his head comfortably laid in your lap. For a moment he could see the confusion etch across your tired expression before you hummed.

“The conference. Forgot about it.” You yawn and rub your eyes with the back of your hand before looking down at him, smiling softly at the look you would only describe as ‘pure admiration’ shining on his face, ”Si?”

With a slight tilt of the head upward told you he had given his undivided attention, however, he realized what you were about to ask and then nodded, “Are we usin the fancy creamer or do we wan’ sugar?”

You playfully hum, watching him stand up, smiling up to him as he stretches, “Fancy creamer, please.”

With a final nod, he leaned over onto the bed, using one hand to stabilize himself to press a kiss to your head, and then as you moved your head he placed a short kiss on your lips before standing up. Just as always, when he opened the door he was met with the oversized lap dog he called Riley curled up on the dog bed (that the dog would drag around the house to where he wanted it to be). The dog perks up when the door opens, sitting to attention and then following him down the hall.

Simon wouldn’t say the house is large, but he was proud of it, after all, he had spent a solid four months renovating it- from baseboards to texturing the ceilings. It served its purpose, the kitchen itself was nice and led to the backyard with a sliding door that he opened to let Riley out. He found Ollie sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open, and a bowl of cereal in front of him. Now, of course, he had woken up when he heard the seven-year-old’s door open, but he also knew that it made the kid smile to think he was able to sneak past him.

The sound of the video on Ollie’s laptop (Simon’s) wasn’t loud by any means but it was what he was watching, by the sound of it it was most likely an airsoft gun and the commentary was lighthearted, two kids, giggling and laughing most likely having a ‘battle’ with the friends which they recorded and then put it on YouTube. It was stupid, they didn’t sound alike, yet it still caused a slight dump of adrenaline to shoot itself into his blood.

“Olls?”

“Yes, sir?” The boy replied, mouth half full with cereal.

“Can ya put your earbuds in? Or mute it.” To his words, the video was paused and Ollie ran to the living room, coming back with a pair of camo headphones and plugging them into the laptop before returning to his video.

As the coffee brewed he had put on a kettle, got the two mugs out, and set them out, leaning against the counter as he stared at the floor, thinking about whatever would come to mind- which was everything. That was until he heard Riley bark at the backdoor, so he let the dog in, making sure the dog stopped on the towel they had laid out to dry off. The newspaper in the dog’s mouth dropped to his feet. Interestingly, he hadn’t been on the newspaper list in years. So he assumed Riley had jumped the fence and taken the neighbors (the dog had a hard time going against training, and he would often find a way to fulfill his training even if not needed anymore)

Nonetheless, he wasn’t going to be upset about it as he highly doubted his neighbors would care, so he set the newspaper on the counter and went back to the coffee pot about to pour it into the mug when he saw you walking down the hall, Tess in your grasp. To the sight he frowned, still returning your kiss as you gave him a quick peck. “Was gonna bring you your coffee, didn’t have to get up.”

With a shake of your head, you put the baby in the highchair as you go to the fridge, getting a bottle from it, “Was about to fall back asleep, had to get up.”

To that his eyebrows furrow and he takes the creamer you had been holding out for him, adding a portion to your mug and setting it by the highchair as you gave Tess her bottle. Surprisingly, he had expected babies to be fussy, crying all the time (at least that is how Jane, Johnny’s niece, had been) however Tess barely made a noise. She would only cry if someone else was crying, or be upset if someone else seemed upset. So when the baby saw his disgruntled expression her once giddy and happy face downturned.

When Tess got her bottle though she seemed to forget about her emotions and happily went to drinking, while you stood back up and picked up the mug, noticing the newspaper. “You signed up for the paper again?”

As you bring the mug to your lips you look to your husband, who was waiting for his tea to seep, and he shook his head, “Ri grabbed it.”

“Probably from the Johnsons, I don’t think they’ll care,” You remark with a shrug and then walk over to Olls, glancing over what he was watching and then pressing a kiss to his head, tugging off one of the headphones to speak to him, “Twenty more minutes, then I need you to go clean up your room.”

For a millionth of a second, it looked like the boy was about to return with a sharp ‘no’ or something along those lines however the words died on his tongue and he nodded, “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you,” You then turn to your husband, who just glanced up from his coffee and then quickly back down to it, “You gotta get dressed, Johnny is probably waiting in the snow for you.”

“Said in forty, ‘s fault if he ‘s out ther’ ‘fore it.” Simon said sheepishly, “An’ I dunno where my eye-black went.”

To that you furrow your eyebrows, pausing as you think “You’re procrastinating because you don’t know where your eye-black went?”

A short pause and he pulls out his tea bag, “Yes, Mam.”

“Use my eyeshadow then, probably better for your skin,” To your words you could see his expression falter and you could swear you saw the grown man pout for a second before you rolled your eyes and walked over to him, “I probably accidentally put it with the costume makeup.”

“I’ll check after I get dressed, mm?”

“Simon, you have twenty-five minutes before you said you would be at Johnny’s, and he lives how far again?” Silence is what you were met with so you give him a quick kiss and then pat his shoulder, “I’ll get your gear from the office, you find your big boy makeup.”

According to Simon, he could get dressed within thirty seconds, and that includes the mask and the eye-black and making sure everything is holstered and on safety; however, when you time it, it ends up being about two-ish minutes and you wouldn’t lie that it mainly because you would sometimes interrupt him to make sure everything was just right- which he would gripe about. Saying that it didn’t matter and that it was supposed to look messy, to that normally you would scold him, saying that he is representing his family and you refuse to be seen as messy. Then, of course, you have to make sure his mask can be pulled up, purely because he needs to be able to eat and drink (lies)

It would be a lie to say you didn’t find your husband’s military get-up to be somewhat attractive, and terrifying you also wouldn’t like but there was something about it that just made you smile. Yes, you were also aware that any sane human would look at you were crazy, so you supposed it was because you knew the person behind it, knew him first instead of the ghost he pretended to be. So, you smiled as Tess laughed and squealed at the sight of the monstrous man, she always knew her father, no matter what he wore and you supposed that was a good thing. You stood by the door while he kissed the baby goodbye and told Ollie to behave, it felt like a movie, which was almost funny.

“Wan’ me to pick up dinner?” He asked as he grabbed the truck keys from the coffee table.

“Yes please, pizza and don’t forget-”

“Don’t forget the cheesy bread and ‘colas’, yes mam.” With that being said you give him a quick kiss between his eyes and send him off.

Sometimes life felt like a movie, other times it felt… eerie, and what caused that feeling on that day was that as you looked across the street to your neighbors, the Johnsons, you saw their newspaper sitting atop their neatly made patio. Newly placed, as it was atop the snow, meanwhile as you looked over the front porch you saw the small snowless patch atop of one of the chairs.

Maybe Simon did sign up for the newspaper again. Odd thing to lie about.

It was around two, Oliver was happily reading while Tess was napping away in her playpen when your phone buzzed, so you set your book down and grabbed the landline (something that Simon was oddly insistent about, and you enjoyed it to be honest) “The Riley’s-”

“I love you.”

The sound of his voice was shaky, which was enough to make your blood run cold and the service was horrid, muffled by static and what you assumed to be other people around.

“Is it Dad? Can you tell him to get more pancake mix?” Ollie chirped up, climbing onto the sofa to you, however, you sit still for a moment.

“Simon?”

“I love you, baby. So much.”

“Honey, I..I love you too, what’s going-”

“I..I can’t tell you right now, but…somethin happened, Johnny…nothin, be home aroun’ midnight.”

“Simon-.”

“I love you.”

(Ahem...uh yeah...anyway... comments, feedback and all that mean the world to me <3)

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theemporium · 9 months

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Max ready to destroy the earth if someone so much as disrespects or pisses Trouble off

it’s low-key giving will smith🤠anyways thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

Max was always very blunt and honest in conferences and interviews, it was just the way he was.

And it wasn’t uncommon for him to defend himself and his friends in said interviews. He did it countless times when journalists tried to push stories about him being too aggressive, too angry, too competitive on track.

He did it countless times when they would come for Charles and blame he was taking for his team’s mistakes. He did it countless times when people questioned Daniel’s performance and his right to have the Red Bull seat. He did it countless times when they tried to drag Lando for not achieving highly when McLaren weren’t giving him the car he needed to be proving he could do as much.

And he would be damned if he didn’t do it for you too.

It was after a race. He was tired, exhausted even, and all he wanted to do was wrap up the rest of his duties so he could maybe sneak a nap in with you before you both joined the rest of the team for a night out to celebrate his win.

He was approaching the last interviewers, a name he vaguely recognised and his nose scrunched up when he remembered most of the man’s questions were tasteless and dry. But he shrugged it off, keeping a passive face as he approached the journalist with his PR manager lingering behind him with a tape recorder in hand.

“Max Verstappen, how does it feel to be a winner again?”

He gave the man a tight-lipped smile and hoped it was enough to hide his exhaustion as he continued the interview.

And it was going fine, in retrospect. The man’s questions were similar to the countless ones he had been asked before. But he couldn’t complain because they were easy to answer, and easy to mostly zone out until he knew he had to answer.

Until he asked something that caught Max’s attention right away.

“Any plans to celebrate with your side piece after your race win? Maybe get her on her knees?”

Max blinked, and for a short moment he wondered if he just completely mistranslated what the man said.

“What?”

But the man repeated the question again, a slimy smirk on his face and your name was rolling off his tongue. And truthfully, Max didn’t even remember moving or reacting or even breathing in that moment.

One second the man was holding a microphone to his face, awaiting his answer. And the next, he was on the floor as he clutched his bloody nose and screamed Bloody Mary.

He was vaguely aware of other drivers and journalists and PR managers looking over, trying to understand the scene in front of them. He was vaguely aware of security being called and someone mentioning Christian or Helmut. He was vaguely aware of someone trying to tug him back, but he just shrugged them off.

“She’s my girlfriend, you moronic dickhead,” Max spat at the crying journalist. “Put some fucking respect on her name.”

“Alright, let’s go before you break any more noses,” he heard Daniel mutter behind him, and this time he let himself be pulled back.

But then his eyes caught the wide, scared gaze of the cameraman who was recording the whole thing, and he glared. “I hope that bullshit was live. Because next time, I’m breaking more than a fucking nose if anyone ever disrespects her again.”

Despite the commotion being sudden, news spread very quickly around the paddock so it was no surprise to Max that you knew by the time he made it to his driver’s room.

“Playing the knight in shining armour now, huh?” You teased as he entered, still sprawled on the couch without a bother in the world.

“He deserved it,” Max stated simply as he made his way towards you. No matter what happened, no matter what put him in a shitty mood, just being near you always helped.

“He did,” you hummed as you opened your arms and let your boy settle on top of you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “Thank you for defending me.”

“Always, Trouble,” he murmured in reply.

A few beats passed.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing you do it again,” you said, trying to keep your voice as casual as possible as you ran your fingers through his hair. “It was kinda hot.”

You could feel his smirk against your neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Max lifted his head, his eyes a little darker and his mood significantly different to when he entered minutes ago. “Hot enough for me to fuck you over this couch?”

“Hot enough for you to have me any way you want me,” you confessed, your words a little breathier than usual as you felt his hands graze down your side.

Max’s smile was almost sadistic. “Bend over the couch, Trouble.”

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

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roosterforme · 1 year

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The Younger Kind Part 14 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Despite his best efforts, Bradley's mind is flooded with thoughts of you. After receiving a lecture from his best friend and making Noah cry, Bradley makes the decision to reach out to you. But perhaps it's already too late.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, and age gap (18+)

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more!

As soon as Bradley woke to the soft sunlight filtering in through his bedroom windows, his eyes settled on your purple crown. He tilted his head and examined it with a frown. He hadn't moved it since the night you wore it while he fucked you on the couch during your anatomy lesson. And now it seemed too precious to touch.

He had been hoping to spend some time in here with you yesterday, but instead he had shut things down with you completely. He stared at the ceiling trying to convince himself he'd done the right thing by trying to protect you. But all he could think about was how he made you cry.

And then Bradley spent the entirety of Sunday wallowing around in his underwear. He meant to do something productive. He planned on taking Noah grocery shopping. But as soon as Noah woke up and walked into the kitchen, Bradley lost the energy to do anything else at all.

"Is she here?" Noah asked, holding up some coloring books and a bag of Skittles. Bradley's heart sank. You must have left those on Noah's dresser last night.

"No, bub. She's not here."

He watched Noah's face fall as he sat at the kitchen table with the coloring books. "Can I eat them?" he asked, shaking the candy.

Bradley swallowed hard. "Yeah," he croaked, tearing the bag open for his child to eat Skittles for breakfast. Maybe Meredith had a point about his lack of stability.

"Share?" Noah asked, holding out the bag, but Bradley shook his head.

"I never deserved them."

The next day, Bradley started a week of work during which he promised himself he would get into a normal routine. But it was hard to make plans that didn't involve you when all he could do was think about you.

When he got to the coffee shop, the barista made him his coffee along with yours as soon as she saw him. "Thanks," he muttered, accepting both cups and a sharpie. He scrawled peasant across both cups and forced the drinks down on his drive to work.

To make matters worse, Noah asked for you constantly, and Bradley didn't know how to tell him that his beloved babysitter wouldn't be coming around anymore because his dad lied to her. So he didn't really say anything at all. Instead he watched his son look as dejected as he felt.

Tuesday after work, Bradley picked Noah up and they both headed over to meet with Tracy, his lawyer.

Once Bradley was seated across a small conference table from her while Noah colored on copy paper, Tracy sighed and shook her head.

"Bradley. I told you months ago that you needed to work on getting a custody agreement into place with Noah's mom." She was flipping through the papers in the manila folder that Meredith had left with him.

"Yeah," Bradley grunted. "Well, am I too late?"

She didn't answer him for a long time. Rather she added notes and marked things up with a purple highlighter. He thought of your purple crown hanging from his bed. He thought of your purple Skittles and nail polish and all the purple crayons. Who the fuck used a purple highlighter anyway?

"There's no way to prove she abandoned Noah," Tracy told him firmly, and Bradley already felt defeated.

"But she did!" he growled, already feeling bad for getting snippy with his lawyer, but at least he was paying someone to deal with his shitty attitude right now.

Tracy looked him calmly in the eye. "It doesn't matter if she did, Bradley. She would have access to the same phone records you do. She would be able to show that she tried to contact you fairly regularly. Furthermore, she lives in Oceanside, so she could claim she stayed nearby in an effort to be more involved. I can almost guarantee her lawyer will to try to push this back on you."

Bradley scoffed. "Can they do that?"

"Absolutely," Tracy confirmed. "They will try, and they will probably succeed. Judges usually like to side with mothers. And Meredith will be able to play the victim in this scenario pretty easily, I would imagine. How is a mother expected to help provide for her son if the child's horrible father won't let her spend time with him? How is Meredith expected to do anything for him when you have been keeping Noah from her?"

"He's almost four!" Bradley said, gesturing toward Noah as he colored quietly. "She's just acting on this now. Doesn't that look bad?"

Tracy shook her head sadly at him and listed off so many plausible sounding excuses that Bradley's stomach churned. "She tried to work it out with you, but you snubbed her. She didn't have the monetary resources until recently. You made her feel uncomfortable. She got bad legal advice previously which set her back. She wanted to make sure she was in a good place mentally to be a parent. The list of excuses could go on and on. She and her lawyer will find one that fits her nicely."

Bradley felt sick. "I can't lose him, Tracy. And you know as well as I do that none of that is true."

She nodded, reached across the table and patted his hand, and then said, "This is why I advised you to fix this before."

Bradley took some deep breaths while she shuffled the papers in front of her. "What can I do now?"

Then Tracy was looking at him with sharp eyes. "Did you tie up your loose ends?"

Bradley was uncomfortable. He undid the top two buttons of his khaki uniform shirt and took a deep breath. "If you're asking me if I broke my own heart and Noah's by telling the first girl I've had feelings for in years that I can't see her anymore, then yes, Tracy, I tied up my loose ends."

"Bradley. You're the one who asked me to advise you. From this point on, you need to look flawless. Do you understand me? You can see her again after we complete litigation."

He ran his hands over his face, suddenly exhausted even though he'd gone to bed at eight last night. "This is all going to be very confusing for him," Bradley said, nodding toward his son who had already used up half of Tracy's stack of paper. "And I can't ask someone to wait for me when we don't even know how long this is going to take. When I don't even know why this is happening."

Tracy handed some papers to him. "Since I believe you can't win the argument that Meredith abandoned Noah, we need to look at custody options. If you don't want to ask for any child support from Meredith, and you're willing to work with her for visitation rights, I'm nearly certain you can win full custody."

Win. Bradley didn't like thinking about Noah as an object. One that could be shared, passed from one parent to the other, and awarded ownership of. But he had to in this case.

He grunted, "No. No visitation. I want her out of the picture completely. I don't want her money. I don't want anything from her. I want full, sole custody. Do you think we can settle out of court?"

"With that list of demands? Doubtful. I don't think she will settle."

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

You only left your bed on Sunday to go to the bathroom. You were sad, about Bradley and what you thought you meant to him, but you were especially distraught about how much you were going to miss Noah. And you were so upset with yourself, too. You were angry. You had grown so attached to that little boy and his father. Bradley was a walking, talking red flag, but you just couldn't seem to help yourself.

He didn't want you. He was more than willing to mess around with you, sure. But you were beginning to see that Bradley only saw you as an easy piece of ass. One that would melt when he pretended to beg. One that he could butter up with vanilla lattes. One that would let him have a quickie before work. All while going out with other women. All while planning to sort things out with Meredith.

You wondered how much of what he'd told you that night on his living room floor was actually accurate. If she really left them, why was he willing to discuss getting back together with her now? Why was Bradley going to let her have a chance to be a real mom to Noah?

Every time you thought about how you ran away from Meredith at the park, you rolled over and buried your head under your pillow. She had more rights to be around her son than you did, and you ran away from her. Mortifying. And your arm still hurt and would take weeks to heal.

Thursday was Noah's birthday. You really wanted to see him. You already had birthday presents for him. You had been planning on baking him a dinosaur cake for the past week. It was all you could think about.

You needed a distraction. That's how you ended up drunk at Greyson's place on Wednesday night. It was a stupid decision. You had class in the morning. You had interviews for jobs coming up, and you needed to get good recommendation letters from your instructors. But Greyson had cheap vodka, and he was paying attention to you.

"I feel like I haven't seen you in weeks," he said, refilling your drink with a huge pour of alcohol.

"I've been busy," you replied, laying down on his couch as his living room started to spin. "Babysitting. But not anymore."

Somehow you felt a little less sad now as the music playing from Greyson's phone made everything sound fuzzy. And when he set the drink down and climbed on top of you, there was no initial hesitation in your body as he kissed you. He didn't have a mustache, and he wasn't as big and substantial as Bradley, but his kisses felt okay. You knew him. You were used to this.

You arched your back for him to remove your shirt and your bra. He was hard and rubbing you through his jeans as he sucked on your breasts. You moaned softly. He lacked the same finesse that Bradley had, but it still felt good. You could do this.

Greyson unzipped his jeans and guided your hand inside his underwear. You opened your eyes and looked up at his handsome face as you stroked him. "Will you go down on me?" you asked before you really processed your words.

"What?" he grunted, thrusting into your palm. "How drunk are you?"

Your hand paused on his length. What the fuck were you doing? You didn't even want this. "It was just a question, Grey," you mumbled, shifting underneath him.

"Come on, babe. Guys don't like doing that."

But that wasn't true. You closed your eyes, and you could still hear Bradley desperately asking to taste you there. I want to know if you taste sweet all over, Princess. Will you let me find out?

You sat up, startled by the thought, and now the room was really spinning. Bradley liked going down on you. Maybe he was a liar and a manipulator, but he had really enjoyed that. He had made you feel so good. And he hadn't expected anything in return from you afterwards.

"Let's just fuck," Greyson said, reaching for your leggings and yanking them down your thighs. "That's what you need. I'll get a condom."

You watched him stand up and walk away. You were going to cry, you could already tell. And when he returned, you must have had tears in your eyes, because he tossed the condom onto the couch next to you and said, "I knew I shouldn't have given you that much to drink. You probably can't even give me head now."

"I just want to go home," you replied, hating the angry look on his face as he stood above you.

"Fine," he agreed, and he called you a ride. You went to his bathroom, wishing you could go to Bradley's house instead of your empty little rental. And then you cried more. Even splashing cold water on your face seemed to do nothing.

Ten minutes later, Greyson was closing his door behind you as you stumbled outside to find your Uber. The cool night air cleared your head a little bit, and when you got home, you went to your couch with a bag of Skittles.

It was midnight now. It was Noah's birthday. You sucked on a green Skittle and typed up a text to Bradley. Just this one. You'd let yourself send this one text, and then that would be it.

Will you tell Noah I hope he has a wonderful fourth birthday? And tell him I hope he keeps singing the dinosaur song. Please let me know if I can drop off his birthday presents.

You hit send after rereading the message at least ten times. Bradley probably wouldn't respond, and that was fine. You could always just leave the birthday gifts on their front porch. And then you'd never see them again.

Next thing you knew, you were waking up the next morning thirty minutes before your first class started, and you had a handful of Skittles stuck to your palm along with a raging hangover. And you had worn Greyson's hoodie home again even though you meant to leave it at his place last night.

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

When Bradley woke up on Noah's birthday to a text from you, he sat up to read it immediately. He couldn't believe you texted him nearly seven hours ago and he was just seeing it now.

You had birthday presents for his son. Bradley cradled his face in his hand and read the message a second time. You were so sweet. So good to Noah. And Bradley had insinuated that you were everything but that when you had been here on Saturday night. Yet you still wanted to give Noah something for his birthday.

And then he let his imagination run away. He was getting hard as he pictured you in his kitchen, wearing your crown. But he couldn't let himself get off to the thought of you. He didn't even deserve that much. So he just got dressed and started getting some cereal ready for Noah.

Once again, he had no groceries, so he made himself coffee and ate a carrot for breakfast before waking up Noah.

"Happy birthday, bub! You're four now!" he said, scooping Noah up into his arms and holding him tight.

He couldn't lose this feeling. He just couldn't. His lawyer had all but assured him Meredith wouldn't be able to win full custody without visitation. So no matter what, Bradley would still get to feel this, at least on occasion. But as Noah rubbed his sleepy eyes and smiled at him, Bradley knew that he wouldn't be happy with anything except full, sole custody of his kid. He wanted to keep doing exactly what he had been doing for the past four years. "Let's have some cereal, and then I'll take you to daycare."

"Okay," he replied, wrapping his arms around Bradley's neck on the way to the kitchen.

"Aunt Nat is gonna bring you cupcakes later, and then we can have a big party on Saturday."

"Can my babysitter come to my party?"

Bradley set him down and knelt next to the chair. He brushed Noah's hair back from his face and watched him eat Cheerios. "I don't know," he muttered. "I don't think so."

Would you even want to come? Would it be a good idea? Bradley had already lied to you about so many things to get you away from the two of them. But now Noah was crying. Fat tears rolled down his rosy cheeks as his face scrunched up. Great. He made his son cry on his own birthday.

"I miss her, too," Bradley promised, wiping away each tear as it fell.

"You said she was your favorite." Noah looked at him accusingly, as if he knew Bradley had already broken your trust in him.

"She is," Bradley whispered, kissing Noah's forehead. "Eat your cereal."

Bradley stood and picked up his phone, reading your message one more time. He had been blaming Meredith for everything in his mind. But really, he was the villain here in so many ways. Just as he was about to respond to you, he got a call from his lawyer.

"Tracy. Please, give me some good news."

"Sorry it's so early. But I just got off the phone with Meredith's lawyer. She did not agree to our terms, and now we have a preliminary hearing scheduled for next week, just as long as the judge approves it for his docket."

Bradley's heart was pounding as he asked, "Is that good?" His eyes were on Noah as Tracy responded.

"I think it's very good. You asked for sole custody. You tried to offer her visitation rights, at my urging. She rejected the offer. Now we can really dig in and fight. Because we aren't going to backpedal to this offer again when I think you can get exactly what you want."

Exactly what he wanted. Bradley pictured you and Noah napping on the couch with a movie on while he stroked your soft skin. He pictured the three of you eating pizza while you dumped dressing all over your salad. He pictured you underneath him on the living room floor feeding him Skittles while you laughed. He pictured himself eventually picking out a new car for you, as long as it wasn't burgundy.

"Great. Thank you, Tracy. Just let me know when and where. I'm ready to fight."

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

After work, Nat went ahead to his house with dinosaur balloons and some cupcakes while Bradley picked Noah up from daycare. He came out wearing a birthday crown that did not look as adorable on him as the construction paper crowns you and he made.

"Let's go eat cupcakes and have a great night with Aunt Natasha," he said, kissing Noah all over his face while he laughed.

When he carried Noah inside the house, Nat grabbed him up and said, "Happy birthday, sweetheart!" Then she turned to look back at Bradley and leaned to look past him, confused. "It's just the three of us?"

"Yeah," he confirmed, wishing she would end the conversation there. But of course, Bradley wasn't getting anything to go his way right now.

"Is she coming later? Is she still in class?"

"No."

Nat eyed him up and down. "What did you do?"

"Can we talk about this later?"

"No."

Bradley sighed and led them into the kitchen, which Nat had decorated, and Noah climbed down from her arms trying to catch a balloon on his way.

"She's not coming," Bradley told her softly as she messed with his coffee maker.

"So she's coming to the party on Saturday instead?"

"I didn't invite her."

She turned to glare at him. "You've been about an inch away from telling me you're in love with her, and now you're telling me you didn't invite her to Noah's party? Oh," she gasped. "Does this have to do with Merebitch and the custody threat?"

Bradley grunted, not loving having this conversation in front of Noah. "I broke things off. Last Saturday night."

"What?" Nat gasped, getting in his face. "Why am I just hearing about it now? You liked her. You didn't like any of the women from the app, but you liked her. You were actually happy when you came to work after you saw her. What is wrong with you?"

Bradley leaned in closer. "Meredith threatened her. Threatened me and Noah through her. And she already got her arm all banged up trying to keep Noah safe. She's better off without me." His eyes drifted toward Noah who was poking his finger into the icing on one of the cupcakes.

Nat grabbed him by his shirt and shook him. "Invite her right now. Invite her to come on Saturday. Meredith doesn't get to control everything you do just because she decided to show up and start a bunch of shit- I mean crap," she said apologetically as she winced toward Noah.

"I can't, Nat... I was... not kind to her the other night. I told her she was too young and immature for me. I called her a kid. I told her it wouldn't work between us."

Nat looked disgusted. "Fix it. And while you're at it, give her a little credit, Bradley!"

He shook his head. "Meredith already has me by the balls, Nat," he whispered harshly. "I'm not going to let that happen to her, too."

"Look at your son. Does he love his babysitter?"

Bradley narrowed his eyes and glowered at Nat. Then he looked at Noah, and his irritation melted. "Yeah. He's very attached to her." Bradley knew you were attached to Noah as well. And he himself was aching inside without you around.

"Then let him have everyone he loves at his birthday party this weekend. Or you will regret it."

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

You were in bed on Thursday night, trying to tire yourself out with a book so you could fall asleep. Greyson was texting you nonstop, trying to see if you were "feeling better" and "wanted to come over and try again". As if wanting a guy to make you feel good while hooking up was some sort of wild idea you came up with. Like asking him to go down on you was the most outlandish request he had ever heard.

Your phone vibrated again. "Oh my god, Grey. I am not in the fucking mood!" You ripped the charger out of your phone and contemplated throwing it across the room. You were so angry and hurt, and you didn't feel like this was going to get better anytime soon.

Then you saw that it was Bradley who had texted you, and you thought about taking your phone outside and running it over with your car instead. "Not interested in you, either," you muttered.

Like a dumbass, you had texted Bradley last night when you were drunk and sad that it was Noah's birthday and you wouldn't get to see them. And apparently now he was finally writing back. You wished you had the willpower to just delete his message, but that wasn't going to happen.

Bradley Bradshaw: I'm having a small party for Noah on Saturday afternoon. I'm sure he would be thrilled if you could make it. Hopefully you can.

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

He invited Princess! Will she come? Did he only invite her for Noah? Or is he just as miserable as his child is without Princess? Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 15

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seoladyltd · 8 months

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Live Event Management UK Video Production Showcase Reel COMTEC Business Product Launch and Christmas Award Ceremony Streaming

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hotvintagepoll · 3 months

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Propaganda

Judy Garland (Meet Me In St. Louis, A Star is Born, Summer Stock)— Judy is the GOAT when it comes to classic movie musicals. The voice of an angel who deserved so much better than she got. She can sing she can dance she can act she's a triple threat. Though she had a turbulent personal life (her treatment as a child star by the studio system makes me mad as hell like Louis b Mayer fight me ((she was made to believe that she was physically unattractive by the constant criticism of film executives who made her feel ugly and who manipulated her onscreen appearance by capping her teeth and using discs in her nose to change its shape and Mayer called her "my little hunchback" like imagine hearing that as a child and not having damage)) she always goddamn delivered on screen and in any performance she gave. She began in vaudeville performing with her sisters and was signed to MGM at 13. Starting out in supporting parts especially paired with mickey Rooney in a bunch of films (she's the best part tbh) she eventually transferred to the lead role. She is best known for her starring role in movie musicals like the iconic Wizard of Oz (somewhere over the rainbow still hits hard and is ranked the top film song of all time), meet me in St. Louis (Judy singing have your self a merry little Christmas brings tears to the eyes she is that powerful), the Harvey girls (she looks like a technicolor dream and sings a catchy af song about trains), Easter parade ( dancing and singing with Fred Astaire), for me and my gal, the pirate, and summer stock ( with pal Gene Kelly who she helped when he was starting out and he helped her when she was struggling). But she also does non- singing just as well like the clock ( her first movie where she sings no songs and is an underrated ww2 era romance), her Oscar nominated a star is born ( like the man that got away she put her whole soul in that and I have beef with the fact she lost to grace kelly ((whom I love but like still not even her best work)), and judgement at Nuremberg (a courtroom drama about the nazi war criminal trials). Outside of film she made concert appearances to record-breaking audiences, released 8 studio albums, and had her own Emmy-nominated tv series. She was the youngest (39) and first female recipient of the Cecil B DeMille award for lifetime achievement in the film industry. Girl was a lifelong democrat and was a financial and moral supporter of many causes including the civil rights movement (she was at the March on Washington and held a press conference to protest the 16th street Baptist church bombings). She was a friend of the Kennedy family and would call jfk weekly often ending the calls by singing the first few lines of somewhere over the rainbow (she thought of them as Gemini twins).She was a member of the committee for the first amendment which was formed in response to the HUAC investigations. Though she died far too young and tragically she remains an icon for her work and her life. As a girl who didn't feel like i was as pretty as everyone else I have always felt a connection to Judy and I just really love her.

Patsy Kelly (The Countess of Monte Cristo, Merrily We Live, Topper Returns)—patsy kelly was a character actress best known for her brash wisecracking best friend roles, first appearing in a series of comedy shorts with thelma todd and then in a number of feature films. she was openly gay (lovers included tallulah bankhead), even candidly referring to herself as a dyke to the press on occasion and declaring she didn't intend to marry.

This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Patsy Kelly:

Oh, that wry little smile! She could sing. She could dance. She could do comedy and drama. Her mother enrolled her in dancing school to distract her from playing baseball and trying to become a firefighter. At the height of her career, she burned the whole thing down (heh) by answering a reporter's softball question about why she never married with "Because I'm a dyke." She became Tallulah Bankhead's "private secretary" and by the 1960s, she was once again a prominent character actress. Remember Laura-Louise in "Rosemary's Baby"?

Judy Garland:

Judy's voice alone qualifies her for at least top ten hottest HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMEN. She was a truly incredible swing singer, with a stunning voice on top of her technique. Her short dark hair looked incredible in just about any style. Have I mentioned her swagger? I can’t do it justice with words. She had swagger. She was funny as hell, and clever too. Incredibly charming and cool. I adore her.

Her eyes, her voice have bewitched me

I mean how can you beat the one and only Judy? She's beautiful, her smile is contagious, the way she sings with her whole body. You can't help but love her.

youtube

Beautiful woman, love her singing voice. And she can do everything between happy or silly and angry or heartbroken

#patsy kelly #judy garland #hotvintagepoll #ladies 1 #fuck that old woman

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violetrainbow412-blog · 9 months

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Wishes fulfilled [S. R.] birthday wishes pt. 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 7.7k

summary: After an unfortunate event, Spencer questions what he really feels about his childhood best friend.

contains: best friends to lovers, a little angst at the beginning, conflict over feelings, mostly fluff

A/N: A anon suggested there be a second part for birthday wishes and I thought, why not? You can read it as a standalone or as a continuation, tell me what you thought! this makes me very happy:)

The months passed and very soon the Christmas season arrived. There were some allusive decorations courtesy of García and she had even placed a small tree in the meeting room with symbolic gifts under it, one for each member of the team that they could open after Christmas Eve. It was a month full of warmth, love and delicious hot chocolate, but criminals in the United States didn't seem to adhere to that rule so the BAU continued with business as usual.

“She was Abigail Jones,” Garcia began, projecting an image on the conference room screen of a woman who must have been in her thirties. “She was found dead yesterday in her apartment in Las Vegas, in the area of Downtown, with multiple signs of violence, sexual abuse, and a completely disfigured face…” when she said this, she turned away from looking at the photo, with good reason, as it made even the strongest members feel nauseous.

There were two other victims, the same mobile phone and in scattered areas of the city. They were single women, who lived alone and although they didn’t seem to share traits in terms of their socioeconomic level, they were extremely similar physically and that is why Spencer's stomach turned when he realized how much they looked like you. A call to Hotch's phone interrupted the presentation and they all waited for the exchange to end, until after exchanging a few sentences the man spoke.

“It was the police chief. There is a new victim, they just found her in the Summerlin area, in an apartment complex on Pennwood Avenue.”

“At Pennwood?” Spencer asked, turning completely pale as she heard the area where the attack had taken place “Who is she?”

“They haven’t yet identified the body, but she has the same characteristics as the other women”

Everyone was shocked to see the doctor get up from the table and leave the room without giving any explanation, apparently to make a call from his phone. Aaron set the departure time of the jet and after that some members approached the young agent to try to find out what was happening. He seemed very worried, with the device pressed firmly against his ear and his gaze lost.

“What's wrong, Reid?”

“I'm calling Y/N,” he explained, feeling his breathing begin to quicken. “She lives in those apartments.”

The rest of the team seemed to understand, then, the concern that had overcome the man due to the information they had just received. They were also profilers and even with the little that they knew you, they knew that you fit perfectly into victimology, so it wasn’t difficult for them to connect both dots to realize what Spencer's fear was.

The first call had no answer, other than the answering machine, so he called again, again and again until panic took him in its clutches like prey.

“Dude, calm down.”

"She doesn’t answer!" Spencer practically sobbed, feeling like everything around him was spinning and a second later collapsing into Morgan's arms.

"What's going on?"

“Reid fears that the woman they just found is Y/N,” JJ explained to her boss. By this point the entire team was already gathered around the man, sharing the worry that was tormenting him and thinking about the possibilities of everything. The trip to Vegas was longer than usual trips, which didn't help in the least.

Spencer felt a chill when he tried to dial your number again and, just like before, he only heard your pre-recorded voice.

“Okay, listen,” Hotch said firmly, as he approached Spencer and grabbed his shoulders to get his attention. “I'm going to ask the officer to call me as soon as they identify the body, until then I need you to calm down. Do you know if Y/N has any particular signs with which they can tell us now if it is her?”

“Huh, she…” he stammered, struggling to put two coherent thoughts together to answer, “she has a… a mole on her belly, I think. It’s small and red.”

Under other circumstances the team would have mocked him, asking him how he had that knowledge or something along those lines, however, the situation was too delicate to allow for jokes.

“Okay, get your things so we can leave as soon as possible. And again, calm down,” Hotch said firmly, pointing at the agent. “It's not her, Reid. I know it"

Spencer tried to do what his boss had asked, but he kept dialing his cell phone every two minutes hoping to hear a response. He tried to calm down by telling himself that the chances of that body being yours were very low and trying to find in his mind some statistics that would corroborate this, but fear barely allowed him to understand the situation enough to know any information at that moment.

Obviously he was the first to arrive at the jet and he didn't stop trying to communicate with you, until he saw Aaron walk through the hallway with an expression he couldn't decipher.

"She…"

“No,” the man responded immediately. “The victim's name is Olivia Anderson. She’s not Y/N”

Hearing this he let out a breath of air and took a couple of steps until he reached the opposite one, to wrap him in a hug of complete relief. Hotch responded with warmth and a murmur of 'I told you so', which was interrupted by the arrival of the rest of the team.

Even though you still weren't answering the calls, Spencer was able to feel calmer during the flight, enough to analyze various aspects of the case that allowed him to offer valuable contributions for the future. When delegating the commissions, the unit chief was condescending to him and asked him to go to the last crime scene, so that with some luck you could meet and he could make sure that you were okay.

When they arrived in Nevada, the snow greeted them and Spencer adjusted his scarf tighter as he got into the car that Morgan would drive to the crime scene. The walk wasn't long and once there Derek motioned to his partner when the officer arrived to talk to both of them, as if he were permitting him to enter the building instead of staying. Spencer didn't hesitate to practically run inside to look for your apartment, and when he finally found the door with the number 17 he knocked frantically, but when he didn't receive a response he only became more frustrated.

Where the hell were you supposed to be?

He felt a vibration in his right pocket and almost dropped the device from his hand when he answered the call, without even looking at the identifier.

"Hello?"

“Reid, come back here,” Morgan spoke. “Y/N is with me.”

The agent didn't have to say it twice for Spencer to go down the stairs with the same speed he went up them, almost tripping on the way, and when he came out he looked for you in every direction. The snow and the tide of law enforcement personnel blocked the view a bit, but when his eyes finally met yours, you smiled and waved your hand to get his attention. Spencer ran, again, towards you, until he crashed into you in a hug. You were smaller than him and you fit perfectly against his body.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he asked in an angry voice, separating himself from you so he could look at you, but without letting go of your waist “I called you at least thirty times and you didn't answer, do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“I, huh… I left my phone at home and I'm just getting back from work, I had no idea what happened. Morgan already told me that there was a homicide.”

“Did you know her?”

“She's my neighbor,” you muttered sadly, looking toward the entrance of the building. “Oh, Crash, this is so horrible. She was… she was very good and kind to everyone. She didn't deserve this."

“I want you to go in there, pack some changes of clothes, and come back here, okay?”

"Why?"

“You will stay with me in the hotel until the case is over,” he ruled, with a tone that gave no room for opposition. “I need to work right now, but while you do what I asked of you.”

“But… I can't just leave my apartment like that, and what about my job?”

“I will talk to your boss and if he refuses, I will charge him with obstruction of justice or I will assign you an escort if necessary, but you are not going anywhere alone.”

You knew perfectly well that, although Spencer was a valuable member of the unit, he didn't have the power to do that, but because of the confidence in his voice you doubted for a second if he would be able to ask someone higher up in the bureau's hierarchy for that favor. You had rarely heard him speak like that, with a mixture of anger and concern, and he had never ordered you to do anything in your life. But he was doing it now, he was giving you specific instructions that wouldn't take no for an answer.

“Reid, we need you here” you heard Derek say from the other side.

"What's going on? Why do I have to leave here?”

“I'll explain everything to you later, okay? For now you go and get your things to call a taxi” he said, a little less agitated than he had spoken at first. Then he, in an unexpected act, gently kissed your forehead “Wrap yourself up, it's freezing out here.”

Although you had more questions, you knew that he was working and that you couldn't interrupt him just because, so you went to your apartment and grabbed a small suitcase to start packing clothes. Your phone was, as you expected, on the kitchen counter and you checked that he wasn't exaggerating with the number of calls he made to you.

When you left there was already a taxi waiting for you, so he just gave you the address of the hotel where the team was staying so you could get there. It was a picturesque place with lots of cheerful Christmas decorations, with a friendly guy as the receptionist. He already seemed to be aware of the agreement and after you checked in, he guided you to the room, where your friend would also be staying.

You didn't understand why it was necessary to keep you there and you hoped that he would call you at some point to clarify the situation, but he didn't. Since you had brought your laptop with you, you took the opportunity to continue working and it wasn't until a couple of hours later, you didn't even know how many, that someone knocked on the door. You didn't open it until you asked who it was and recognized your friend's voice, seeing him standing with his briefcase slung over his shoulder and a tired smile.

“Hello,” you sighed in relief, greeting him with a hug and then pulling him inside. You let him put down his belongings and sit on the bed, while you stood in front of him. “Do you want to explain to me what is happening and why I am here?”

“There is a murderer on the loose”

“That seems obvious.”

“There is a murderer on the loose who killed your neighbor, with characteristics surprisingly similar to yours, both physical and personal” he added and it took you a moment of silence to understand where the matter was going “I just didn't want you to be near there because he could come back"

“Do you think I'm in danger?”

“I don't know, but you're the kind of woman the unsub likes. I wasn't going to risk you”

You nodded your head softly, from your position of crossed arms.

“And what does your boss think about this?”

“He didn't know,” he confessed to you and you opened your eyes widely. “But I told him on the way here and he said to just try to stay out of trouble or Strauss would call him out on it. It's just that I... panicked, okay? When the police found Olivia's body they had not identified it and… I was afraid that it was you”

Suddenly all the calls and his face contorting into a grimace of relief when he saw you made sense to you, because at this point you hadn't even realized how much you and Liv shared. But Spencer had done it, that was his job after all.

“But I'm fine,” you said reassuringly, as you knelt in the space between his legs and met his gaze. “I’m safe, okay?”

“Did you see anything suspicious in the last few days? Anything that can help?”

“I don't think so, I spend all day at work” you lamented “I'm sorry.”

“Don't worry,” he reassured you, giving you a tired smile.

You knew your friend and you knew beforehand what stress did to his body, like those horrible migraines he had started to get or the dark circles under his eyes, and now his body language was screaming at you that something was still bothering him.

“You should sleep,” you suggested, reaching out with one of your hands to place it on his cheek. Spencer didn't complain, instead he closed his eyes and turned his head slightly so he could rub his skin against your outstretched palm.

It took you by surprise when, just a second later, he leaned down to grab your waist and help you get up from the floor. You were about to ask what he was doing when he maneuvered himself again until you were sitting on his lap, your legs dangling next to his and his arm wrapped tightly around your lower back.

“So we're cozy now, huh?” you scoffed, trying to mask with a smile the blush that had already spread across your face at the position the man had placed you in.

Spencer was a great lover of physical contact, contrary to what many might think, although this depended a lot on the person he was with. It had taken you months of effort to get a handshake and only as the years went by did, he begin to enjoy hugs with you. But after so much time you had gotten used to it and that's why the man became all clingy with you, after all it wasn't very common for you to see each other, which didn't bother you at all.

However, him holding you like that felt completely different than usual. You had only felt those butterflies in your stomach when, on his birthday, you had been so drunk and tired that you ended up sharing a bed. You had to admit that you liked him more than you should, waking up sheltered by his body, between a tangle of limbs and feeling the rise and fall of his calm breathing; and when the thought of having more nights like this crossed your mind you suppressed it immediately, feeling tremendously guilty about it.

But this wasn’t a product of alcohol or fatigue, but rather Spencer had done this of his own free will. His hair curled at the tips and you took the opportunity to gently brush some pieces off his forehead, while he watched you in complete silence.

“I don't know what I would do if something ever happened to you.”

His confession was barely a whisper that tickled your cheek, said with such sincerity that he took you by surprise. You couldn't measure the fear that had brewed in your best friend's chest that morning and that's why you couldn't understand his need to have you physically close, as he wanted to make sure you were there with him and not brutally murdered on a bed in the morgue.

A sigh of tenderness left you and you immediately pulled him close to you to hug him, feeling your hip fitting into the curve of his stomach and his face close to your neck, like he always did.

“Is that why you are like this? Baby, you don't have to worry about me. I already told you I'm fine."

“I know,” he murmured. “But I can't help it.”

“Well, you'll have to try it.”

“How do you want me to try something like that?” he exclaimed, separating from you so he could look into your eyes, and keeping the minimum distance between you two “I can't. I will always worry about you, you are my…” the words were cut off, because he didn't think there was a word that encapsulated well enough what you meant to him, but also because he was momentarily distracted by your lips; why was he getting distracted by them?

“Best friend in the whole world and sole owner of your heart?”

“Something like that,” he responded, laughing for the first time that night, and as he did so his face only moved closer to yours. He was strangely nervous about your presence and didn't know why, so he didn't help much when you leaned against his body so he could hold you better. Spencer just hoped your ear couldn't pick up the increase in his heartbeat.

“We should be able to stay like this forever,” you muttered absently, and although you didn't mean to be serious the words hit the man worse than they should.

For a moment he contemplated the possibility of actually staying with you forever and then he realized it wasn't an idea he disliked. From an early age every time Spencer thought about his future you were in it, but he hadn't thought about the role he wanted you to play. You had been friends for so long that he didn't believe there was anything more to your relationship, however, he was very wrong.

Was holding you like that awakening something in him that he didn't think was possible? Or was it the fear of losing you that made him realize that he would rather die than spend a life without you? No book or statistical study gave him an answer to what he was feeling and, to be honest, that terrified him.

He knew that you had tried to have a relationship with several men throughout your life, but none of them had managed to progress beyond a few months, due to one reason or another. However, Spencer wondered how long it would take for you to finally find love and if he could stand to see someone become your priority. It's not that he was jealous or possessive, just that he had been used to being someone important in your life for too long to accept the change from one moment to the next. He would always be happy if you were happy, but it made him sick to think that you would end up marrying someone completely unworthy of your affection and admiration; someone who didn't deserve the best woman of all. And as if it were an epiphany, Spencer realized that he wanted to be that man.

He needed it.

“We have to sleep,” he murmured, gently patting your back, because he was afraid that if you stayed like this any longer his mind would travel to some other inappropriate ideas. “Sleep on the bed, I'll sleep on the floor.”

“The bed is big enough”

“It doesn't matter, you use it,” he murmured. You had already stood up and were playing absentmindedly with the long sleeve of your blouse, without stopping to look at him.

"But…"

“I don't want to have this discussion today, okay?” the man had already taken some pillows and was spreading a sheet next to the bed. You, resigned, climbed up to the mattress and remained to kneel on it, watching your friend arrange his place.

“How many days will you stay here?”

"We don’t know yet. With some luck it will only be until tomorrow."

“You should visit your mom,” you murmured. Among so many emotions, Spencer had barely had time to think about Diana, at least until now that you had mentioned her, and he felt a pang of guilt. “It's almost Christmas, it would be a nice gift.”

“I think you're right,” he smiled. Things were ready and although he enjoyed talking to you now he felt extremely tired, so he just wanted to go to sleep. “Rest, okay? We’ll talk tomorrow"

“Good night,” you replied, smiling tenderly at him. An unexpected urge to lean in and steal a kiss grew in Spencer, which he tried to shake off of himself.

Without saying anything else he walked to turn off the light and then came back to lie down on the blanket, trying to sleep. When he was about to get it, he felt your arm fall over the side of the bed and your hand groping for any part of his body you could hold. In the end it was his hand that held yours and he couldn't see your blushing cheeks when he left a kiss on the back of it, nor his mischievous smile.

He knew when you had fallen asleep by the decrease in the strength of your grip, but although he tried to imitate you he couldn't do it. His mind continued to be tormented by the impulses that had invaded him that night, trying to find what reason was behind it, but also wondering how bad it would be to carry them out.

A little defeated, he got up from the floor, but not before carefully placing the hand that was holding you on your chest, and he went to see the landscape through the bedroom window. Snowflakes were falling and the lights of the casinos illuminated the view, reminding him that Las Vegas never slept, adding to these the colorful Christmas trees installed everywhere. In his family Christmas wasn’t celebrated conventionally, as it was just him and his mother having dinner ordered from a restaurant. There were gifts, they were almost always books or objects related to science, but he didn't make sense of the idea of warmth and love that revolved around the holiday. Until one time your family invited him to celebrate, he was finally able to understand that Christmas magic that everyone was talking about and from then on it was his reference for the celebration.

After staring at the window for a while he focused on the vision of you lying on the mattress, sleeping in that strange position that you always used to, and he asked himself how many years it was that he had been in love with you and how it was that he had never noticed it.

He let out a sigh that showed resignation, but also tremendous fear, and finally retraced his steps to pick up the blanket and pillows from the floor. He climbed onto the bed, knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep otherwise, and he lay down next to you, trying not to make any movements that would disturb your calm. The last thing he saw before falling into morpheus’s arms was your peaceful face, and even when he slept his dreams were filled with your smile.

The unsub was successfully caught, just as he had predicted, the next day and that was when he could breathe easy again. You were no longer in danger, outside of the usual danger that a woman from the United States faces, so you could return to your normal life without any problems.

Once you were back at your apartment Spencer said goodbye, promising that he would see you again soon, and heeded your advice about visiting Diana. He asked Aaron if he could stay in Vegas, after all the Christmas holidays were right around the corner and he made the excuse that he could come back if a new case came up. When the boss granted his request he wasted no time and headed to Bennington Sanitarium while the rest of the team headed to Virginia on the jet.

When he arrived good news about his mother greeted him, all referring to the improvement she had with the new medication, and when the doctors' report was finished they took him to the room where she was. Diana was reading to another patient and Reid smiled lovingly at the sight, a smile that was reciprocated when his mother noticed his presence.

“My child, I didn’t expect your visit,” she murmured, while she received the man in her arms.

“There was a case here and I decided to stay with you for a few days, if that's okay with you.”

“Of course it's okay with me, do you think I wouldn't want to see you?” she smiled, patting his face and hearing him laugh.

Both of them moved to her bedroom where they shared stories that she hadn’t read in the letters or that deserved to be deepened now that they were together. Her mother talked to her about how she had been feeling, some workshops she had taught and new people who had joined and she had befriended. He was very happy to see Diana so happy and lively, contrary to other visits where the circumstances had been more unfortunate.

The talk was interrupted by a nurse bringing dinner to Diana and a portion of contraband for Spencer, who was extremely grateful. In the middle of the silence of dinner his mind returned to you and when he looked at his mother, he knew that if anyone could give him good advice it was her.

“Mom, can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course,” she replied, pushing her food aside so Spencer could sit on the bed with her “What is it?”

“Well, huh… I guess you remember my friend Y/N, right? My God, of course you remember her” he answered himself, knowing that he was always talking about you in his letters “The fact is that I… I have felt weird with her since my birthday.”

“Weird how?”

“I don't know, like… different,” he murmured, not knowing if that would be the right word for the nature of his feelings.

“You don't want to be her friend anymore?

“Quite the opposite, actually,” he murmured nervously. He considered it prudent to explain the situation that had arisen from the case and about your stay with him during these days, so that his mother could understand the fear that he had suffered, before continuing talking “And last night when I got to my room and she was there I felt… I don't know, I don't even know how to say it. I only felt enormous relief to see her well and I wanted her to always be well."

“Well, you grew up together. It's normal that you worry about her, you guys are almost like family”

“But I can't see her like that,” he interrupted her. He hated her comparison, because he knew what brotherly love was and it was definitely not how he felt about you “I think I'm in love with her. No, I know I'm in love with her. And I… I'm scared”

Diana's attentive eyes studied her son and Spencer didn’t know how to interpret her silence, until he felt his mother's hand placed on her knee and saw a smile appear on her face.

“Oh, my boy… Why are you afraid to love?”

“I am not afraid to love. I'm afraid of not being loved”

That was. Spencer wasn't afraid of having those feelings, but rather he was afraid that they wouldn't be reciprocated. If he confessed things to you, he risked having the greatest romance in his life or being cruelly rejected by the best friend he had ever had.

Diana cupped her son's face with both hands and gave him a compassionate smile.

“You are, for more years than you can think,” she exclaimed, with complete confidence, and the man frowned in confusion.

"How do you know?"

“A mother notices those things, son,” Diana laughed. “Even one like me.”

Would his mother be telling the truth? He wasn't the best at reading social cues and that was clear, so he didn't know the difference between friendly behavior and one that held another interest when it came to you, but he doubted for a second if Diana was the best person to interpret those signs. He didn't even entertain the possibility that you had feelings for him, I mean, you were so pretty and funny and cool and he… well, he was just him.

“Are you going to tell her?” she added, noticing that he had remained silent.

"I should?"

"Sure! If not now, when will you do it?”

"But I…"

“But nothing,” she interrupted him. “I want you to go find her and tell her.”

"Now?!" Spencer screamed, feeling his mother get up and push him to the exit. “But mom…”

“When will you be in Las Vegas again?” she pointed out “I'm not going to leave here, you can come back tomorrow.”

"But it's too late"

“So what, Spencer? “Do you think I don’t want to see you married before meeting the creator?” Diana insisted and the man opened his eyes widely in a mixture of surprise and amusement. “The sooner the better. Go tell her, come on. And it would be better if you come back tomorrow that she will accompany you.”

Spencer watched her from the hallway for a few seconds and at the woman's security he felt a certain emotion, letting fear be replaced by pure motivation for the first time. He nodded and took a couple of determined steps toward the exit, but then he stopped and turned to wrap his mother in a tight hug.

"Thanks, Mom. I love you”

“I love you more,” she smiled. “Now go.”

Spencer left there completely determined and took the first taxi he saw to take you to your apartment, with his heart beating like crazy all over his chest and his mind busy searching for the words with which he would profess his feelings for you.

Inside your apartment you let out a squeal when you heard the microwave announcing that your reheated food was ready and you rushed there to return as soon as possible to see David Tennant's hottie in a trench coat. You had to admit knowing Doctor Who, at first, had been against your will, but now it was an acquired taste that you quite enjoyed and accompanied you on your sleepless nights. After a few seconds you returned to the living room with your burrito in your hand and just when you were about to play the Christmas special when someone knocked on your door, startling you a little.

“Mrs. Jensen, is that you? I already told you that I haven't seen your cat around here” you half shouted, without opening the door, but there was no response “Hello?”

“It's me,” said a fairly familiar voice. You thought you were wrong so you opened the door just a little and through the chain lock you could see that, indeed, it was your friend.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, opening the door fully. “I thought you were going back to DC.”

“I changed my mind” he replied and until then you noticed that he was holding a bouquet of tulips decorated with a white bow, which he extended in your direction for you to take. That only added to your confusion.

“Wow, I… Thank you?”

“Can I come in?” He asked timidly and as soon as you scooted to the side he walked into the apartment, not looking at you.

"Everything's fine?"

"No. I mean, yeah…” he stammered, looking you up and down. You were wearing thermal pajamas with a Christmas print and you were without shoes, with a messy bun holding your hair. “Did you like them?”

"What?"

“The flowers,” he pointed out.

"Oh yeah. They are beautiful” you smiled, looking at them carefully. There was a good number of red tulips, some open and others were just a small bud. “What are they for?”

“I didn't want to arrive empty-handed,” he lied. “I got them at a flower shop near here, a very sweet old woman sold them to me.”

“Well, thank you, then,” you smiled and he responded in kind, but then he didn’t speak again. You were just observing him, not figuring out what was causing his strange behavior. “Do you want to sit down?”

The flowers ended up in a vase on the counter in the kitchen and when you returned he was already sitting on the couch, legs together and hands on his knees.

"And how are you?"

“Well, I was about to eat something while watching the Doctor Who Christmas special,” you told him. You expected him to start ranting about fun facts or the story or the actors or anything, but he just smiled at you understandingly and stayed silent. “Is your mom okay?”

“Yes, she is. I was having dinner with her a while ago, but... I thought I'd come here because I want to tell you something important."

Oh, you thought, there's the real reason for his nocturnal visit.

"Yeah? What is it about?" you asked, slightly worried about whatever he had to say.

Everything he had thought about in the car seemed to have been erased from his memory and now Spencer didn't even know where to start. He had only confessed these kinds of feelings to two people in his life and neither of those times had turned out well, so he didn't know what to expect.

“Okay, I'm going to tell you, but you have to promise me that you will take it in the best way, okay?” he asked and you nodded. "And this won't change anything between us if you... if you don't agree with what I'm going to tell you."

“Hey, you're scaring me,” you joked nervously, but when you didn't hear him laugh your fear became genuine. “Is something wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“It's not a bad thing. Well, not unless you want it to be.”

“Well, tell me then,” you encouraged him kindly, with a smile that provided him with the courage he needed.

You were so pretty and he just wanted to kiss you to death.

“We've known each other for practically our entire lives, right?” he began “I still remember the first time I talked to you. And I don't speak figuratively, but I really remember it, it's one of the things from my childhood that my brain didn't throw away. I had been watching you from the window because you went out to your yard to spread a blanket to play with dolls and cars and all kinds of things. Sometimes you jumped rope and other times you kicked the ball and all I could think about was how you could have so much fun being alone. I mean, I was just reading and studying things with my microscope and you know, nerdy things” he murmured, letting out a short laugh “Until one day you knocked on my window and asked me if I wanted to play with you.”

“My mom told me to do it,” you confessed, “Well, I suggested it, but she encouraged me to do it. It always made me sad to see you there and I thought you were just too shy to come over and play.”

“But no one had ever done that. Include me in some activity, I mean. Everyone made fun of me at school or called me weird, but not you, not even when I deserved it. It made me happy that a girl like that wanted to be with me and even though you had too much energy, somehow I could keep up with you. When we grew up I thought you would just get bored of me, but that wasn't the case and even when I was promoted in grade you stayed in contact with me. You were there when mom got worse and I had to send her to that sanatorium and yet your family treated me like I was your own family. You have always been there for me and you have made me feel less alone in the world, and I don't think I have ever thanked you for that.”

“Oh, Crash,” you smiled, a couple of tears gathering on your eyelids. “You don't need to do that. I have done everything because that is what friends are for.”

“But I don't want to be friends,” he said immediately and your expression changed to a worried one at that moment. The silence between you made you imagine the worst, but it was only because he was gathering the courage to continue “To me you are something else.”

Your face contorted into another grimace, but this time one of surprise and confusion.

"What do you me…?”

“I'm in love with you,” he spat. This time all his years of training were of no use as he tried to decipher your expression. “And it's okay if you don't feel the same way about me, I'm not asking that of you. I just want you to know that the day I got here for the case I... I was going crazy at the mere thought of someone hurting you. I didn't realize that you meant everything to me until that moment and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. That night I just wanted to hold you and keep you safe for the rest of our lives and although I don't have much experience, I think that's what love feels like. I have always loved you, only now it is a different love. And I'll understand if you don't feel the same way about me and I just misinterpreted things, but please, if that's the case, just let me stay your friend because I don't think I can handle messing things up. I don't ask you for anything more than that, that whatever you feel, things don't become uncomfortable just because of what I just told you."

There were a few seconds of silence and then he finally dared to look at you. You were stunned, with your gaze lost and your lips parted. Years of friendship passed before the man's eyes, who interpreted your lack of conversation as a rejection of his feelings, and he felt his heart break a little. From the beginning he was aware that this possibility existed, but now that it had materialized, he realized that perhaps he wasn’t ready.

But then your eyes met his and he felt your hand reach out to his, which was already shaking slightly.

“Your hands are cold,” you observed, sliding a little on the couch so you could take both of his limbs. Spencer followed your movements carefully and could see how you brought both hands to your lips to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“I actually have too much to say, I just don't know how,” you confessed.

“You don't have to lie to avoid hurting me. I already told you, it's okay if you don't feel the same."

“Spencer Reid,” you said sternly, thus forcing him to look at you. “Stop saying that.”

“So it's not like that?”

“Of course not, why would you think so?” You mumbled, really waiting for a response that never came. You watched him carefully, trying to memorize all his features, while you reflected on how much he had changed in front of your eyes and how he was still the same scared little boy from the window.

“Because… I don't know, there has never been someone who loves me the way I am.”

“Oh, Spencer,” you murmured condescendingly, “I've loved you since you were an ugly kid with glasses who couldn't stop talking about science, what other proof do you need?”

He definitely wasn't expecting that answer and that's why he started laughing; not like a soft laugh, but a loud, euphoric laugh.

“Why do you call me ugly kid?”

“You were!” You defended yourself, accompanying him in his joy. You had probably ruined the most romantic moment of your life, however, it was worth it to see the man laugh like that. And after all you were still his best friend, it was your job to joke like that “And yet I liked you, you can't imagine how much. Then you grew up and became this perfect prototype of a boy and you were so focused on your studies that I thought you weren't interested in me, at least in that way. But you were my friend and I was happy like that, I always have been. I tried to bury those feelings because I was also afraid of ruining things, but now you come to tell me all this, and I just don't believe it."

"Are you serious?" he asked, trying not to get overwhelmed by the fact that you had just called him perfect and that you were confessing to him that you had been feeling what he was feeling since you two met. When you nodded, another laugh escaped him as he thought that, after all, his mother had been right.

He had to take a moment to digest the situation. You loved him, you really did, and things weren't ruined. He felt foolish thinking about how long you had been keeping this quiet and how he hadn't noticed, but he concluded that if he had found out at another time he probably would have freaked out and things would have ended very differently, a result he would regret for the rest of his life.

Your hands were still joined and Spencer began to rub his thumb against the back of them, feeling the luckiest to see you smile at him that way and knowing the reason for that expression.

“Is that why you brought me the tulips?” you exclaimed in a sweet voice. You should have sensed it before but only now did you realize that detail.

“Yes, I wanted to surprise you,” he replied, quite satisfied with himself. “I thought about them because, in fact, in the language of flowers, tulips symbolize hope, sincere love and prosperity, but depending on their color the meaning can be transformed. Red tulips, in this case, are ideal for a statement and express unconditional love.”

You let out a gentle laugh, feeling nothing but tenderness at his reaction.

“There's my usual boy,” you said with a proud tone, reaching out to leave a loud kiss on his cheek. Something in Spencer stirred when he heard you call him yours and that desire to kiss you returned, this time with more intensity than before.

"And then?" he asked in your direction. With your eyes you asked for a more complete explanation of what precisely he was referring to “Do you accept me? Do you accept my love?”

“Of course I do,” you replied obviously, giving him that confirmation he needed.

“And if I asked you something serious for us right now, what would you tell me?”

You looked at him for a second, looking for a sign of lying on his face, but when you didn't find it, you smiled, your cheeks completely blushing.

“I would tell you that I would have liked to be more prepared. I'm in pajamas and I smell like a burrito, I think I've looked better."

"It doesn’t matter. "I can take you on a date later, in a nice and elegant place, like you deserve," he murmured excitedly, stopping holding one of your hands to place it on your face. "But only if that's what you want."

“I do, handsome,” you smiled, sliding your hand to surround his wrist. “It's the most definitive yes of my entire life.”

You had dreamed of this moment for a long time, but you had never believed it could come true and now that it had, your heart was overflowing with joy. He was smiling from ear to ear and you suddenly realized that his eyes traveled momentarily to your lips. You saw him swallow, undecided about the next move, so you decided to save him a little effort and reached out until your lips collided with his.

You took him by surprise and although at first it felt strange to be doing that with him, almost as if it were wrong, after a couple of seconds the contact relaxed and you knew that you no longer wanted to kiss lips other than his.

With every second he caressed you in a deeper and more needy way, very different from what you had expected, even his hands took you firmly by the waist to keep you as close to him as possible. He tasted like years of mutual longing and mint gum and it had you completely giddy. You separated only when it was vital to take a breath and then you continued kissing, already addicted to a drug you had just discovered.

“You're so pretty,” he sighed against your lips, allowing himself to compliment you now that he knew you reciprocated. “So, so pretty. And so sweet to me” he recited between kisses, each one gentler than the last “You are perfect.”

“Reid, stop it,” you asked him, feeling nervous from hearing him talk to you like that and feeling him kiss you like that.

"Why? That's what I think. I've always thought so” he smiled, separating himself from you just to enjoy the sight of your beauty, and then he gently caressed the side of your head “I love you” he said.

Your cheeks already hurt from smiling so much and yet you managed to give him that vision again, and how could you not? The man of your dreams was telling you that he loved you.

You leaned in again to kiss him, this time more briefly and delicately, and then you looked into his eyes.

“I love you too” you confessed.

And both of you knew that you didn't need anything more than that.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove

people who might be interested: @stephsycamore @andiebeaword @tothecar @reiderwriter @babymetaldoll @zuckker-blog

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you

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ghostlywhiskey · 5 months

Text

lawyer!price when the two of you finally start seeing each other. you never knew the man to be stressed or overwhelmed, if anything, you admired how he always seemed to handle everything. except, you’d never admit that out loud, or at least prior to dating him.

but it’s when he asks you to spend the night that you see behind the wall he’s built up. the two of you had been watching tv on the couch when you had fallen asleep, or at least thats what you remember. when your eyes blink a few times as consciousness comes back to you, the dark bedroom cold and empty as you sit up. price is nowhere within reach nor is he in your sight, the alarm clock on the night stand the only soft glow of light.

1:43 AM

slipping out of the bed, you quietly exit the bedroom. looking both ways down the hallway of the apartment, you make note of the lack of sound coming from the general living space. what does grab your attention is the exaggerated typing noises you’ve learned to zone out while at work. heading towards the sound, you stand in front of his office door; fingers knock softly against the wood as you wait for a response to allow you to enter, but when it doesn’t come you push open the slightly cracked door.

price is sat at his desk, eyes glued onto the computer screen in front of him while papers scatter the desk, some even making their way onto the floor.

“john?” your certain he might not even register the sound of your voice. and you’re certain he might not even stop to look at you if he does. but, fingers come to a halt on the keyboard and eyes divert their attention to you. he’s paying attention. he’s giving you his attention.

“what are you doing up?” he asks, he doesn’t sound mad or annoyed, is it concern?

there was still getting used to john price as your boyfriend, not the attorney who barked requests at you. it was like relearning how he operated at work. but now, you actually cared about the tone in his voice and his actions.

“i didn’t realize i feel asleep,” you trail off, taking a few seconds to stare blankly at him before processing your next move. walking over cautiously towards him, you stand next to his chair as you catch a glimpse of the screen. multiple tabs and programs, medical records and contracts opened across the two monitors. his desk scattered with more contracts and deposition transcripts. “but, i think i should be asking you the same question.”

a hand reaches up behind you, grabbing for your waist as he tugs you towards him. your body lets him guide you onto his lap, one arm securing around his neck as your other hand rests on his chest.

“nothing productive happens after ten,” you murmur, fingers toying with the top button of his dress shirt.

fingers graze past your jaw as his palm cups your cheek.

“tell that to the five pages i’ve written for the motion.”

“the motion isn’t due until the end of next week.”

“yeah, but then i have conferences and other motions to worry about,” he mutters. “and then i have oppositions due. oh, and then there’s the two depositions next week.”

and if there was one thing you knew about him, as your boyfriend or not, he was stubborn. your arm around his neck reaches to scratch the back of his head soothingly. you could hear him working himself up about everything he had to do.

“john,” you spoke his name for the second time that night. and before another word could get out, he tugged your face closer to his as his eyes locked on yours. “it’s almost 2am. come to bed.”

you weren’t asking him, even if your voice was still laced with the drowsiness from your slumber, the demanding tone was still present.

“giving me orders now?” he teases, closing the gap between your lips. your hand that previously toyed with his buttons now on his neck while the other held the back of his head. it was a gentle kiss, but the slow movements of his tongue moving against yours building tension in your chest. the lingering taste of a cigar you assumed he smoked recently on the balcony while you were asleep is prominent, but it’s mixed with the taste of toothpaste. he must’ve brushed his teeth after.

“what’s that taste?” your nose scrunches as you pull back from price, the man stood in front of you with his fingers tangled in your hair angles your head to look up at him.

“what?” his voice monotone, confused by your question.

“it tastes like,” your tongue swirls in your mouth and you swallow spit, the taste of tobacco strong. “a cigar?” brows furrowing together trying to determine if you were right.

“mhm,” he hums, tugging you back towards him gently as his lips brush over yours. “i was stressed,” teeth tug at your bottom lip before sucking on it gently and releasing it. “i had one earlier.” now, lips kissing you again before you can comment on him smoking.

hands grasp at his suit jacket, pushing him back gently to break the kiss. “it tastes terrible.”

“come on,” he mumbles, leaning down so his face is to your neck, teeth grazing the skin before he sucks on the skin. your cheeks warm at the realization of his action and quickly pull away from him and head for his closed office door.

“john price!” you hiss quietly, glaring at him. “i’m not leaving your office with a hickey or the taste of cigars in my mouth.” hand reaching for the door handle, you make your way out. he huffs in defeat, body heading to his chair as he sits back down.

despite being close already, your hand at the back of his head pulls him closer to deepen the kiss; body pressed against his as you straddle his lap. he remembered you hated the taste of the cigars, it was such a stupid thing but it made your chest tighten.

chuckling against your lips, his hands reach to securely grab at your ass to support you in his arms. his body rises up from his chair as he sits you down on the edge of the desk, guiding you to lay down. lips never breaking from yours, he reaches for your pants as fingers toy with the string to untie it.

only does he stop when he’s about to tug the pants off, hands pulling his face away from yours.

“john-“ you gasp for air, breathing quickened as you try to catch your breath.

“don’t tell me i need to sleep.” he mumbles, hands still pulling the pants off as you are left on the desk in your panties and shirt. hands grab at your body again to pick you up.

“we’re both not going in tomorrow.” he proceeds to carry you to his bedroom and you can’t help but smile, face nuzzling his neck as you place light kisses.

#john price #john price x reader #captain john price #captain price #captain john price x reader #john price cod #nic talks price #lawyer!price

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crystalis · 3 months

Text

twitter thread by Mouin Rabbani

March 14, 2024

Who was there first? The short answer is that the question is irrelevant. Claims of ancient title (“This land is ours because we were here several thousand years ago”) have no standing or validity under international law.

For good reason, because such claims also defy elementary common sense. Neither I nor anyone reading this post can convincingly substantiate the geographical location of their direct ancestors ten or five or even two thousand years ago.

If we could, the successful completion of the exercise would confer exactly zero property, territorial, or sovereign rights.

As a thought experiment, let’s go back only a few centuries rather than multiple millennia. Do South Africa’s Afrikaners have the right to claim The Netherlands as their homeland, or even qualify for Dutch citizenship, on the basis of their lineage?

Do the descendants of African-Americans who were forcibly removed from West Africa have the right to board a flight in Atlanta, Port-au-Prince, or São Paolo and reclaim their ancestral villages from the current inhabitants, who in all probability arrived only after – perhaps long after – the previous inhabitants were abducted and sold into slavery half a world away?

Do Australians who can trace their roots to convicts who were involuntarily transported Down Under by the British government have a right to return to Britain or Ireland and repossess homes from the present inhabitants even if, with the help of court records, they can identify the exact address inhabited by their forebears? Of course not.

In sharp contrast to, for example, Native Americans or the Maori of New Zealand, none of the above can demonstrate a living connection with the lands to which they would lay claim.

To put it crudely, neither nostalgic attachment nor ancestry, in and of themselves, confer rights of any sort, particularly where such rights have not been asserted over the course of hundreds or thousands of years.

If they did, American English would be the predominant language in large parts of Europe, and Spain would once again be speaking Arabic.

Nevertheless, the claim of ancient title has been and remains central to Zionist assertions of not only Jewish rights in Palestine, but of an exclusive Jewish right to Palestine.

For the sake of argument, let’s examine it. If we put aside religious mythology, the origin of the ancient Israelites is indeed local.

In ancient times it was not unusual for those in conflict with authority or marginalized by it to take to the more secure environment of surrounding hills or mountains, conquer existing settlements or establish new ones, and in the ultimate sign of independence adopt distinct religious practices and generate their own rulers. That the Israelites originated as indigenous Canaanite tribes rather than as fully-fledged monotheistic immigrants or conquerors is more or less the scholarly consensus, buttressed by archeological and other evidence. And buttressed by the absence of evidence for the origin stories more familiar to us.

It is also the scholarly consensus that the Israelites established two kingdoms, Judah and Israel, the former landlocked and covering Jerusalem and regions to the south, the latter (also known as the Northern Kingdom or Samaria) encompassing points north, the Galilee, and parts of contemporary Jordan. Whether these entities were preceded by a United Kingdom that subsequently fractured remains the subject of fierce debate.

What is certain is that the ancient Israelites were never a significant regional power, let alone the superpower of the modern imagination.

There is a reason the great empires of the Middle East emerged in Egypt, Mesopotamia, Persia, and Anatolia – or from outside the region altogether – but never in Palestine.

It simply lacked the population and resource base for power projection. Jerusalem may be the holiest of cities on earth, but for almost the entirety of its existence, including the period in question, it existed as a village, provincial town or small city rather than metropolis.

Judah and Israel, like the neighboring Canaanite and Philistine entities during this period, were for most of their existence vassal states, their fealty and tribute fought over by rival empires – Egyptians, Assyrians, Babylonians, etc. – rather than extracted from others.

Indeed, Israel was destroyed during the eighth century BCE by the Assyrians, who for good measured subordinated Judah to their authority, until it was in the sixth century BCE eliminated by the Babylonians, who had earlier overtaken the Assyrians in a regional power struggle.

The Babylonian Exile was not a wholesale deportation, but rather affected primarily Judah’s elites and their kin. Nor was there a collective return to the homeland when the opportunity arose several decades later after Cyrus the Great defeated Babylon and re-established a smaller Judah as a province of the Persian Achaemenid empire. Indeed, Mesopotamia would remain a key center of Jewish religion and culture for centuries afterwards.

Zionist claims of ancient title conveniently erase the reality that the ancient Israelites were hardly the only inhabitants of ancient Palestine, but rather shared it with Canaanites, Philistines, and others.

The second part of the claim, that the Jewish population was forcibly expelled by the Romans and has for 2,000 years been consumed with the desire to return, is equally problematic.

By the time the Romans conquered Jerusalem during the first century BCE, established Jewish communities were already to be found throughout the Mediterranean world and Middle East – to the extent that a number of scholars have concluded that a majority of Jews already lived in the diaspora by the time the first Roman soldier set foot in Jerusalem.

These communities held a deep attachment to Jerusalem, its Temple, and the lands recounted in the Bible. They identified as diasporic communities, and in many cases may additionally have been able to trace their origins to this or that town or village in the extinguished kingdoms of Israel and Judah. But there is no indication those born and bred in the diaspora across multiple generations considered themselves to be living in temporary exile or considered the territory of the former Israelite kingdoms rather than their lands of birth and residence their natural homeland, any more than Irish-Americans today feel they properly belong in Ireland rather than the United States.

Unlike those taken in captivity to Babylon centuries earlier, there was no impediment to their relocation to or from their ancestral lands, although economic factors appear to have played an important role in the growth of the diaspora.

By contrast, those traveling in the opposite direction appear to have done so, more often than not, for religious reasons, or to be buried in Jerusalem’s sacred soil.

Nations and nationalism did not exist 2,000 years ago.

Nor Zionist propagandists in New York, Paris, and London incessantly proclaiming that for two millennia Jews everywhere have wanted nothing more than to return their homeland, and invariably driving home rather than taking the next flight to Tel Aviv.

Nor insufferably loud Americans declaring, without a hint of irony or self-awareness, the right of the Jewish people to Palestine “because they were there first”.

Back to the Romans, about a century after their arrival a series of Jewish rebellions over the course of several decades, coupled with internecine warfare between various Jewish factions, produced devastating results.

A large proportion of the Jewish population was killed in battle, massacred, sold into slavery, or exiled. Many towns and villages were ransacked, the Temple in Jerusalem destroyed, and Jews barred from entering the city for all but one day a year.

Although a significant Jewish presence remained, primarily in the Galilee, the killings, associated deaths from disease and destitution, and expulsions during the Roman-Jewish wars exacted a calamitous toll.

With the destruction of the Temple Jerusalem became an increasingly spiritual rather than physical center of Jewish life. Jews neither formed a demographic majority in Palestine, nor were the majority of Jews to be found there.

Many of those who remained would in subsequent centuries convert to Christianity or Islam, succumb to massacres during the Crusades, or join the diaspora. On the eve of Zionist colonization locally-born Jews constituted less than five per cent of the total population.

As for the burning desire to return to Zion, there is precious little evidence to substantiate it. There is, for example, no evidence that upon their expulsion from Spain during the late fifteenth century, the Sephardic Jewish community, many of whom were given refuge by the Ottoman Empire that ruled Palestine, made concerted efforts to head for Jerusalem. Rather, most opted for Istanbul and Greece.

Similarly, during the massive migration of Jews fleeing persecution and poverty in Eastern Europe during the nineteenth century, the destinations of choice were the United States and United Kingdom.

Even after the Zionist movement began a concerted campaign to encourage Jewish emigration to Palestine, less than five per cent took up the offer. And while the British are to this day condemned for limiting Jewish immigration to Palestine during the late 1930s, the more pertinent reality is that the vast majority of those fleeing the Nazi menace once again preferred to relocate to the US and UK, but were deprived of these havens because Washington and London firmly slammed their doors shut.

Tellingly, the Jewish Agency for Israel in 2023 reported that of the world’s 15.7 million Jews, 7.2 million – less than half – reside in Israel and the occupied Palestinian territories.

According to the Agency, “The Jewish population numbers refer to persons who define themselves as Jews by religion or otherwise and who do not practice another religion”.

It further notes that if instead of religion one were to apply Israel’s Law of Return, under which any individual with one or more Jewish grandparent is entitled to Israeli citizenship, only 7.2 of 25.5 million eligible individuals (28 per cent) have opted for Zion.

In other words, “Next Year in Jerusalem” was, and largely remains, an aspirational religious incantation rather than political program. For religious Jews, furthermore, it was to result from divine rather than human intervention.

For this reason, many equated Zionism with blasphemy, and until quite recently most Orthodox Jews were either non-Zionist or rejected the ideology altogether.

Returning to the irrelevant issue of ancestry, if there is one population group that can lay a viable claim of direct descent from the ancient Israelites it would be the Samaritans, who have inhabited the area around Mount Gerizim, near the West Bank city of Nablus, without interruption since ancient times.

Palestinian Jews would be next in line, although unlike the Samaritans they interacted more regularly with both other Jewish communities and their gentile neighbors.

Claims of Israelite descent made on behalf of Jewish diaspora communities are much more difficult to sustain. Conversions to and from Judaism, intermarriage with gentiles, absorption in multiple foreign societies, and related phenomena over the course of several thousand years make it a virtual certainty that the vast majority of Jews who arrived in Palestine during the late 19th and first half of the 20th century to reclaim their ancient homeland were in fact the first of their lineage to ever set foot in it.

By way of an admittedly imperfect analogy, most Levantines, Egyptians, Sudanese, and North Africans identify as Arabs, yet the percentage of those who can trace their roots to the tribes of the Arabian Peninsula that conquered their lands during the seventh and eighth centuries is at best rather small.

Ironically, a contemporary Palestinian, particularly in the West Bank and Galilee, is likely to have more Israelite ancestry than a contemporary diaspora Jew.

The Palestinians take their name from the Philistines, one of the so-called Sea Peoples who arrived on the southern coast of Canaan from the Aegean islands, probably Crete, during the late second millennium BCE.

They formed a number of city states, including Gaza, Ashdod, and Ashkelon. Like Judah and Israel they existed primarily as vassals of regional powers, and like them were eventually destroyed by more powerful states as well.

With no record of their extermination or expulsion, the Philistines are presumed to have been absorbed by the Canaanites and thereafter disappear from the historical record.

Sitting at the crossroads between Asia, Africa, and Europe, Palestine was over the centuries repeatedly conquered by empires near and far, absorbing a constant flow of human and cultural influences throughout.

Given its religious significance, pilgrims from around the globe also contributed to making the Palestinian people what they are today.

A common myth is that the Palestinian origin story dates from the Arab-Muslim conquests of the seventh century. In point of fact, the Arabs neither exterminated nor expelled the existing population, and the new rulers never formed a majority of the population.

Rather, and over the course of several centuries, the local population was gradually Arabized, and to a large extent Islamized as well.

So the question as to who was there first can be answered in several ways: “both” and “irrelevant” are equally correct.

Indisputably, the Zionist movement had no right to establish a sovereign state in Palestine on the basis of claims of ancient title, which was and remains its primary justification for doing so.

That it established an exclusivist state that not only rejected any rights for the existing Palestinian population but was from the very outset determined to displace and replace this population was and remains a historical travesty.

That it as a matter of legislation confers automatic citizenship on millions who have no existing connection with the land but denies it to those who were born there and expelled from it, solely on the basis of their identity, would appear to be the very definition of apartheid.

The above notwithstanding, and while the Zionist claim of exclusive Israeli sovereignty in Palestine remains illegitimate, there are today several million Israelis who cannot be simply wished away.

A path to co-existence will need to be found, even as the genocidal nature of the Israeli state, and increasingly of Israeli society as well, makes the endeavor increasingly complicated.

The question, thrown into sharp relief by Israel’s genocidal onslaught on the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, is whether co-existence with Israeli society can be achieved without first dismantling the Israeli state and its ruling institutions.

#free palestine

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cherriemi · 3 months

Text

Trivia Night

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

in: reid has always noticed every tiny detail about you, the slight change in your hair or attitude. so when you throw a birthday party and include a trivia game for your unit to learn more about you, spencer gets every question right.

tw: improper capitalization, fluff, non-consensual kiss (let me know if there is anything else!)

a/n: this is my FIRST ff writing in years, so yes it’s bad and yes i’m rusty. please be nice to me :,(

wc: 2.3k

you walked into the office… and he could instantly tell something was off. it didn’t take long until he remembered that your hair was now shorter. you had gotten a haircut and he would be first to comment.

“did you get a haircut y/n?” he asked as you placed your bag on your desk. you nodded, “is it that short??” messing with your hair and seeing if the ends are shorter than you had remembered. “no, i like it.” a smile formed on his face. “thank you.” you looked away, flustered.

he always noticed changes first. they were compliments, questions of concern. it never weirded you out as he admitted to having an eidetic memory. it just frustrated you that he always knew what was different.

“i haven’t seen you in red… it compliments your undertones a lot.”

“your makeup looks different, did you put on eyeliner? i quite like it.”

“what happened to your finger? be careful next time okay?”

“let’s get started for our case review.” hotchner poked his head out from the conference room. you grabbed what you needed and head up the steps with reid just behind you.

it was your birthday! you had invited your co-workers as they were the only people you really knew. joining the team only half a year ago, you moved away from your dream location but moved into a better job.

you anxiously waited for someone to show up. your apartment was decorated, food cooked and the vinyl record playing smooth jazz. one of your favorite records, it was a compilation of a few popular artists and songs. you had found it selling for $2.99 at an estate sale back from your old job.

you heard a couple voices from outside the door and then a knock. you rushed to the door, checking the peephole. it was hotchner and prentiss.

the door door swung open, “happy birthday!!” emily prentiss cheerily pulled you in for a hug. hotchner smiled, repeating back what emily said with a back pat. “gifts can go over there.” your hand gestured towards the kitchen island.

soon enough derek morgan and penelope garcia showed up, then jennifer and rossi. the party already seemed to be starting but you knew someone was missing. spencer reid appeared, exactly 25 minutes later than you had told the group chat.

“come on reid!” derek and jennifer teased the boy. he was red on the face, a card in one hand and the other holding onto the strap of his messenger bag. he was dressed as he usually was: dress shoes, trousers, and a button up with a vest over. “sorry, i had to take the subway.” he responded.

you grabbed the card from his hands, “it’s okay reid, go ahead and help yourself.” you set the card on the island as he walked over towards the pots and pans. he helped himself to some chicken and pasta.

after the eating and cake cutting, it was gift giving time. you opened all the gifts in the kitchen while everyone watched. most of your co-workers gifted you a card with money but penelope had gifted wrapped a gift for you. you torn it open and found a bow ribbon set. you smiled and hugged her.

you called everyone to the living room. emily, jennifer, penelope and derek had crushed themselves on the loveseat while rossi claimed the single seater you had. you grabbed your two only other chairs and placed them next to where rossi was. hotchner and reid sat in the new present chairs.

you grabbed your phone which was connected to the tv and opened a slideshow, “y/n’s trivia night.” read rossi.

penelope sat up, “oh i am so good at these!”

you reached behind the tv and checked for the gift card. “i thought that since i was the newest addition to the team… i would have a trivia game so you could learn more about me!” you pulled out a $50 visa gift card, “i prepared a prize for the 1st place winner… a $50 visa gift card!” everyone cooed at the possibility for a prize. “free money? now i’m in!” rossi joked.

the first round was a multiple choice section, and each correct answer was worth 1 point. you explained the rules to your co-workers. the first question appeared on the slide. what is y/n’s favorite color?

C. B. A. A. D. E. B. “the correct answer is B, one point to penelope and reid!” penelope nudged derek as he groaned. you assumed they had argued about your favorite color.

another question, when is y/n’s birthday?

A. A. A. A. B. D. C. “the correct answer is… C! point to reid!” everyone groaned, especially those at the loveseat. they all answered your trick question, which had the incorrect year.

you finished out the round 1 questions until everyone noticed a pattern. reid had gotten every single question correct. penelope would be a close second if 6 and 4 were neighbors. then emily and jennifer were tied, hotchner at 5th, rossi at 6th and derek dead last. penelope teased derek after the rankings were called out.

you introduced round two, a free response round where each question was worth two. you admitted this round had more leeway as you could get 1 point for getting part of the answer but it had to be specific enough to warrant the 2 points.

this round went by slower. without the help of given answers they had to use their brain power to create an answer. the first question was rough for many. hotchner got the single point for guessing your favorite childhood tv show but reid ultimately got the 2 points for getting the entire title.

round two was so horrible, you ended up having to provide one hint per person to get points. you would have regretted making it a free response section if reid hadn’t gotten all the questions right again.

you read the rankings, reid, penelope, hotchner, jennifer, emily, rossi and derek.

you announced the third and final round. “it’s a single question.” everyone relaxed. “this question is worth double all your points.” everyone sat up. everyone but derek, rossi and emily had a chance to overcome reid, but it all came down to if reid missed the question.

you read the question. gave them a few minutes as you served more champagne. after the minutes were up you counted down from 3 and had everyone revealed their answers. to everyone’s surprise reid had gotten the answer correct. almost exact to how you worded it on the tv.

you read the final results. “last place is tied with derek and rossi at 5 points… emily with 8, hotchner with 10, jennifer with 11, penelope with 14 and reid with… 36.”

derek stood up, “cheaters don’t win!” reid was red at the attention. you pulled the visa gift card and handed it to reid with a smile. penelope clapped for reid and joined jennifer, hotchner and rossi. derek was pouting. “excuse derek, he’s being a jerk.” peneople elbowed derek.

the party went on for another hour until derek and peneople noted the time. “we have to go y/n, sorryyy.” peneople apologized. you bid them farewell. soon enough emily and jennifer wanted to leave as well. with emily and jennifer leaving, rossi and hotchner left after wishing you happy birthday for the third time.

you were wrapping the food when reid entered after his bathroom break. “did everyone leave?” he asked.

“yup, you can leave too… it won’t bug me.” you reassured reid in case he was waiting to leave.

he approached you in the kitchen. “do you need help?” you looked at him, “if you could wrap the left over pasta, i would appreciate that.”

he grabbed a sheet a tinfoil and sealed the ends. “could i actually take some of the pasta home?” he asked. you nodded, “of course! take however much you’d like.” you handed him a container.

he spooned the pasta into the container. “you’re a wonderful cook y/n.” another compliment.

“thank you,” escaped a smile while you felt your cheeks get warm. you pushed your lower back against the island. reid was taking more pasta. “are you a cheater?” you asked.

he shut the container before turning around. “i’ve never dated so-“

“no i mean the game.” you cut through. he turned red. “how would i cheat?” it was a question of interest. he didn’t know the answer which was out of the norm for him. “i’m just surprised you got a perfect 100 on my trivia game.”

reid’s mouth turned upwards, “eidetic memory y/n.” the eye contact was too much. “you say that, but can’t tell hotchner when his birthday is.” you rebutted. it was a question that hotchner blurted out during the game. emily prentiss, rossi and even derek knew his birthday but spencer had failed to come up with the correct answer.

reid was chewing the inside of his mouth. “hotchner is old and uninteresting.” he jabbed at his boss. “and i am?” he nodded. “new people are always more interesting.”

you had looked away. reid’s eye contact was too much for you. it was odd, he almost never could hold eye contact with anyone on the team but you? come to think of it, this was the first time since being transferred to the BAU that you and reid were alone. whenever the team split, reid was somehow in your group by chance but when it was one on one, you were paired with jennifer or hotchner.

in the beginning hotchner just wanted to get to see your working style and see how you handled people. after the first months, you had built a relationship with jennifer and she always pulled you away. she loved to hear what you thought about the other members, but you never told her the truth about reid. as a new member, it would leave a sour taste in their mouths if you immediately had issues with one member.

it wasn’t an issue though, it was more of an observation.

he knew when you were born, he knew where you had transferred from, he knew your favorite genre of music and books, and now he knew where you lived. “is everything okay y/n?” reid cut through the silence.

you realized it had been a couple minutes of silence. you avoided his eye contact and were zoning out. “yes…” you replied. reid stepped closer. “are you sure?” here he was asking you questions. he can sense the change in you. “yes, reid.” you replied.

reid paused. “i got you a gift,” he dug into his bag, “but i was worried you wouldn’t like it.” he pulled out a small box. one that looked like it would house a necklace. he moved closer to you and reached his arm out.

you took the box and opened it. inside was a necklace. gold, heart shaped with a beautiful gem in the middle that shined with the kitchen lights. “oh, it’s so pretty reid.” you lifted the necklace out of the box, unclasped it and slipped it on.

reid analyzed. you could hear his breathing. in and out. in and out. once the necklace was on, reid asked, “does it fit well?” you knew it took a lot of effort, “perfectly.” you mumbled in response.

reid hadn’t stepped back. you two were closer than ever. his hand brushed against clothing and reached for your chin. he lifted your face to look him in the eye. your cheeks were warming up faster than ever.

you both stayed silent. his hand wrapped around, sitting politely on your cheek. then before you could react, he leaned forward, his lips touching yours.

at first, you were surprised at the sudden gestures of reid. he was quite germaphobic, refusing to even shake hands. that was your first lesson in the fbi, reid didn’t like being touched. he took the largest step back when you went in for a hand shake and hotchner behind you, “he doesn’t like hand shakes, i should’ve told you that.”

you could not resist. his lips were soft, his hand warmed your cheek and his free arm found it’s way around your waist. your body spoke that he wasn’t being rejected, and he pulled you in closer.

it felt like the kiss had lasted minutes when he finally pulled back. “sorry,” he apologized, stepping back.

before he could go any further, you grabbed his collar and pulled him into another kiss. now he was surprised but that didn’t last longer than a split second. he cupped your face and kissed you. you opened your mouth slightly and he slipped his tongue inside, feeling around you. he pulled back taking the messenger bag he had donned all night off. returning, he held onto your waist while you reached for the back of his neck.

everything clicked for you. he remembered all the small and obscure details about you because he was interested in you. when you told reid your favorite color because he noticed the different tops you had of that one color, when you told reid that your birthday was the reason for your favorite season. everytime reid asked you if you had changed your hair or makeup, it was because he had remembered that you keep your hair down and your makeup minimal.

you pulled back, “you remembered everything about me because you were interested didn’t you.” reid was blushed, you weren’t sure if it was due to the kissing or the comment or maybe he was just hot. “i’m guilty…” he nodded, avoiding eye contact.

you begged reid to tell you the when and why. he was so embarrassed. admitting that he had never had a crush, and he asked hotchner what it meant to have an anxious feeling around a woman. “hotchner laughed at me and said that i was too smart to not know what attraction was.” reid told you. it was safe to say, that reid did not leave your apartment that night– in fact… he stayed the night at your apartment quite often.

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