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iovebarca · 2 months

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Transfer of Heart - Marc Guiu

Authors note: omg spain won that surprised absolutely no one!!!!

Warnings: incorrect grammar (probably), my first language isn't english so if you notice any mistakes please tell me, angsty, fluff!

WC: 1000+

You're standing in a crowded bar in the heart of Barcelona, the vibrant music and chatter of people creating a symphony of nightlife around you. You’ve always loved the energy of this place, the Lower East Side vibe transplanted to Spain. Tonight, however, feels different. There’s a tinge of anticipation mingling with your excitement, a flutter of nerves in your stomach as you glance at your phone.

Then, you see him – Marc. Tall, with an effortlessly handsome look that makes your heart race. His eyes light up when he spots you, cutting through the crowd with an easy confidence that always leaves you breathless.

"Hey," he says, pulling you into a warm embrace. The scent of his cologne wraps around you, a comforting familiarity.

"Hey," you reply, your voice soft against his shoulder. "How was training?"

"Exhausting," he laughs, pulling back to look at you with those sparkling eyes. "But seeing you makes it all worth it."

You both grab drinks and find a quieter corner to talk. The conversation flows easily, as it always does with Marc. He tells you about his day, his teammates, the latest locker room banter. But tonight, there's a tension in his eyes, something unsaid lingering between his words.

"You seem distracted," you finally say, placing a hand on his arm. "Is everything okay?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head with a forced smile. "Just a lot on my mind, I guess. But don't worry about it. How was your day?"

You decide not to press further, though the unease lingers. As the night wears on, you lose yourself in the comfort of his presence, pushing the doubts aside.

A week passes, and Marc seems more distant. He’s been busy before, but this feels different. The late-night texts are fewer, the calls shorter, and there’s a vague, disquieting sense of something slipping away.

One evening, as you’re scrolling through Instagram, you see a post from Chelsea Football Club. Your heart stops as you read the headline: "Welcome to Our New Transfer: Marc!". The accompanying photo shows Marc holding a Chelsea jersey, smiling broadly.

Shock and hurt hit you like a tidal wave. He’s leaving Barcelona. He’s leaving you. And he didn’t tell you.

Your phone buzzes with a message from him: "Hey, can we talk?" But you ignore it. Anger and betrayal surge through you. How could he keep something so significant from you? You turn off your phone, needing time to process this on your own.

Days go by, and you try to focus on anything but Marc. Yet, everything reminds you of him – the places you went together, the songs you listened to, the lingering scent of his cologne.

A week later, there’s a knock at your door. You open it to find Marc standing there, looking desperate and exhausted.

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost a whisper. His eyes are filled with a mix of regret and longing that makes your heart ache.

You step aside, letting him in. He stands in your living room, looking around as if trying to find the right words.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, his voice breaking. “I should have told you about the transfer. I didn’t know how to, and then it all happened so fast. But I can’t leave without telling you how I feel.”

You cross your arms, trying to maintain your anger. Knowing deep down you've missed him loads.

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. “I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment we met. And the thought of leaving without you... I can’t do it. Come with me, please. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

The sincerity in his voice breaks down your defenses. Tears fill your eyes as you realize how much you’ve missed him, how much you still love him.

“I love you too, Marc,” you say, your voice trembling.

In an instant, he's closing the distance between you, his lips crashing into yours. The kiss is urgent, filled with all the emotions of the past week – the anger, the longing, the love. His hands are on your back, pulling you closer, and you can feel his heart racing against yours.

You lose yourself in the kiss, in the feeling of his body against yours. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s arms. His lips move with desperation, as if trying to make up for all the time lost, and you respond with equal intensity, pouring all your emotions into the embrace.

When you finally pull away, you're both breathless. Marc rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

“Come with me,” he whispers again. “Let’s start a new life together.”

You look into his eyes, seeing the depth of his sincerity and the love that’s always been there. “Yes. I’ll go with you.”

His face breaks into a relieved, joyful smile before he pulls you into another kiss, softer this time but just as intense. His hands move to your face, cradling it gently as his lips explore yours, slow and deliberate.

The kiss deepens, and you feel his hands travel down your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, matching the rhythm of your own.

You guide him towards the couch, your bodies entwined. He lowers you down gently, his lips never leaving yours. The heat between you is palpable, every touch, every kiss stoking the flames of desire that have been simmering for so long.

“I can’t lose you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Not now, not ever.”

“You won’t,” you promise, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. “I’m yours, Marc.”

His response is a fervent kiss, his hands exploring your body with a reverence that makes you shiver. You lose yourself in the moment, in the love and passion that’s always been there, just waiting for this moment to be unleashed.

The world outside ceases to exist, leaving only the two of you, wrapped in each other’s love and desire.

#marc guiu oneshot #marc guiu x reader #marc guiu imagine #marc guiu #marc guiu fluff #chelsea fc #fc barcelona

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senorabond · 11 months

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Rumor Has It (Peña x f!reader x Pike)

Pairings: Javier Pena x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Pena x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 1 Summary: You've recently transferred from a promising job in D.C. to Texas when DEA Special Agent Javier Peña approaches you with his current case. Rumor has it you have an in with the FBI art crimes unit, and the DEA could use your skills and connections on a suspected narcos money laundering case. You need to do well on this case to prove yourself, but you're not sure Marcus Pike will even help after the way you left.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Mature-to-Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex and masturbation (f), previous sexual relationship, office romance, references to gossip and slut shaming, sexist/patriarchal bullshit, daydreaming about "little Peña"

Reader/Character Notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 4.4k

a/n: I started writing this thinking it'd be a quick and dirty PWP, but then the plot took over and I'm not sorry. Time/setting is pretty loose. This wasn't "officially" beta'd - all errors and weird formatting are my own. However, a very special thanks and kisses for @azure-waves and @kilamonster for reading early versions of this! 😘 Additional author's notes at the end.

Masterlist

Rumor Has It: Chapter One

Javier Peña thinks he’s hot shit. He struts about the office like he runs the place and conducts briefings like he's holding his own personal court. It'd be easier to chalk it up to pure ego and ignore him if he didn't actually have such an impressive resume to back it up. Unfortunately, that means putting up with yet another cocksure male flirting and fucking his way through the office your respective agencies share. At least he's easy on the eyes.

Since moving to Houston six months ago for a new position with the U.S. Customs and Border Protection, you'd clocked at least four broken hearts in Agent Peña's wake. In his defense, there are far more smiles than tears in the women's restroom when his name comes up in whispered conversation. You haven't heard this much gossip about a single guy since your senior year of high school when it was rumored that three cheerleaders got knocked up by the same football player as a pregnancy pact. For the record, only two girls were actually pregnant, and the alleged father ran off with the team’s water boy a few years out of college. They made a cute couple.

Favorite topics of conversation among Peña's admirers are his tight pants, who he's purportedly slept with, how good he must be in the sack, and contending reports of how big his dick actually is. Just that day you overheard one guy in the breakroom swear to a colleague that he'd seen ‘little Peña’ twitch while the DEA agent was briefing the latest developments in his investigation. You barely managed to hide your snort in your coffee, but had to admit the mental image was intriguing.

While not morally opposed to sleeping with somebody in the same office (that'd make you a hypocrite), you personally wouldn't want to risk the potential fallout of fooling around with someone as high profile as Agent Peña. The unfortunate reality is that women always bear the brunt of those consequences, and you aren't interested in putting your career on the line for a good dicking. As much as you may desperately need one.

You'd been out a few times since moving to the area, but calling those disasters “dates” would be too generous. One such encounter seemed like it was going well, until the guy answered a call from his mother, got into a shouting match with her over the phone, then cried over the bread basket. You promptly excused yourself and blocked his number from the cab ride home.

Since that night, the only dates you’d had were with some quality home entertainment and your trusty vibrator. The Magic Wand hadn’t failed you yet. Last night you enjoyed a delicious orgasm while watching a particularly excellent video featuring two men worshiping a woman’s body. That lucky bitch. It’d been way too long since you’d gotten laid, and it was starting to take its toll. Even with the regular, self-attained orgasms, you'd begun losing focus at work. Your mind frequently wanders into sexy daydreams about impossible scenarios in the war room.

At your desk, you think back to what the guy said in the breakroom about little Peña and giggle to yourself. That'd be a sight to see, and would certainly liven up a boring case briefing. Your thoughts drift, and a fantasy begins to take shape.

Agent Peña stands at the end of the conference table, commanding the attention of everyone in the room. One hand on his hip holds his charcoal suit jacket back; the other gestures behind him to the slides displaying the latest developments in his investigation. The lights are dimmed but his signature tight pants don’t leave much to the imagination. Your gaze takes him in slowly, lazily almost. Expressive eyebrows give way to deep set brown eyes. An aquiline nose slopes to meet his trademark mustache, and his lips make the perfect pout as he speaks. The broad motherfucker has a chest and shoulders for days, and his neck is almost too big for his collared shirt. When he moves his arms, the sleeves of his suit jacket are drawn tighter around his biceps. Down, down your eyes go, over the plane of his abdomen, past the unobtrusive belt buckle, and settle on the obvious bulge down the left side of his crotch. You can’t help but admire the outline of Peña’s cock; it twitches, and saliva floods your mouth as you squeeze your thighs tightly, your body responding of its own accord. Agent Peña’s timbre changes and you realize he’s said your name - you look up at him like a deer in headlights. “Like what you see?”

You hear your name again, but his mouth hasn't moved beyond a knowing smirk…

“Hel-lo?” You shake yourself out of your daydream only to realize somebody has actually been saying your name.

To your abject horror, the real Javier Peña stands next to your desk, a manila folder in his hands and a quizzical brow lifted in your direction.

“What? Yeah? What do you want?”

The questions fly out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. To further your mortification, you can feel heat blooming across your chest and face. He knows - he has to know - what is going through your head. Someone must have turned on the heat in the building, it's sweltering all of a sudden.

Peña shifts his weight onto his left leg, his right knee bent slightly. “I’m Javier Peña with the DEA -”

“I know.” Again, with the blurting.

“Right.” He works his jaw slightly. “I was told you were the one to come talk to.”

You focus on the manila folder in his hands and refuse to let your traitorous eyes dip any lower. They're just hands, for Christ’s sake. Large, strong hands.

“Yeah? About what?” Is your voice breathier than usual?

Peña fidgets with the folder, then leans over and drops it in front of you. His thumb swipes at the corner of his mouth and he places both hands on his hips. There’s an agitated tension in his stance, and he shifts from foot to foot like a horse ready to bolt.

“You’re with Customs,” he says, as though his meaning was obvious.

It's your turn to lift a brow at him.

“Yep. That I am.”

It’s easier to pull yourself together with something tangible in front of you to focus on. You flip the folder open and start leafing through its contents. There are copies of bank transactions, transcripts from what you assume are wiretaps, and surveillance photos featuring two Latino men in well tailored suits outside a storefront, one of them holding a briefcase. This was business, this was work – you could do this.

Peña clears his throat and smoothes down his mustache, the fingers of his left hand drumming on his hip. You wonder if he’s always this twitchy or if something could be making him nervous.

“My investigation is centered around these two men,” he waves a hand vaguely at the photos. “They run the stateside money laundering operations for some heavy cartel hitters, but they like to throw in some legitimate business dealings as well just to muddy the waters.”

He pauses to clear his throat.

“Uh huh…,” you prompt, looking up in time to see him tugging at his fitted collar. This was starting to get interesting. It’s obvious he came over to ask for your help with his case, but he seems to be doing everything he can to avoid saying those three little words, ‘I need help.’ What a typical man.

Leaning back in your chair with the folder and its contents in hand, you find it much easier to take in the man standing before you. It's no longer like staring into the sun, however sexy that sun may be. The Great Javier Peña, reduced to an average fed. You can’t help but be a bit disappointed.

Peña sucks in a breath like he's going to keep speaking, then wordlessly proffers his hand to ask for the folder. You pass it back into his hands and keep your expression neutral. Flipping through the photos, he finds what he's looking for and places it on your desk.

“That was taken outside an art gallery in Dallas. I think they know we’re closing in on some of their more lucrative sources of income and are trying something new.”

You look more closely at the photo in front of you and nod. “Art classes?” The second the joke leaves your mouth you cringe inwardly. Peña’s jaw twitches as his eyebrows scowl a fraction of an inch closer. Not the time or place.

“The gallery is run by a couple in their sixties, Frank and Harriet Mansford. I think they’re working with these guys to make some kind of art deal.” You gesture to the chair opposite your desk and he accepts the invitation to sit down.

“So, tell me, Agent Peña – where exactly does Customs come in? How do I fit into this picture?” Leaning forward, elbows propped on your desk, you fix Peña with what you hope is a confident stare. His fingers worry over the corner of his chair’s armrest.

“Narcos have gotten more sophisticated in their laundering operations, but this wouldn’t be the first time they’ve used art sales to clean their money.” His gaze is steady, but his fingers continue on their restless path.

“Unless they’re smuggling stolen goods into or out of the country–”

“They are,” Peña interjects. “I believe they are.” He lets out a frustrated breath. “I don’t have the evidence yet, but I’ve already been looking into this gallery. They specialize in European art – so they’re likely getting at least some of it from abroad. And an international sale would make the paper trail harder to follow.”

“As long as they’re legitimately purchasing or selling the artwork–” You hold up a calming hand as the agent makes to interrupt again. “Agent Peña, I’d like to help, but unless their crimes touch the border, it’s out of my jurisdiction.”

“I know. But that’s not the only reason I’m talking to you.” Peña takes a deep breath like he's gearing up for something and you brace yourself.

“I don’t know anything about art, ma’am.” He gives you the closest thing to a self-deprecating grin you think he’s capable of. “I’ve been trying to get the FBI’s art squad on this, but I can’t even get someone to take my calls – I don’t have an in.” He glances surreptitiously to see if anybody else is in earshot.

Your gut does an anxious flip. Please, don't let this be going where you think it’s going. He licks his lips and hesitates, avoiding your eyes.

“Word is you might know somebody in D.C.”

Your heart stutters. Shit.

Sounds like Peña isn’t the only subject of rumors around here.

---

Great, just great. You left D.C. to get away from people treating you differently because of who you choose to sleep with, but it looks like the rumors followed you all the way to fucking Texas.

You take a good, hard look at the man sitting across from you. For a moment, you seriously consider telling him he can go fuck himself. While social blackmail isn’t something you’re willing to tolerate after everything you’ve done to start fresh, you don’t want to miss your first real opportunity to get involved in a case since arriving in Texas. Javier Peña may be a god amongst mere mortals in this town – you’d learned enough about his career to know it wasn’t all bullshit – but you weren’t going to let him get away with using you for your contacts at the FBI. Well, contact – singular.

“The ‘word’ is?” You quote back at him icily. “And what word is that, Agent Peña?” Leaning back in your chair, you cock your head to the side a bit and rest your elbows on the arm rests. His mustache twitches the slightest bit at this change in your body language and tone of voice, but he doesn’t respond. You might be overplaying your hand here, but you’ll take that risk to find out how far he’s willing to go with this approach. Not wanting to be the first to break, you let the uncomfortable silence stretch.

Right when you start to think you’ve missed the mark and he’s going to walk away without another word, he nods, eyes never leaving yours. Mirroring your pose, he tents his fingers and licks his lips again. You force yourself not to look at his mouth.

“I’m not stupid,” he states. Here it comes. “I know what people say about me around here.”

Wait, what? Schooling your features, you decide to see how this plays out.

“I know you haven’t been here very long, but I’m sure you’ve heard some of the office gossip already.” He shifts in his seat and hikes his pant legs up, casually propping one ankle on a knee. You pride yourself on not looking at his crotch.

At that moment, a woman walks by your desk and gives the two of you a thorough once over. You stare her down until she meets your eyes, the smirk forming on her lips immediately dying. She scurries away and you turn back to find Peña giving you a bit of a smirk, and a certain glint appears in his eyes.

“Agent Peña–”

“Javi, please.” The balls on this guy.

“Agent,” you repeat purposefully, “I’m not sure what, if anything, you know about me.” You pause to take a steadying breath, but Peña continues in earnest.

“I know you worked with the FBI art squad on a number of cases during your time in D.C. that resulted in the arrest of several high-profile members of a forgery ring smuggling pieces into the country for sale on the black market.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you were expecting. At all.

He keeps talking. “But that was only in the last year or so. Before that, you worked your way up as a field agent and investigator at major ports of entry, developing a specialty in high-value contraband.” Peña slowly runs his palms over his thighs; the man is in perpetual motion.

As you listen to Javi rattle off various highlights and accolades that sound like they came directly from your personnel file, you notice the change in his demeanor and tone. He speaks matter-of-factly like he’s reciting a brief, but there’s a hint of something else in his tone besides simple curiosity.

“And then you landed the D.C. assignment. From what I hear, you could’ve been running that unit in a few years, but instead you took a boring ass admin job out here.” He gestures vaguely around you. This is where he’s comfortable – when he’s the one in charge, telling you what’s what.

“You’ve sure heard a lot about me, Agent Peña.” Your tone is cool and measured.

“Why?” He leans forward and braces his elbows on spread knees. His piercing eyes level with yours, pupils wide and locked in.

“‘Why’ what?”

“Why’d you leave D.C.?”

A glance out to the common area nearby confirms there’s nobody within earshot, but you still lower your voice when you say, “You already seem to know everything there is about me.” Pausing, you feel your pulse flutter in your neck. “I would think you’ve heard that part as well.”

He’s testing you. That’s how guys like him operate. They pin you down to see if you’ve got enough in you to fight back. Fighting back is what earns their respect. The smile Peña gives you is subtle, edging on mischievous.

“I’ve heard plenty on that topic,” he confirms with a gentle nod. “There are a few prevailing theories.” He counts off the rumors on his fingers and glances up to see your reactions to each.

Pissed off the wrong politician is met with an eye roll.

Moved here for a boyfriend – “...or girlfriend?” Javi checks – earns an exasperated sigh.

“You fucked your way around–” Javi stops abruptly when an indignant sound escapes your mouth. This reaction sends Javi’s eyebrows dancing.

Kicking yourself, you decide there’s only one course of action: honesty. Keeping your voice low, you lean over your desk and Javi follows until your faces are barely a foot apart. You force yourself to look directly into his eyes as you say your piece.

“I didn’t ‘fuck my way around’ anything. Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I had a consensual relationship that never once interfered with our professional conduct or the work at hand. Got it?” Javi doesn’t speak, but there’s a glint in his eyes as they roam over your stony expression, lips pursed in a contemplative pout.

“Once the rumor mill starts, it’s only a matter of time before the woman is left to deal with the consequences – not that I’d expect you to care about such things.” You practically spit the last words out before you can stop yourself.

The air stills between you. Peña nods as if to himself, then leans even closer, until you can smell his spicy cologne. “Let’s set the record straight about one thing right now, Agent.”

You swallow thickly and look anywhere but at his eyes – the long line of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the stubble on his cheek. His voice drops into a deeper register when he says, “I don’t give a shit who you choose to fuck or not – as long as it doesn’t get in the way of me getting the job done. We’re all adults here and can make our own grown-up choices.” He raises a finger, and points first to you, then himself as he speaks. “My one rule is: I don’t judge you, you don’t judge me.”

He pauses, giving you a second’s reprieve. “Are we on the same page now?”

You nod once, gritting your teeth at his condescending tone. Back in a normal register he says, “Good. Now about this investigation of mine…”

Peña retreats and gestures at the case documents underneath where your arms were folded on top of your desk. You look down, having almost forgotten his whole reason for being here in the first place.

“Agent Peña…” you start, and again, he interrupts.

“Please, I asked you to call me Javi.” The fucker winks at you – winks.

“Javi,” you grind out, playing his game. “I don’t know what you think I can do for you, unless this whole thing is to try and get me to –”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice is a rumble in his chest. “Don’t insult me like that, and don’t insult yourself.” Javi points at the desk. “I came here asking for help because you’re a damn good agent with experience in this shit. If you want to show this office that you’re not going to back down from another fight just because some dickless piss-ant is spreading rumors, this is your chance.”

You let his words sink in and hate that he’s right. You did back down from the fight in D.C., the second it got difficult. Your pride was wounded and you ran away with your tail between your legs at the first opportunity. With a steadying breath, you sigh and start organizing the documents and photos.

“I’ll take a look at everything and see what I can come up with.” Peña begins to stand, and you cut in, “But I can’t promise I can get you in with the FBI.”

You haven’t spoken to Special Agent Marcus Pike since you left D.C. six months earlier. If you were honest with yourself, you missed the time you two spent together, even when you weren’t having amazing sex. Getting takeout from his favorite Thai place and watching an old movie, or reviewing case notes over pizza after hours in the war room. Marcus was the most decent guy you’d ever known, and you hadn’t even answered the few times he called to check in your first couple months in Texas. It’d serve you right if he refused to speak to you ever again, if you could swallow your pride long enough to call him up.

“I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.” Peña sticks a hand out to shake. You join him on your feet and grasp his hand firmly. Some of your confidence was returning.

“I never pegged you as the desperate type, Javi.” You hoped your smile was enough for the agent to hear your words as the playful banter you’d intended. Fortunately, he huffed a quiet laugh and nodded appreciatively, boldly letting his eyes wander over you. The heat of his gaze leaves pleasant tingles in its wake.

“I’ll swing by tomorrow to talk about next steps.”

The agent departs, and you sit back down at your desk with a long sigh. As you watch the man walk away, your reverie from earlier comes back in startling focus with new details. You think back to how commanding and gruff his voice had sounded with his face so close to yours. The scent of his cologne lingered – spicy, with a hint of citrus and something else you couldn’t identify. How his thick fingers splayed over his hip or massaged the arm of his chair as he spoke. The crease in the middle of his bottom lip when he swiped at the corner of his mouth.

Clearing your throat, you try to focus your attention on the stack of papers and photos in front of you. You couldn’t let your libido cloud your judgment now that you had a real case to sink your teeth into. You’d always prided yourself on your ability to compartmentalize, but your head was still swimming after the man had been in your cubicle for, what – ten minutes?

You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you.

***

Washington, D.C.

6 months earlier

“You don’t have to do this.” Marcus stands next to your desk as you finish packing your few personal belongings into an empty cardboard box. “I’ll talk to my guys, you don’t need –”

You still him with a hand. “Marcus, please. I’m choosing to do this; it’s a really good opportunity.” You hope he believes that.

Marcus sighs and rubs a hand over his face. After looking around to check that you and he were alone in the emptying building, Marcus leans into your space. “You’re telling me this has nothing to do with us?” His voice is deep, intimate.

He’s close enough for you to feel the warmth emanating from his body, and you catch a whiff of the aftershave that always leaves you feeling a bit heady. How is it still so strong even after a full day’s work? The frisson you experience whenever your bodies are in close proximity hasn’t diminished in the slightest, even after months of fucking on the sly.

You’d both maintained your professionalism at the office; you respect each others’ boundaries and careers too much to get sloppy in the workplace. The only thing that changed around the office since you started sleeping with Marcus was the other agents. Their eyes followed you around the office, conversations sputtered to a halt when you entered the breakroom, and snatches of whispered conversation filled your cubicle when they didn’t know you were there.

Clearing your throat, you force your eyes to meet his intense gaze. “Yes, Marcus, that’s what I’m saying.”

Marcus is a great agent, and an even greater guy. You know he’d want to stick up for you – as a fellow agent, and as a friend – but it’d only make things harder for you. Already your caseload had begun to dwindle and you were being consulted less and less often on issues squarely in your area of expertise. After several fruitless conversations with your supervisor, you weren't about to sit around and wait for your career to die – no matter how mindblowing the sex was.

The box is packed with your personal belongings and an assortment of stolen office supplies as your last petty ‘fuck you’ to the endemic sexism and double standards that plague federal law enforcement.

“Hey,” Marcus takes your hand in both of his and strokes his thumb over your pulse point as he perches a hip on the corner of your bare desk. “I can tell there’s something more to the story, and you obviously don’t want to tell me what it is so I’m not going to push…”

You roll your eyes at him teasingly and he huffs out a laugh, then pulls you closer so your hand is in his lap. He keeps stroking that sensitive part of your wrist and something in you thrums to life. “But?” You look at your joined hands. “I know there’s a but in there.”

“But – you know you can always talk to me. About whatever.” He shrugs a noncommittal shoulder and you step even closer, bracketing one of his legs between your own. His breath falters a bit as you turn one of his large hands over and graze your fingertips across his palm with a featherlight touch.

“If you ever need anything, please…” His voice drops into the register you only ever hear him use in private.

Fuck it – you’d been so careful and were still dealing with the consequences. Might as well have a little fun on your last day. You place a firm hand on Marcus’ thigh and glide it up to his hip.

“There is one thing I need right now.” You feel a bit giddy at your recklessness, but any nerves you might have are quelled when Marcus runs the tip of his nose up your jawline to your ear.

“And what’s that? Hm?” He inhales your scent and hums with pleasure. Before you can stop yourself, you shift your hand at Marcus’ hip to his crotch. When you feel how hard he already is you release a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

Marcus inhales sharply through his nose at your touch, then lets out a groan in your ear at your gentle squeeze. “Tell me what you need.” His five o’clock shadow rasps against your sensitive skin as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth.

“I need you to show me that evidence locker you haven’t shut up about since we met.”

Chapter 2

NOTE: The term “war room” originally described the place military leaders discussed tactics and strategies. It’s frequently used now in federal government, law enforcement, and business settings to describe any room used to strategize and plan – it could have various technologies (computers, A/V, video-teleconferencing, etc.) or be a plain old conference/meeting space with whiteboards.

Additional Author’s Note: I'm finally forcing myself to post this fic I've been working on in an attempt to get over my fear of people reading my work. It's the first fic I've written in the Pedroverse, and quite possibly the only fic I've ever posted publicly as an adult. I would love to know what you think! I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thanks for reading!

#senorabond writes #javier pena x reader #marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #narcos fic #the mentalist fic #peña x f!reader x pike #rumor has it fic

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blossom-works · 1 year

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Power Couple

Request (anon): Hiii!! How are you? Can I ask for a kylian request where both the reader and him go on Ridiculousness and it’s just all fluff and jokes, thanks anyway

Thank you for your request! I had to tweak your submission since I don't think Kylian would allow his s/o on a platform like that for privacy's sake. I do hope that I made you proud with this though!

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About a month ago, you and the board of your hospital agreed that it would be best if you quit your job. Now, why would you quit a job you absolutley loved doing? The reason why both parties agreed to it is because while you were on maternity leave, someone found out you worked at the hospital and told the world. People started coming to (and sneaking in) the hospital just to snap a photo or a short video of you. Some even harrassed you. It got so bad that the safety of the staff, patients, and actual visitors came to the surface.

When you told Kylian about this, he was furious. He took it to his social media and posted a statement saying that he was disappointed with his "fans" behavior. Kylian also said that he would be taking the threats and harassment towards you to court. "I do not take the safety of myself or my family members lightly. All threats and harassment made towards my wife maliciously or jokingly, will be investigated by my legal team."

You cried for days after you left your job. You truly loved it and the kids there. Kylian even asked to take a day off practice to make sure you were okay. Since then, you have been distracting yourself by being a stay-at-home mom. You loved it. You love being able to take care of your child 24/7. In fact, you took pride in it. When Matthew was old enough, you and Kylian enrolled him in daycare. It would be good for him to socialize with babies his age and people who are not you or Kylian. You hated being home alone with no husband or kid to dote on. It was just you and that big ass house.

You brought this to Kylian and you both came up with a solution. Fayza, your mother-in-law, is working on a project for Inspired by KM and she could use your help. You immediately accepted Kylian's proposal and the next week, you were working alongside your mother-in-law. Your first day was pretty easy, just reviewing the project itself and adding your little details. The following days were more hands-on work. You even had to do a small interview with Fayza about the project.

To say that you were nervous was an understatement. You are grateful that Fayze was there to take the lead when you stumbled here and there. While in Bondy, you met the kids there and did so many fun activities with them. From cooking and baking to playing a game of football with them. At that time, the targeted demographic did not know that you were Kylian's wife, but now, people know that Kylian's wife is supporting her husband through his organization.

Now, you are confident when doing your interviews. You added a lot of value to the organization that you ended up being named "director". A position that sits just under Kylian. You even have your own secretary! French news media went wild about how much of a power couple the two of you are. When you were given the position of director, Kylian threw a huge party to celebrate. The more projects you push out in Inspired by KM, the more your face gets recognized. You transferred the knowledge you gathered while working at the hospital and inserted it into Kylian's organization.

You and your family traveled to France a few days ago because you and Kylian have to do an interview there to talk about the latest project of Inspired by KM. Kylian's parents will be at the family home so they can watch their almost one-year-old grandson.

The two of you agreed to stick to a neutral-colored wardrobe. Kylian is wearing a white button-down and black slacks with some loafers and as always, donning a HUBLOT watch. You chose to wear something a little more dressy. A back shirt and blazer with a pair of beige, velvet pants and nude heels. You tied your hair in a low bun and are wearing an Olivia Burton watch Kylian got you for your first anniversary. Quite the power couple look indeed.

(Bold dialect will be in French)

"Mrs. Mbappe, it's well known that you joined your husband's organization because you lost your job at a Spanish hospital. How was that like for you?"

Ah, a question you have heard and answered a dozen times before.

"It was hard. I loved my job but the board and I came to a mutual understanding and agreement. Both parties agreed that it was no longer about whether or not I should keep my job, but it was about the safety of the people who worked and were administered there."

The interviewer nods and writes down a couple of notes. He then asks Kylian how he felt about the situation. Kylian just said that he was angry for you and did what he could to protect you. He calls the incident a blessing in disguise because you have done so much for his organization, and it has made the two of you closer as a couple.

"You gave birth in the fall of last year, correct? Has motherhood clashed with your duties for Inspired by KM?"

"No, it hasn't. I'm thankful for my husband's resources that allow me to work with Inspired by KM. Motherhood has made me a more nurturing woman which helps with my job at KM."

Again, he nods and writes down some notes. The interview so far is a bit redundant. His questions have been questions you have answered before, just worded differently. It does not help that the interview is a live one (with a live audience), so you cannot make any signs that show your disinterest.

"So, the recent project Inspired by KM was actually partnered with UNICEF. Can you tell me how that happened, Mrs. Mbappe?"

Finally! A question about the project that was recently launched.

"Certainly! I have always admired the work that UNICEF does and our missions align. One is just more global than the other. I shared my desire to expand KM's reach to children all over the world with my husband and our board at KM. Everyone came to an agreement and I wrote a proposal partnership to the general director of UNICEF."

"Why did you agree to it Kylian? Other than it being because your wife wanted to."

"When my love first brought the idea up, it was just the two of us. She had already come up with the project's structure and it was all very detailed. It wasn't just something she came up with on a whim. My wife did her research because she truly wished to make the project a reality. She was very passionate. She was still passionate when she proposed the idea during a board meeting. My wife supports me by cheering for me in the stands when I'm playing, and she supports me by working for my organization. I agreed because I want to support her."

The audience watching clap for Kylian's response. They even hollar when you kiss Kylian's cheek in appreciation. You are so glad that you are wearing makeup that hides your blushing face (besides the actual blush used).

"I want to bring attention to this projection screen here." The interviewer motions to the object. The projection turns on and a video pops up. The play button is clicked and when the first frame comes on, you hide your face into Kylian's shoulder in embarrassment. He too hides his face in your hair in embarrassment.

What on earth is being displayed to make you and Kylian want to hide from the world? It is a video of you and Kylian carelessly dancing in the office building. To destress the two of you, Kylian put on some music and coerced you to dance with him. Neither of you realized that Wilfried recorded the moment.

In the video, neither of you cares to observe your surroundings. Heck, one part of the video shows Kylian trying to twerk to the beat of the music. The room fills with laughter and you and Kylian are trying your best to shrink yourselves. Oh God! This entire interview is being broadcast! - Live!

Thankfully, the video stops at one minute and the torture is over. Takes a couple of seconds for the laughter to die down which does not help with your embarrassment. You are pretty sure your blushing face is showing through your makeup, but you can only know when the videos and photos of today come out. You lift your head off of Kylian's shoulder and fan your face. Kylian is busy wiping the tears of laughter and pain away from the corner of his eye.

"Well, it seems like the two of you do a great job at supporting each other." The interviewer coughs out. "In all seriousness, it's great to see two busy people such as yourselves enjoying the small moments in life. It's relatable and I believe it brings a positive message to people that they should have fun when they can."

Your husband speaks up. "I agree. It's like with football. I have to be serious when I'm on the pitch but when I'm off, I can have some fun and enjoy life. Enjoy the life I have with my wife." Kylian reaches over and holds your hand in a tight grip. He brings the back of your hand to his mouth and plants a firm kiss on it. The star athlete is never big on PDA. He always finds a way to hold onto you though. It could be hand holding or putting his hand on your waist or the small of your back. The most PDA Kylian will do is a kiss on your head or a small peck on the lips.

For the remainder of the interview, Kylian never let go of your hand. The two of you had to stay an hour or two after the interview to do some fan service (mainly Kylian). Many of his fans came up to you and asked how Matthew was doing. It warms your heart to know that there are people who you do not know, who care about your small family. You tell them how Matthew is a wiggle worm and how he loves to eat squash. He hates tomatoes and is unsure about cucumbers. Bread and cheese though, Matthew would live off of it if he could (French genes amirte).

A little far from you, you think you hear someone asking Kylian if he can teach them how to twerk. Your husband persistently declines the request that was clearly made to poke fun at him. Gosh, that video is going to haunt him forever, huh? Mentally, Kylian sarcastically thanks his father. The day was eventful for the two of you. Over the course of a few months, you have learned how to see the blessings in the curse. You found a way to help children not just in your community, but to the children spread across the globe.

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Hope my little newsletter isn't too cringy or pathetic

#x reader #fanfiction #football #kylian x reader #kylian mbappe #mbappe x reader #kylian mabppe x reader #kylian mbappé imagine #football imagine

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fatehbaz · 2 years

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Avocado orchards had carpeted the gently undulating hills around the sacred lake of Pátzcuaro with stodgy green bushes. Here, before the cataclysmic arrival of the first envoys dispatched by Hernando Cortes from the Aztec capital over the mountains to the East, [...] the Purépecha had sown maize, amaranth, zucchini, cacao, cotton, tomato, beans, a dozen types of chili, and much more.

Now the monotonous “green gold” of the avocado boom had colonized the entire Mexican state of Michoacán. [...] [I]t was shocking to think that the cause of the disaster was America’s great patriotic party: the National Football League’s Super Bowl. A flurry of advertising creativity on behalf of the Mexican avocado was unleashed every year during the multi-million-dollar sports broadcast. [...] “Is your life just terrible?” asks the comic actor Chris Elliott, star of Scary Movie 2 and Scary Movie 4, in the 2019 spot. “You deserve more! Spread an avocado on top of everything!” [...] A few days before the Super Bowl, the domestic diva Martha Stewart [...] had released on social networks her latest recipe for guacamole [...]. Guacamole was now an obligatory snack for the 100 million or so Americans who watched the Super Bowl. In February of 2017, 278 million avocados -- most of them from Michoacán -- had been sold during the days before the game in [the US] [...].

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The avocado had become the star product of Mexican food production in the age of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) [...] since NAFTA was signed in 1994 [...]. [Mexican] farmers produced 16 times more than the formerly dominant Californian growers. [...] Moreover, the avocado was now classified as a “superfood” [...].

It had not always been like this. In the 1950s, the avocado was known unsentimentally as the crocodile pear [...]. Imports from Mexico were banned until 1997 [...] . When complete liberalization was announced in 2007, Michoacán had become an unbeatable competitor for the Californian avocado growers. The Mexican producers specialized, like their Californian rivals, in the Hass variety of avocado, more meaty than those that the Purépecha had [...] consumed over the millennia, and with a tough skin that protected the pears during long hauls in chilled container trucks to El Paso or Tijuana and then beyond to the big US consumer markets. [...] [T]he Hass avocado was perfectly suited to the global market [...]. Michoacán, whose crystalline lakes had earned it the name of the “land of fish” in the indigenous language of Tarasco, would never be the same.

By 2020, 80 percent of the avocados consumed in the United States came from Michoacán [...].

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Now in the 21st century, on the outskirts of Uruapan, the frenetic capital del aguacate, the new economy of agribusiness took shape [...]. Further west on the shores of Lake Pátzcuaro, the monoculture had not yet colonized the entire landscape, but the advance of the avocado seemed unstoppable. [...] “Practically everybody here wants an avocado orchard [...],” explained [FFB], a resident of the Purépecha indigenous community of Jarácuaro on the shores of the lake. [...] [H]e was horrified by the extent of environmental destruction. “They pump water from the lake to water the avocado orchards [...]. It’s pillage. [...]”

The falling water level, together with the introduction of the rapacious predator tilapia, had wiped out almost all the [...] [native] fish species. Of the cornucopia of marine life that had fed the Purépecha cities, only the diminutive silvery charal remained. The same occurred at other great freshwater deposits in Michoaczán. [...] The Purépecha communities on the shores of the lake, a landscape of stunning beauty where dense pine and ilex oak forests met white nymphaea lilies floating on turquoise water, were girding themselves for the arrival of the aguacateros, avocado producers [...].

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“They put a gun to your head and tell you to sign the deed before the notary. That’s how the transfer of land is agreed upon,” explained [GV], a sociologist at the University of San Nicolas de Hidalgo in Morelia [...].

Meanwhile, large exporters and avocado brokers -- some of them international brands like Del Monte -- were profiting by purchasing from producers at dirt-cheap prices and reselling to the US supermarket chains at very attractive ones. “They pay a dollar per kilo of avocado here and sell it for eight at a Minnesota W*lmart,” said [GV].

In order not to squander such a reliable source of profits, “transnational corporations, just like the Canadian mining companies in Zacatecas, pay the extortion money [...],” he continued.

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Text by: Andy Robinson. Gold, Oil, and Avocados: A Recent History of Latin America in Sixteen Commodities. 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks added by me.]

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kvaradonaa · 18 days

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What are your thoughts about Victor and the Saudi bid and Conte. Everything. What are your thoughts???

Victor? Well, I think it really fucking sucks that his transfer didn't go through. For everyone. And I don't even know who is to blame here. Napoli, for initially demanding so much money for him that most of the clubs gave up? Chelsea, for offering Victor a salary that's not even a half of what he earns in Napoli, and expecting him to treat it like a blessing? Victor's agent, for not being able to negotiate a good deal for him?

It really sucks for him, obviously, because he is a great player who deserves opportunities. It sucks for Napoli, because his transfer was supposed to balance out their spendings. The Saudi bid is not on the table anymore. The latest news: Victor might be loaned to Galatasaray. Obviously, for him it's just an opportunity to play regularly. I doubt he would want to stay there for more than a year. It's such a mess. And the fact that Napoli dropped him from the squad completely?

Listen, in my country, this practice of punishing players and cutting their demands short by dropping them and even banning them from training with the first team was really known. Caused a lot of controversies over its legality even. Gained a funny name after one footballer's nickname (klub Kokosa – the Coconut club, after Kokosiński). I don't think this treatment of Victor (and of Mario Rui, for some reason) is okay, but what can I say? I don't know whether it was Conte's idea or not.

And as for Conte... Well, my hopes are high. I have to say that. It seems like he has a solid idea for this team, his transfer decisions are great compared to our previous season. We'll see where Conte takes Napoli.

#ask

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oh-saints · 2 years

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MISS YOU

everyone's been saying long distance relationship sucks. but no one tells freja how much harder it is when your boyfriend is a high-profile footballer playing for real madrid.

martin odegaard x press!OC

word count: 2k

tw: not beta-read and spanish by gtranslate. other than that, none except martin being the best boyfriend

note: a little bonus bcs arsenal finally won against liverpool with martin being the centre of the attacks so he deserves this as much as we do, no?

“hola, mi amor,” it didn’t even take freja a second to relax into her favourite sound in the world; it was why she called him in the beginning. she felt like her head could explode anytime soon without hearing it. “esta bien?”

“para nada,” she sighed deeply, tears swelling up at the back of her eyelid but she held it in, not wanting to add more worry to his life. “i miss you so much, martin.”

“ya tambien, querida. ya tambien…” although they weren’t on a video call, freja knew martin had somehow sensed her breakdown over the line. “you know i can always come and visit you anytime. you just have to say the word.”

that was, in fact, true.

being in a long-distance relationship between madrid and london was never going to be an easy feat, they had known that from the get-go. they were doing everything in their power to make it bearable for both of them because let’s be honest, having a footballer with unusual schedule of working as your boyfriend took the difficulty level to a whole new level.

despite the reality of playing regular football not going martin’s way so far, freja insisted to be the one flying in and out of the capital of spain every chance she got—mostly twice a month—knowing martin could be called to play for the first team anytime. besides, martin missing a training session could significantly jeopardize everything he’s worked hard for, she didn’t want to put more pressure to his shoulder.

freja chuckled to lighten the mood. “if i have you here, all to myself, i don’t think i can send you back to madrid.”

“what if i don’t want you to send me back?”

when you work around the creative world, you’d know for a fact that you won’t have a specific, fixed timeline of work. all you know is the deadline of an event, and being in the fantastic media team for london fashion week means you’d give up almost all of your day off when christmas day and new year’s coming closer, in order to make sure the biggest weekend of london fashion scene went well covered—all three; pre, during, and post event.

if freja wasn’t buried between her editing tools, she’d be stuck in a meeting room, brainstorming all the idea to increase the attention and engagement around london fashion week. she could only thank god she wasn’t in the press team, or else she’d break her neck and bones running about literally everywhere to cover the whole event—red carpets, inside scoops of attending guests, after parties, and so on…

only when the government publicly announced they’d take the extreme measures for the covid outbreak, did freja have the chance to breathe in the fresh air of freedom from endless media works, albeit harbouring a tang of sadness for the sole fact that all of her hard work so far wouldn’t be showcased for the entire world to see.

but had it not for the emergency break pulled, freja wouldn’t have had the chance to look at the latest news, including but not limited to football’s biggest day of the month; winter transfer window deadline.

Real Madrid’s Martin Ødegaard in talk to join Arsenal on loan!

no way.

freja had only been speaking to martin last night over the phone, her talking about the nation-wide lockdown frenzy in the UK and him talking about his usual daily routine while coping with the same unfortunate pandemic in spain. he didn’t mention anything about being offered another loan deal, nor was any change in circumstances under zidane. ever since coming back home from his spell from real sociedad, the president of real madrid was reluctant to let him go to another club again, knowing the potent he could bring to the enemy team if he left but zidane considered him a player not suitable for his style of management. nothing unusual, really.

maybe because it’s still in discussion… freja calmed herself down.

she was feeling all sorts of things, good and bad, and it was giving her headache already. she was excited they’d be in the same city again if the deal passed through, of course, but she was also frustrated at the thought martin had to go on another loan instead of bagging some game time—they promised him that much, should he return to the club after a stellar season in real sociedad. for god’s sake, he could’ve been highlighting the young player award somewhere instead of being hindered in development by his own club.

she wanted to see him succeed in real madrid, she really did. he believed—and she knew—he had what it took to break through the scene, not everyone was called to their national team before they turned 16. and with the way real madrid always put up an adamant fight every time another club asked for martin’s signature on a permanent contract, she was quite positive about it.

was being the operative word here, now. almost seven years in, and no signs of martin playing regular team. not even as a benchwarmer.

as much as freja wanted him all for herself—knowing they were both the happiest last year when martin was playing week in and out for real sociedad and freja was working for the local tourism campaign—she didn’t want to get her hopes high this time, for the expectation always kills.

martin will tell when things get seriously serious, right?

are you seriously joining arsenal?

or at least, considering it?

freja sent the text without hoping immediate reply. considering the current time in madrid, she predicted martin would only see her text after he was done with training and everything entitled to it. she’d get the reply sometimes around dinner time here, that was being the earliest, so she decided to soak in the rare benefit of having a week off by picking up the books she’d bought but never had the chance to read them yet.

“¿dónde estás? are you outside?”

“yeah, i need to stock up some necessities,” freja answered over her airpods as she shoved all of her necessities to the shopping bag. “you know, with the lockdown around the corner and all. are you done for the day?”

“i hope you stock my favourite cereals,” and freja froze on her place. could it be…? “so you won’t forget about my little habits while we’re apart.”

freja released the breath she didn’t realize she was holding.

“i hate that i can’t see you for god knows how long this time,” freja smiled bittersweetly at that, the feeling was mutual on her side of the house. she wished she could’ve watched his expression when he said that, though. martin must’ve pulled out a pout that reminded her of olaf from the frozen series. “ya te extraño mucho, amor mio.”

“yo también siento lo mismo, martin,” oh, fuck london and its weather… freja cursed deep down. it was fine less than an hour ago and the weather forecast didn’t say anything about snow today. almost half a year in this unpredictable weather and freja still didn’t learn her lesson, now she had to brave the cold with only her casual loungewear of sweater and legging. “it’s such a shame that i didn’t have time to book a flight back to madrid before the government halts all flight.”

“i can always fly you out, remember?”

“and have the private jet all to myself?” freja screeched, both at the lonely thought and at the feeling snow falling against her legs. “no, thanks! but babe, i’ll call you later, yeah? it’s suddenly snowing here.”

“you really should’ve worn something warmer, kjære. you’ll catch a cold if you pull on thin layers like that,” if the first sentence wasn’t enough to stop freja’s steps, the second surely did. “i thought i could trust you looking after yourself.”

“how do you know what i’m wearing?”

“because i’ve been standing here and waiting for you to come out,” freja jumped at the extra clothes being draped over herself from behind. turning around and there he was, in flesh and blood, his golden locks looking unbelievably good in contrast to the white snow. “i’m starting to feel cold, too, you know?”

gone was the intense frost stinging her skin—heck, her brain went into malfunction as soon as martin showed up in front of her. she wanted to hug him immediately but was thinking this was some sort of delirium—was she suffering hypothermia already? her tongue was ticklish with so many questions of how directed to her boyfriend but her tear glands were so close to shedding tears of happiness.

“cat got your tongue somewhere, darling?” martin laughed at the endearing sight of his girlfriend going into an overwhelmed mode—a rare one, at that as well, knowing well that his girlfriend was one of those people who always had something to say in return. “am i not getting a hug? or are you not pleased i’m here?”

“how—” martin could see she was still digesting the reality that was closer to her dream, in one way or another, by the way those lovely eyes kept blinking rapidly. “i don’t get it. what are you doing here?”

martin’s smile widened at her speechless state. “why, can’t i see my girlfriend? i thought you missed me?”

“i do, i really do! don’t get me wrong,” freja shook her head in disbelief. “but what about your trainings? you’re not going on a strike, are you? because i don’t want perez to have my head—”

“i accepted arsenal’s proposal to be closer to you but you want me stay in madrid instead?”

“well, you said it yourself—wait, what?”

martin couldn’t help but laugh uncontrollably at his girlfriend’s shocked expression. freja was one of those people who is rarely fazed by anything that comes her way, probably the biggest reason why martin loves being around her at the first place. none of the whole ‘real madrid’s most valuable gem’ status the media plastered on him got into her head. to have her in this state was amusing to him that he went straight to embrace her first, instead of freja’s usual initiation for skin ship.

“it’s a done deal, i’m doing the whole medical and media duty tomorrow,” martin breathed against her hair, this time in relief because he could finally let the cat out of the bag. it’d been pretty hard to lay it low, especially to surprise your girlfriend, with whom you share very much everything on daily basis. “i want you to know this from me first, instead of the media.”

freja pulled away from martin’s grasp, to scan through his face for any sign of deception. “you’re staying here?”

“how else am i supposed to play every weekend if i’m not staying here?” martin chuckled at his girlfriend’s antics, so cute he just wanted to mash those cheeks of her—which was exactly what he did. it was a wonder how he survived almost six months deprived of his daily stress-reliever ball when all he wanted to have her snuggled close in his arms every day she was away. “i hope you have a spare room in your flat.”

freja couldn’t help herself any longer at the feeling of martin’s hands on her cheeks, she stood up on her toes to kiss the one thing she could call her home. his coat be damned, she was becoming warm all over the body from the excitement and happiness bubbling up inside of her, threatening to explode if martin hadn’t sealed her lips from squealing by reciprocating her kiss.

“oh, shut it, olaf,” martin laughed at his girlfriend’s unique moniker for him and freja could only come back to claim his lips once more because good lord, that was the laugh she fell in love with. one she hadn’t had the privilege to hear live for the past six months due to the distance and due to the pressure their respective occupations gave them. “as if we haven’t shared a bed together.”

#martin ødegaard #martin odegaard #martin odegaard fic #martin odegaard one shot #martin odegaard fluff #martin odegaard fanfic #martin odegaard short fic #martin odegaard imagines #oh-saints writes #martin odegaard fics #martin odegaard angst #martin odegaaed smut #martin odegaard imagine #martin odegaard x reader #martin odegaard x y/n

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scotianostra · 9 months

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Happy Birthday Gregory Edward “Greg” Hemphill born 14th December 1969 in Glasgow.

I think the majority of us will know who Greg is, one half of the successful partnership with partner, Ford Kiernan that is Still Game.

The family left Scotland when Greg was twelve years old, and he spent much of his childhood in Montreal, Canada. Greg returned home to study at Glasgow University, in the Department of Theatre, Film and Television Studies, graduating MA in 1992.

Greg made his acting debut at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe in 1990. His work includes roles in God Plus Support in the Theatre and Only an Excuse. He is a regular on the comedy circuit. He also ventured into radio as the original presenter of football show, Off the Ball on BBC Radio Scotland and The Eddie Mair Show. As well as writing for Still Game and Chewin The Fat he has written for Channel 4 programme Space Cadets, BBC’s Pulp Video and The Ferguson Theory.

Still Game has transferred successfully onto the big stage and has sold out countless times at The Hydro. The third and final run of the shows Still Game: The Final Farewell was officially announced on 1st November 2018. The ninth and final series of Still Game was screened in 2019 The show won an ‘Outstanding Contribution’ TV award at Scottish Baftas that year.

Away from his work Greg is a bit of a card shark, he plays in competitions, he has won over thirty thousand dollars in competitions and was third in the Scottish Championships in 2002

Greg has been kind of quiet of late, but the good news is he returns to our screens on Hogmanay with a new sketch show. The show is set to bring up all the biggest talking points of this year – from COP26 to the wild swimming phenomenon. The show titled “Queen of the New Year” will star Greg and Robert Florence along with Barbara Rafferty, Clive Russell, Gayle Telfer Stevens, Louise McCarthy, John Gordon Sinclair and Juliet Cadzow, so some familiar faces from Still Game and Burnistoun.

Greg is married to Balamory star Julie Wilson Nimmo, 46, they announced they are to their own production company launch Blue Haven Productions Limited. The latest from Greg and Julie who live in the West End of Glasgow, is they will be teaming up who live in the West End, are appearing together in Olga da Polga, the first-ever television adaptation of Paddington creator Michael Bond’s beloved books. The new 13-part, live-action and animation series is produced by Glasgow-based production company Marakids, and it has been made with the full support of the Bond family.

Greg and Julie have been married since 1999, they met while both were working on the 90s sketch show Pulp Video. Greg says of them;

“We met on sketch shows, and we always laughed a lot. We still do. There are lots of laughs, lots of carry on when we work together.”

Greg and his Still Game sidekick Ford Kiernan launched a whisky, named after their characters Jack and Vioctor two or three years back, and the knobs at Jack Daniels objected after the pair later applied to register the name as a trademark for whisky and other drink-related services. The matter ended up going to an arbitrator. The Tennessee-based company claimed the drink, named after Still Game’s two main characters, could confuse customers and make them think they were endorsing the Scotch blend.

The firm argued the name could allow the Scottish whisky to cash in on the recognition of the well-known brand.

Hemphill, who plays the character Victor, provided evidence during the dispute while managing director Justin Welch provided evidence for Jack Daniel’s.

Hemphill said Still Game was a popular show across the UK, particularly in Scotland, arguing that “Jack and Victor” has become synonymous with the BBC programme.

It was a great triumph for the small guy versus golliath, Jack Daniel’s was ordered to pay £3,200 to Jack and Victor Limited, the company used to market the whisky earlier this year.

#scotland #scottish #history #actor #television #theatre #whisky #still game #Happy Birthday #comedian

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jordanianroyals · 6 months

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BBC: Jordan's free speech boundaries tested with satire

By Yolande Knell, BBC News Middle East correspondent, 5 August 2023

One of the most popular satirical websites in the Arab world has hit back after being banned in Jordan by poking fun at the country's new planned censorship laws.

AlHudood, meaning "the limits" or "the borders", publishes articles and social media posts highlighting the absurdities of Middle Eastern politics and everyday life in a deadpan style. It is in effect the region's answer to the US parody website The Onion or the UK's Private Eye.

Its mocking commentary of the lavish wedding of Jordan's crown prince apparently led to AlHudood being blocked by the authorities last month - just ahead of tighter restrictions on the media being introduced.

Legislation currently going through parliament has been denounced by journalists and human rights groups, who say it will further restrict freedom of expression.

In its response, AlHudood - which was started in Jordan a decade ago - has offered a sardonic guide to publishing content in the country "without being fined, imprisoned, crucified".

Another mock article in a series of reports focuses on a "terrorist" who just started to pose a question on Facebook and was arrested for an "electronic crime".

"I think this will probably create a bigger clash [with officials in Amman] than before, but we feel we have no choice because if we don't do this, the longer-term effect for us and everyone else is going to be so much worse," an AlHudood source tells me from London.

In a region of autocratic leaders where state-run media dominates, AlHudood has thrived against the odds over the past decade and is seen as a breath of fresh air by many of its young followers. It says it reaches a million readers on its website and some 30 million a year on social media, which has become the main forum for voicing criticism of Arab authorities.

"We sort of do the journalism and then repackage it with satire," the London source says. "Satire is really great at working with hypocrisy and corruption."

Dark humour is deployed even on the toughest topics such as civil war, sectarian fighting, immigration and terrorism.

"A lot of the news is so overwhelming and it's difficult to find an angle on it," the AlHudood source adds. "Our approach at least gets people curious about what's happening. It helps create a question in people's heads like: 'What should I think about that?'"

Among the online publication's recent satirical reports was one about the Tunisian president condemning sub-Saharan Africans for stealing places on migrant boats from his own people.

Others drily introduce the two latest candidates "who will not end" Lebanon's long-running presidential vacuum and tell of an agreement between Turkey and Syria "to repatriate 50% of every refugee".

One headline: "Saudi government signs Hajj promotion deal with Cristiano Ronaldo" mocks how widely the superstar footballer has been used in marketing since his lucrative transfer to a Riyadh club.

For AlHudood's writers the opulent celebrations for the Jordanian royal wedding in June seemed ripe for ridicule. While Jordanian law has long criminalised speech deemed critical of the king, from experience its team did not think it was crossing red lines.

A satirical Instagram post depicted Jordanian riot police arresting a man for throwing a party for his baby son on the day of the crown prince's nuptials. There was also a joke threatening fines for citizens who were found not smiling sufficiently. Another gag asked how the costs of the wedding were being covered in the country struggling with rising living costs.

Human rights activists say that in Jordan and the broader Middle East, there has been a recent trend for increased state censorship. There have been many prosecutions of social media influencers and bans on TikTok.

A coalition of civic rights groups led by US-based Human Rights Watch (HRW) has urged Jordan's parliament to scrap its new cybercrimes law, saying it could jeopardise free speech and lead to greater online censorship. They criticise how some offences are described in vague terms which could leave them open for the interpretation of prosecutors.

"It makes very clear that the intention of this is to scare people and make them think twice about posting anything online that could be remotely critical or controversial, or something some official won't like. It's deeply concerning," says Adam Coogle from HRW in Amman.

"When you pair it with the real shrinking space for civil discussion that has taken place in this country otherwise in the last few years, we're looking at a clear slide into more authoritarian governance."

The cybercrime bill - which has just been sent back to Jordan's lower house of parliament by the Senate after it drafted small revisions - is also expected to give greater powers to the authorities to block websites and social media platforms.

Jordan's government maintains that the draft law is not meant to limit freedoms but tackle fake news, online defamation and hate speech. It denies trying to stifle dissent but says it wants to protect people from internet abuse or blackmail.

Nevertheless, there has been criticism from Washington, the country's main donor.

In order to work around regional restrictions, AlHudood has now been formally based in the UK for several years. It does not name its contributors from across the Arab world, reducing the chance of direct conflict with officials.

Despite the Jordan ban - which follows on from one in the United Arab Emirates - its writers say that they will continue touching the sensitive nerves of Middle Eastern powers.

#Jordan #crown prince hussein #Princess Rajwa #wedding

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