#but it might take years or decades in his case

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 111 (Making Progress on the Case?)

Conrad gave Malcolm's video to a tech at work the next day, and while they worked he updated the police chief. "I'm sure it's him. When the video comes back, we'll know."

"The precinct still won't send you to George Brindleton's villa in Sulani until the video can be analyzed, Gordon. I know how badly you want to get there, but you can't take any more of this investigation off grid. You've got a lot of nerve getting Judge Morrison to rush a warrant on a Landgraab. I don't care how well you think you know him."

"I'm sorry, Chief. I've been getting a little desperate to solve this one, and because he's a Landgraab, I knew you'd tell me to hold off if I asked for permission first."

The chief rolled her eyes. "One of these days your instincts might fail you, Lieutenant, and all that risk you take won't have reward."

Two officers entered the room after a knock at the door. "Lieutenant Gordon, we brought in someone you're going to want to talk to. She says she's an ex-girlfriend of Rafael Bonilla."

Immediately, Conrad knew who he meant. Melissa Ramsay. He'd found old social media posts from a deleted account with their photos. He found her in the police database, subject to an outstanding warrant after a bust Rafa had also been involved in when they were sixteen, and had put out an APB on her almost a year ago.

He entered the interrogation room, and she looked at him nervously in her orange jumpsuit. "I wasn't trying to avoid arrest. I thought it was all over, I swear. I was only there that night because I loved him. I didn't do anything."

Conrad could relate to her predicament. "I'm not trying to reopen an old case against you, Miss Ramsay. Your record after the bust is clean. But it's rare for someone who becomes their high school valedictorian not to continue to university. You've been harder to track down than most who have nothing to hide."

"I don't know what you want from me. I work in a flower shop. I can give you the name and number for my boss."

Conrad nodded, letting her write down the information. "When's the last time you spoke to Rafa Bonilla?"

"I don't remember."

"A few months ago. That's the last time I spoke with his sister, Ximena. And you might not know this about me, but over a decade ago, I loved her like you say you loved Rafa. So you don't forget."

"Maybe I didn't love him enough."

"You loved him enough to be there that night."

Melissa frowned. "We finally broke up three years ago and I haven't seen him since."

"Do you have any idea where he might be, or who he might be with?"

"I don't know. After the bust we didn't talk about his work, but it was always the problem between us until I finally left."

Again, Melissa's story rang true to Conrad's experience. "Did you know he's wanted by San Myshuno PD?"

She nodded. "I had nothing to do with those busts, either."

"I know that, Miss Ramsay. Do you think Rafa's on the run?"

"Maybe he finally got away from his sister. He knew she was dragging him down, but he didn't know what else to do with his life so he did whatever she asked. They had this loyalty that he couldn't shake. I begged him and I tried to deal with it for years, but finally I had to accept that she won and I walked away from him."

"If he ran, where would he go?"

"I really don't know, Lieutenant. He didn't talk about what he wanted to do because he thought the cartel was his only viable option."

"Has Ximena tried to find you since Rafa went missing?"

She shook her head. "She hated me so much, I don't think she's spared a single thought for me since Rafa and I broke up. She never wanted me around to begin with."

Conrad gave her his card and let her go, asking her to call if either Bonilla happened to reach out after so long. He hadn't learned enough from Melissa to justify a work trip to Sulani to find Rafa, but if Melissa was telling the truth, he'd been given valuable insight into Rafa's mind.

Ximena thought Rafa was happy to work at her side, running drugs and weapons for the cartel. But maybe the reason Ximena had been no real help in the search for Rafa was that she truly had no idea where he was. Maybe he'd been in hiding for years - from his warrants as well as his vicious sister.

He was beginning to get excited - the end of this very long tunnel might finally be in sight, but his run of luck couldn't last forever.

Frowning, the young officer who worked on his video approached him toward the end of the day. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Gordon, but the facial recognition software couldn't pick up enough of the man's face in the video recording to confirm a match with Rafael Bonilla."

Conrad sighed. Though it felt he'd taken two steps forward and two steps back, forced to keep looking for evidence connecting Rafa to Sulani and the Brindletons, he still felt as though he was on the right track.

He returned home to his family that night, finding Ash and Lavender in the kitchen with a book.

"Give Twee, Dada! Pease?"

Lavender crossed her hands on her lap and smiled, melting any possible opposition. Not that he ever turned down a chance to read the kids a good story.

Heather gave Gord a bath while Conrad read, getting the kids ready for bed before a freshly-shampooed Gord bounded up the stairs to say good night.

"Nigh-nigh Go-dee," she said, patting his head gently as he leaned in for a nuzzle. "Go-dee wet!" She laughed wildly and wrapped her arms around him. "Lovey!"

Conrad's gorgeous family was a constant reminder why it was so important he find the Bonillas and move forward with his picture-perfect life. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

[queenmuzz]

So I saw this tweet that @dmbakura had made (please check out her art), and it has been rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken for over a day.

Based on what we gleaned from Vellioth’s skull, Cazador had a particularly shitty spawndom, with the punishments listed being incredibly cruel.

There’s a theme in bg3 about the cycle of abuse, of either perpetuating it, or breaking it, and this is a very blatant example.

But, there’s a high probability that Cazador wouldn’t make Astarion thank him for his punishment out of cruelty. He probably actually thinks he’s doing a kindness. That Astarion is lucky to be his spawn.

Look at it this way. There’s many abusive parents out there who got their asses beat with belts, with wooden spoons, burnt with cigarette butts. There’s the old tales dad’s tell about how their father would make them go to the woodshed to get a whippin’, or being forced to choose which implement they were gonna get beaten with. Which is why their kids should be lucky that they ‘merely’ get spanked with an open palm. They literally think they are better parents than the previous generation, while still being abusive. Their kids have it soooo easy! Why don’t they understand? Only bad parents beat their kids! They don’t even leave bruises!

Cazador’s inability to understand why Astarion isn’t grateful for his treatment isn’t due to ‘stupid evil cannot comprehend good’. It’s more that he literally thought he was a good master. He gave his spawn rooms! He rewarded some of them, in order to encourage the other to work harder! Sure, there was the one time he HAD to lock Astarion up for disobeying him, but it was ONLY for a year! He could have done so much worse to him! He only gave him four measly rules, and the spawn keeps disrespecting him! He gave him a choice between death or spawndom, many spawn don’t get the choice! Astarion doesn’t know how good he had it.

Which makes Ascended Astarion’s behaviour understandable. It’s not the ritual that turns him into a power hungry abusive bastard, it’s him getting to be the ‘parent’ now. He’ll be better than Cazador. He’ll only make his spawn drink from rats if they misbehave. He’ll only beat them until they apologize for putting the cutlery on the wrong side of the plate. He’ll be a kind master, only denying them food when he deems they’ve committed a GRAVE offense.

Whereas Spawn Astarion recognizes that he still has the physical and emotional scars from his abuse, and that it will take time, and freedom to recover from them, that having power over others is not the solution.

[fastandcarlos]

Engaged, When? : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: with all your friends settling down around you, you can't help but feel like you and charles are slipping away from everyone else

After what could only be described as the day from hell, the last thing you wanted to do was go out to a celebration. But that was exactly where you found yourself. Carlos’ and Rebecca’s apartment was bustling with people, noise and lots of excitement for the newly engaged couple. 

Whilst many others wore wild smiles on their faces, your expression couldn’t have been more different. All you wanted to do was go home and rest, but Charles refused to go to the party without you, ignoring your protests and encouraging you to show your face and happiness for the pair. 

It wasn’t that you weren’t happy for them, because you were, if anything, you were disappointed for yourself. Whilst Charles mingled and made sure to say hello to as many people as possible, you preferred to hang back and blend in, simply doing enough to try and make it seem like you were enjoying yourself. 

If there was one person that you weren’t convincing though, it was Charles. Out of the corner of his eye he could see you looking far from impressed, you might be able to deceive most people, but not Charles. Through the dances and the chatter, he made his way over to you, with many of his bosses around, he still felt the need to impress. 

Your body tensed up as Charles came and stood beside you, “I know you’re tired but at least try and look like you want to be here, we’re supposed to be celebrating our friends right now.” 

“It’s lovely, imagine falling in love and getting engaged so quickly,” you mumbled, taking a sip from your drink. Charles hummed as he walked off, not quite getting what you were saying. 

Just as Charles walked off, another figure appeared beside you. The smile on Pierre’s face was comforting for you as he nudged your side, wanting to make you smile too. 

“I know how you’re feeling,” Pierre sympathised as Kika appeared beside him. “We’ve talked about this enough times, but I promise you that he really does adore you.” 

It was easy for others to tell you, but truthfully, you were far from sure anymore. You and Charles had been together for almost a decade, and yet your relationship felt like it was stagnant these days. 

“How many more engagements do we have to celebrate?” You asked the two of them. “How many more times do I have to stand here wondering when it might be my turn?” 

“I’m sure Charles has got his reasons,” Pierre tried his best to reassure you, but even he was confused these days. “You have to trust me though, he is still madly in love with you, Charles wouldn’t still be with you if that wasn’t the case.” 

“Why can he not show me then?” You shrugged, “it’s not even about proposing anymore, it’s about doing anything to show me how he feels.” 

You knew the honeymoon phase was never going to last forever, but after ten years with Charles you hoped the next stage was going to arrive soon. If you were honest, you’d hoped it would’ve arrived by now, especially after watching so many of your friends get engaged and seemingly leapfrog the two of you. 

“I absolutely know he wants to marry you,” Kika added, offering you a warm smile. “It might not feel that way right now being here, but trust me, he does want to.” 

Your head nodded as you tried to use Kika’s words to convince yourself. “I’m glad you guys all feel that way, it would just be nice to feel that way myself. I’m supposed to be happy for Carlos and Rebecca, and instead I’m stood here wondering what about me?” 

As you felt yourself hit a wall of emotion, you excused yourself from the pair and walked off to get yourself another drink. Your shoulder brushed past Charles as you did so, going to say your name, but you were already gone. He looked to Charles and Kika, heading over to them for answers. 

“Why are you both looking at me like that?” Charles questioned, feeling like he was in for a scolding. 

“She’s really upset Charles, have you not noticed?” Pierre asked him. 

“Yeah, I know she’s a bit tired.” 

“It’s not just that.” 

“No?” Charles questioned in surprise. “You mean to say there’s more to this?” He quizzed them both. 

As Pierre nodded, Charles followed you to just outside of Carlos’ apartment and onto the balcony. You were resting on the railing as his figure appeared beside you, eyes watching you closely as you gave away nothing to let Charles know what was wrong. 

“Talk to me,” Charles whispered, his voice soft and calm, “what else is going on love?” 

Your body shifted so that you were facing Charles, “I’m supposed to be happy for these two, but if I’m honest, all I can feel right now is jealousy and frustration.” 

Charles’ brows furrowed as you spoke before the realisation hit him. A sigh escaped as he realised finally what it was that you had been hinting at, not just tonight, but for so many years as you celebrated others. 

“It’s stupid, I know, but I can’t help but feel like these days we’re being left behind. We’ve just stayed exactly where we are for years,” you confided in him. 

“We’ve always been so strong together, getting engaged, married, having kids, whatever it is it doesn’t define the two of us,” Charles spoke, draping his arms across your shoulders. “Maybe I’ve just become so comfortable that I never really thought about us taking that next step too.” 

You hated the fact that you allowed getting engaged to turn into some sort of competition for you, but your mind could think of nothing else. “I just feel like after ten years it should have happened, or at least to me it feels like it should have happened by now.” 

Charles took yet another step closer towards you. “I’ve thought about marrying you, more than you could ever imagine. I guess I’ve just never really felt like I’ve found the right time to.” 

“Is that right time ever going to come?” You asked, “I mean I always thought we’d be the first ones to settle, have a family, grow old together, but now we’re back of the pack.” 

“We can still do all of those things Y/N.” 

Your eyes looked desperately back at Charles, “then can you please start making me feel like they might be possible someday?” 

Hearing the frustration in your voice sent a shiver down Charles’ spine. He’d never considered how you felt about proposing, marriage and everything else that life threw at you. But now as he looked at you, he could see just how much it truly meant. 

“Am I the person you want to be with? Forever?” You quizzed, “do you really see your future with me Charles?” 

He took a tight hold of your hand, bringing your head towards him and kissing the top of it. “There’s no doubt in my mind that I see forever with you. And I promise all of those things will happen for us, but when the time is right for us.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered back across at him. “I just needed to hear that to reassure myself, with everything that’s been happening for our friends, I guess I just let the doubt begin to creep in.” 

Charles hummed, understanding exactly how you were feeling. He'd become so comfortable in your relationship he’d forgotten to think about how you were feeling. But as he felt you press a kiss against his cheek, he knew he couldn’t do that any longer. 

“Who knows, maybe it’ll be us that we’re all celebrating next time,” Charles joked. 

“I might just hold you to that LeClerc.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[reasonsforhope]

Story from the Washington Post here, non-paywall version here.

Washington Post stop blocking linksharing and shit challenge.

"The young woman was catatonic, stuck at the nurses’ station — unmoving, unblinking and unknowing of where or who she was.

Her name was April Burrell.

Before she became a patient, April had been an outgoing, straight-A student majoring in accounting at the University of Maryland Eastern Shore. But after a traumatic event when she was 21, April suddenly developed psychosis and became lost in a constant state of visual and auditory hallucinations. The former high school valedictorian could no longer communicate, bathe or take care of herself.

April was diagnosed with a severe form of schizophrenia, an often devastating mental illness that affects approximately 1 percent of the global population and can drastically impair how patients behave and perceive reality.

“She was the first person I ever saw as a patient,” said Sander Markx, director of precision psychiatry at Columbia University, who was still a medical student in 2000 when he first encountered April. “She is, to this day, the sickest patient I’ve ever seen.” ...

It would be nearly two decades before their paths crossed again. But in 2018, another chance encounter led to several medical discoveries...

Markx and his colleagues discovered that although April’s illness was clinically indistinguishable from schizophrenia, she also had lupus, an underlying and treatable autoimmune condition that was attacking her brain.

After months of targeted treatments [for lupus] — and more than two decades trapped in her mind — April woke up.

The awakening of April — and the successful treatment of other people with similar conditions — now stand to transform care for some of psychiatry’s sickest patients, many of whom are languishing in mental institutions.

Researchers working with the New York state mental health-care system have identified about 200 patients with autoimmune diseases, some institutionalized for years, who may be helped by the discovery.

And scientists around the world, including Germany and Britain, are conducting similar research, finding that underlying autoimmune and inflammatory processes may be more common in patients with a variety of psychiatric syndromes than previously believed.

Although the current research probably will help only a small subset of patients, the impact of the work is already beginning to reshape the practice of psychiatry and the way many cases of mental illness are diagnosed and treated.

“These are the forgotten souls,” said Markx. “We’re not just improving the lives of these people, but we’re bringing them back from a place that I didn’t think they could come back from.” ...

Waking up after two decades

The medical team set to work counteracting April’s rampaging immune system and started April on an intensive immunotherapy treatment for neuropsychiatric lupus...

The regimen is grueling, requiring a month-long break between each of the six rounds to allow the immune system to recover. But April started showing signs of improvement almost immediately...

A joyful reunion

“I’ve always wanted my sister to get back to who she was,” Guy Burrell said.

In 2020, April was deemed mentally competent to discharge herself from the psychiatric hospital where she had lived for nearly two decades, and she moved to a rehabilitation center...

Because of visiting restrictions related to covid, the family’s face-to-face reunion with April was delayed until last year. April’s brother, sister-in-law and their kids were finally able to visit her at a rehabilitation center, and the occasion was tearful and joyous.

“When she came in there, you would’ve thought she was a brand-new person,” Guy Burrell said. “She knew all of us, remembered different stuff from back when she was a child.” ...

The family felt as if they’d witnessed a miracle.

“She was hugging me, she was holding my hand,” Guy Burrell said. “You might as well have thrown a parade because we were so happy, because we hadn’t seen her like that in, like, forever.”

“It was like she came home,” Markx said. “We never thought that was possible.”

...After April’s unexpected recovery, the medical team put out an alert to the hospital system to identify any patients with antibody markers for autoimmune disease. A few months later, Anca Askanase, a rheumatologist and director of the Columbia Lupus Center,who had been on April’s treatment team, approached Markx. “I think we found our girl,” she said.

Bringing back Devine

When Devine Cruz was 9, she began to hear voices. At first, the voices fought with one another. But as she grew older, the voices would talk about her, [and over the years, things got worse].

For more than a decade, the young woman moved in and out of hospitals for treatment. Her symptoms included visual and auditory hallucinations, as well as delusions that prevented her from living a normal life.

Devine was eventually diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, which can result in symptoms of both schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. She also was diagnosed with intellectual disability.

She was on a laundry list of drugs — two antipsychotic medications, lithium, clonazepam, Ativan and benztropine — that came with a litany of side effects but didn’t resolve all her symptoms...

She also had lupus, which she had been diagnosed with when she was about 14, although doctors had never made a connection between the disease and her mental health...

Last August, the medical team prescribed monthly immunosuppressive infusions of corticosteroids and chemotherapy drugs, a regime similar to what April had been given a few years prior. By October, there were already dramatic signs of improvement.

“She was like ‘Yeah, I gotta go,’” Markx said. “‘Like, I’ve been missing out.’”

After several treatments, Devine began developing awareness that the voices in her head were different from real voices, a sign that she was reconnecting with reality. She finished her sixth and final round of infusions in January.

In March, she was well enough to meet with a reporter. “I feel like I’m already better,” Devine said during a conversation in Markx’s office at the New York State Psychiatric Institute, where she was treated. “I feel myself being a person that I was supposed to be my whole entire life.” ...

Her recovery is remarkable for several reasons, her doctors said. The voices and visions have stopped. And she no longer meets the diagnostic criteria for either schizoaffective disorder or intellectual disability, Markx said...

Today, Devine lives with her mother and is leading a more active and engaged life. She helps her mother cook, goes to the grocery store and navigates public transportation to keep her appointments. She is even babysitting her siblings’ young children — listening to music, taking them to the park or watching “Frozen 2” — responsibilities her family never would have entrusted her with before her recovery.

Expanding the search for more patients

While it is likely that only a subset of people diagnosed with schizophrenia and psychotic disorders have an underlying autoimmune condition, Markx and other doctors believe there are probably many more patients whose psychiatric conditions are caused or exacerbated by autoimmune issues...

The cases of April and Devine also helped inspire the development of the SNF Center for Precision Psychiatry and Mental Health at Columbia, which was named for the Stavros Niarchos Foundation, which awarded it a $75 million grant in April. The goal of the center is to develop new treatments based on specific genetic and autoimmune causes of psychiatric illness, said Joseph Gogos, co-director of the SNF Center.

Markx said he has begun care and treatment on about 40 patients since the SNF Center opened. The SNF Center is working with the New York State Office of Mental Health, which oversees one of the largest public mental health systems in America, to conduct whole genome sequencing and autoimmunity screening on inpatients at long-term facilities.

For “the most disabled, the sickest of the sick, even if we can help just a small fraction of them, by doing these detailed analyses, that’s worth something,” said Thomas Smith, chief medical officer for the New York State Office of Mental Health. “You’re helping save someone’s life, get them out of the hospital, have them live in the community, go home.”

Discussions are underway to extend the search to the 20,000 outpatients in the New York state system as well. Serious psychiatric disorders, like schizophrenia, are more likely to be undertreated in underprivileged groups. And autoimmune disorders like lupus disproportionately affect women and people of color with more severity.

Changing psychiatric care

How many people ultimately will be helped by the research remains a subject of debate in the scientific community. But the research has spurred excitement about the potential to better understand what is going on in the brain during serious mental illness...

Emerging research has implicated inflammation and immunological dysfunction as potential players in a variety of neuropsychiatric conditions, including schizophrenia, depression and autism.

“It opens new treatment possibilities to patients that used to be treated very differently,” said Ludger Tebartz van Elst, a professor of psychiatry and psychotherapy at University Medical Clinic Freiburg in Germany.

In one study, published last year in Molecular Psychiatry, Tebartz van Elst and his colleagues identified 91 psychiatric patients with suspected autoimmune diseases, and reported that immunotherapies benefited the majority of them.

Belinda Lennox, head of the psychiatry department at the University of Oxford, is enrolling patients in clinical trials to test the effectiveness of immunotherapy for autoimmune psychosis patients.

As a result of the research, screenings for immunological markers in psychotic patients are already routine in Germany, where psychiatrists regularly collect samples from cerebrospinal fluid.

Markx is also doing similar screening with his patients. He believes highly sensitive and inexpensive blood tests to detect different antibodies should become part of the standard screening protocol for psychosis.

Also on the horizon: more targeted immunotherapy rather than current “sledgehammer approaches” that suppress the immune system on a broad level, said George Yancopoulos, the co-founder and president of the pharmaceutical company Regeneron.

“I think we’re at the dawn of a new era. This is just the beginning,” said Yancopoulos."

-via The Washington Post, June 1, 2023

[potofsoup]

Happy July 4th, everyone, and good luck to the UK voters out there!

Wow it's Year 11 of doing these!! Here's the AO3 link to the past 10 years, and here's the tumblr link.

Reminder that this is a long game -- some of the judges making decisions were appointed back in the 80s. Many of the cases that were decided this round were from Trump's term. So it's going to take long-term, consistent voting over a decade to start tipping things in the other direction. (Which I talked about in 2018 re: Trump shenanigans and 2022 re: Dobbs).

A lot has been done by the Biden administration (I'm assuming most folks have seen this post by boreal-sea with their very helpful sources), and much of that will be overturned by Trump, especially if he gets the Senate, and especially now that he would have a blank check for anything "official". So let's make sure that doesn't happen.

And even if Trump does get elected, your decisions down-ballot might effect control of the House or Senate, or might make it easier to vote next time, plus the whole plethora of state and local issues. It's Republican state attorney generals who are challenging climate regulations, for example.

Plus, when you really get down to it, only one of the candidates plans on pardoning himself and all his friends if he wins, and attacking the government if he loses. Maybe that guy shouldn't be the President.

If you're new to voting, remember to check voter registration deadlines! I'm a permanent vote-by-mail voter and it's so nice. :)

Transcript under the readmore

Page 1: Sam and Bucky meet up with Steve for a picnic. Steve: Thought you guys were still in Sudan? Bucky: I’m forcing Sam to take a break.

Sam collapses onto the picnic blanket. Sam: Oof, it just never stops, does it? Steve: Nope.

Bucky hands Sam an orange popsicle. Bucky: Eat and relax for a bit, Sam. Sam: Thanks.

Page 2: Bucky asks Steve: How are things state-side? Steve responds: HORRIBLE. Bucky: I thought you’ve been tentatively hopeful about what Biden has been able to achieve? Steve: I was! Student loans, child care, climate regulations, infrastructure, labor, trans rights … he’s quietly done a lot through regulatory improvements and congress bills. But now all people will talk about is how he’s OLD. And then there’s the Supreme Court’s decisions … Chevron and immunity… Steve puts his head in his hands, while Sam and Bucky look on with some concern.

Page 3: Bucky hands Steve a blue/raspberry popsicle: Steve, take a deep breath, and a popsicle. Sam: Sounds like we missed a lot. What’s going on? How bad is it? Steve: Pretty bad. The Supreme Court has made some decisions that give the Court and the President A LOT of discretionary power. Sam: Yikes, that doesn’t sound good. Steve: Well, the Chevron thing means that judges with life-term appointments can override policies made by government agencies. And now it’ll be harder to hold a President accountable because he will have immunity for any “official” actions.

Page 4: Sam: So if the President tries to, say, overturn a democratic election result, he’ll be allowed to as long as it’s in his job description? Steve: I don’t think threatening state electors is “official” business, but that will be decided by federal judges. Who get their jobs by approval from both the President and the Senate. Bucky: Yeesh. No wonder you’re stressed. Any good news? Steve: Well, thanks the Biden and the razor-thin Senate majority, the newer bills don’t rely on the Chevron deference. Still not great but not catastrophic. Sam, squirting ketchup on his hot dog: So what I’m hearing is that it’s now more important than ever to have a President and a Senate who you can trust to appoint fair judges, pass bills, and not commit crimes.

Page 5: Steve: Plus all of the state level offices, now that more and more deciding power has been thrown back to the states — abortion, LGBTQ rights, voting access… Bucky: Hey, at least this is a big election year so we can actually do something! Steve, with his arms crossed, looking surly: Except that all people want to talk about is how Biden is “too old” and “not doing enough,” as if that is on par with Trump’s desire to dismantle basic rights! As if the candidate who doesn’t embody ALL their ideals is not worth voting for! Bucky interrupts with a smart and a loud “PFFT.”

Page 6: Bucky: Um, Steve. YOU were like that in 1940. Sam, nudging Bucky: “Oh, this I gotta hear. Spill, Barnes.” In sepia, Steve is pacing around their apartment while Bucky is sitting and reading a newspaper. Steve: I can’t believe he’s running for a 3rd term! we need a fresh candidate to vote for! This is hardly a choice at all! AND he refuses to engage in Europe! All of Europe under fascist control and we’re just twiddling our thumbs? He’s letting millions die through his inaction! Bucky: Most people don’t want another war, Steve. If he came out for it, he would lose. Steve, indignant: But Buck, it’s your Polish relative who are in danger! Bucky, closing his newspaper and looking at Steve: Yeah, and between FDR and Willkes, I trust FDR to help if he could.

Page 7: Steve, in sepia, looking away: Should he be encouraged to do more? Maybe I should vote for Browder. The Communists have historically be Anti-Fascist.

Sam interrupts off-screen: Waitaminute! STEVE was going to PROTEST-VOTE? Steve: We were in a Blue State, Sam! Sam: But what about the down ballot races?! Steve: RELAX, I did my due diligence down-ballot. I wanted a senate that’s more progressive than the President.Voted LaGuardia for Mayor, too. Steve hesitates: Then, when I got to the President… I realized that the Best case scenario would be that my vote did nothing, versus if it actually spoiled the election. And when I asked myself who I could trust to work with my Senator… well, FDR had a good record with Labor. (sepia shot of young Steve voting) Bucky interrupts: Hold on, Steve.

Page 8: Bucky, eating a cookie, arching an eyebrow: You didn’t vote for Browder? Why didn’t you tell me? Steve: And have you say “I told you so” for the next century? Bucky: Heh.

Steve, with hand on his chin: What’s weird was that, despite everything, I still felt HORRIBLE when I ticked that box. Sam: Sounds like you built up the meaning of that vote far too much in your head. Logically, we know that a single box can’t represent all of the complexity of a whole system, but the desperately WANT it to. Just look at how people have built up so much around the term “Zionis” that it’s made productive conversations difficult.

Page 9: Sam and Steve speak in the background while Bucky reaches into the cooler and pulls out a box. Steve: Sigh. And that’s something that goes beyond the election. Sam: Which is why we need to vote, AND do other things. Bucky, looking at Steve and Sam: Like how Steve works to push organizations on the local level? Or like all the work you do as Captain America? Sam: Exactly. Vote AND.

Sam looks at Bucky fondly: Like how you vote AND make me and Steve take breaks. Bucky, looking stern because he can’t handle compliments: Shush, Sam.

Bucky holds up a cake that has the number “107” on it: It’s time for cake. Happy Birthday, Steve.

[aireia]

pretty. — shopping for your wedding gown went a little wrong.

tw/cw: tooth rotting fluff, not proofread, fluff/crack, reader wears a dress + satoru calls them his future wife —masterlist

you smile and place your palms under your chin, wondering how you got to this point. your snowy haired fiancé is currently twirling around with a custom tailored wedding gown… which he wasn’t going to be wearing on your wedding day anyway, because he would never hear the end of it from his first year trio. okay, yuji probably wouldn’t have said anything, but nobara and megumi would bully him out of his own wedding. without a doubt, 100 percent.

your mind tried running through the events that had unfolded over the past two weeks, finally stopping at where everything started.

-

“pretty.” 

those were the only words that satoru gojo had to say the moment the both of you had found the perfect wedding dress for you. detailed right down to the final bits of the dress, it matched you perfectly with your favourite flowers weaved into the design, just the perfect length… it was everything you were looking for.

the sound of your soft laughter brought him out of his awestruck expression. “thank you, but as much as i love it, it feels just a little uncomfortable.” you sounded a little disappointed, and satoru couldn’t help but notice every little shift and movement you made… especially that mischievous look in your eyes and grin plastered on your face the moment you thought of a ‘solution.’ 

“maybe you should be the one in a dress at our wedding. i’m sure the strongest can handle a little bit of discomfort.”  

now, you and gojo had known each other for probably more than a decade. he knew better than anyone else that you were joking. but you were basically challenging him with that last sentence, right? 

he abruptly stood up from the couch he was sitting on once you had gotten to changing out of the wedding gown before marching off to one of the nearby employees and asking about any dresses his size, only to be met with the response of, “this is an unusual request, but there are quite a few dresses that would compliment you-” the employee coughed a few times before continuing, “-but we are closing soon, so there might not be enough time to try them on-” 

“i'll take all of them.”

“pardon?”

“including the one my future wife chose. okay thanks!”

the total came up to about 1.2 million yen. for a dress for you and those 3 gowns the employee picked out, it horrified everyone present at the counter. everyone but him, of course. 

back to present time, that’s how you found yourself being the one and only audience member for your beloved’s fashion show. for a good reason, you wanted to chew him out for spending that recklessly. then again, this is the same guy who decides to buy two of the same items no matter how expensive it is “just in case the other one goes missing.”

you sigh softly before turning your attention back onto him. he’s currently trying on the final dress, and has finally got rid of the sunglasses. you can’t help but admit that he actually looks good in the dress, sparkling with all the right types of gems and jewels, paired with his now visible long eyelashes, he looks pretty. 

“so? how do i look!!?” satoru asks with enthusiasm, spinning around you in circles. 

“hmm, maybe i should be the one wearing your suit that day instead,” you jokingly say to him. he understood, laughing before ruffling your hair. 

“as if i’d let you.” a comfortable silence filled the air afterwards, being broken afterwards by satoru confessing, “i dream of seeing you wearing that in front of me at the altar, you know?”

your eyes at this. you weren’t expecting him to say something like that so sudden. 

“i can wear it at night when-” satoru’s sentence was cut off by a light punch to his gut. 

“hell no.”

by user @ aireia, do not plagiarize and/or translate.

@rninies still can't write fluff unfortunately, writing this fried my brain

[meanbossart]

What are your thoughts/takes on Astarion's relationship with sex? How does that reflect on his relationship with Drow?

(Obvious disclaimer: this is just my opinion, and my goal is always to entertain myself - never to argue or be the most correct about canon interpretations or themes.)

Hm. So, something that I find very unique (and frankly, overlooked!) about Astarion's previews experiences, is that when speaking specifically about his M.O for luring marks for Cazador the majority of the encounters he seems to have had were not, primarily, "negative".

They weren't positive either, of course. There is no way around it: having sex against your will is rape. But in his case, the perpetrator was never inside the room. From the way he speaks of the people he slept with, he seems to hold a mixture of contempt and pity; but never anger; from the way he speaks of and with Sebastian, it even seems like, sometimes, perhaps in the early days of those 200 years he might have even allowed himself to indulge in small, brief attachments and hopes. Then, as fatigue settled in and the permanence of the situation hit him, I'm sure the motions became mechanized at best and agonizing at worst.

But I think whatever harm the experience has done to his sexuality or self-value, it's damage struck him tenfold in the concept of object permanence. Imagine it: throughout the course of two centuries, you are not allowed to form a connection with a single person who isn't damned to die later the same day. You never see the same face twice. You are never allowed to progress past impersonal first encounters. Astarion says he wants to be seen and known, but a reality that hurts almost more than being invisible is that there were probably thousands of people who would have loved to do that. But you ruined them as much as they ruined you.

I wholeheartedly believe that he was sick of sex, and that for decades to come there will be times when he still turns the lights off during the act, or, ideally, just says No Thank You and moves on, but the hypothetical that really haunts me is that other thing: the almost pavlovian association between sex and looming demise. That people are going to be taken away from you, so why bother being present?

This is a feeling he struggles with sorting through and vocalizing. And in turn, DU Drow often is under the assumption that this is all about sex, and about whether he truly wants it or not. This is yet another small theme in A Novel Experience but, in summary, for a while he still doubts Astarion's own agency to initiate or participate in it - this reduction of the issue as a matter of physical touch, while the big picture is much more complex.

And this does not always externalize in the far more palatably tragic "woe is me, everyone I love leaves" way. Sometimes Astarion still catches himself thinking of the ones he loves as disposable, and acting with due disregard for their lives like it's second nature.

But back on subject: he can have, does have, and likes sex. By finally being allowed to form a friendship and rapport with a sexual partner for whom he does not feel the need to perform to, he can finally enjoy the silly, the awkward, the gross and even the subpar aspects of sex with true intimacy; the anxiety sets after the fact, as he wonders about what comes next once you're out of his sight.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Aslı Aydıntaşbaş for Politico Magazine:

American democracy is about to undergo a serious stress test. I know how it feels, in part because I lived through the slow and steady march of state capture as a journalist working in Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s Turkey. Over a decade as a high-profile journalist, I covered Turkey’s descent into illiberalism, having to engage in the daily push and pull with the government. I know how self-censorship starts in small ways but then creeps into operations on a daily basis. I am familiar with the rhythms of the battle to reshape the media, state institutions and the judiciary. Having lived through it, and having gathered some lessons in hindsight, I believe that there are strategies that can help Democrats and Trump critics not only survive the coming four years, but come out stronger. Here are six of them.

1. Don’t Panic — Autocracy Takes Time

President-elect Donald Trump’s return to power is unnerving but, as I have argued previously, America will not turn into a dictatorship overnight — or in four years. Even the most determined strongmen face internal hurdles, from the bureaucracy to the media and the courts. It took Erdoğan well over a decade to fully consolidate his power. Hungary’s Viktor Orbán and Poland’s Law and Justice Party needed years to erode democratic norms and fortify their grip on state institutions.

I am not suggesting that the United States is immune to these patterns, but it’s important to remember that its decentralized system of governance — the network of state and local governments — offers enormous resilience. Federal judges serve lifetime appointments, states and governors have specific powers separate from those granted federally, there are local legislatures, and the media has the First Amendment as a shield, reinforced by over a century of legal precedents. Sure, there are dangers, including by a Supreme Court that might grant great deference to the president. But in the end, Donald Trump really only has two years to try to execute state capture. Legal battles, congressional pushback, market forces, midterm elections in 2026 and internal Republican dissent will slow him down and restrain him. The bottom line is that the U.S. is too decentralized in its governance system for a complete takeover. The Orbánization of America is not an imminent threat.

2. Don’t Disengage — Stay Connected

[...]

Nothing is more meaningful than being part of a struggle for democracy. That’s why millions of Turks turned out to the polls and gave the opposition a historic victory in local governments across Turkey earlier this year. That’s how the Poles organized a winning coalition to vote out the conservative Law and Justice Party last year. It can happen here, too. The answer to political defeat is not to disconnect, but to organize. You can take a couple of days or weeks off, commiserate with friends and mute Elon Musk on X — or erase the app altogether. But in the end, the best way to develop emotional resilience is greater engagement.

[...]

4. Charismatic Leadership Is a Non-Negotiable

One lesson from Turkey and Hungary is clear: You will lose if you don’t find a captivating leader, as was the case in 2023 general elections in Turkey and in 2022 in Hungary. Coalition-building or economic messaging is necessary and good. But it is not enough. You need charisma to mobilize social dissent. [...]

Last year’s elections in Poland and Turkey showcased how populist incumbents can be defeated (or not defeated, as in general elections in Turkey in 2023) depending on the opposition’s ability to unite around compelling candidates who resonate with voters. Voters seek authenticity and a connection — give it to them.

5. Skip the Protests and Identity Politics

Soon, Trump opponents will shake off the doldrums and start organizing an opposition campaign. But how they do it matters. For the longest time in Turkey, the opposition made the mistake of relying too much on holding street demonstrations and promoting secularism, Turkey’s version of identity politics, which speaks to the urban professional and middle class but not beyond. [...]

6. Have Hope

Nothing lasts forever and the U.S. is not the only part of the world that faces threats to democracy — and Americans are no different than the French, the Turks or Hungarians when it comes to the appeal of the far right. But in a country with a strong, decentralized system of government and with a long-standing tradition of free speech, the rule of law should be far more resilient than anywhere in the world. Trump’s return to power certainly poses challenges to U.S. democracy. But he will make mistakes and overplay his hand — at home and abroad. America will survive the next four years if Democrats pick themselves up and start learning from the successes of opponents of autocracy across the globe.

Aslı Aydıntaşbaş, who had first-hand experience with Recep Tayyip Erdoğan’s authoritarianism in her native Turkey as a journalist, wrote in Politico Magazine on how to effectively fight Donald Trump’s authoritarian impulses.

[theculturedmarxist]

In photos of 2023’s World Economic Forum- or Davos as it is commonly called, after the Swiss resort town where it annually occurs- you might not notice the HEPA filters. They’re in the background, unobtrusive and unremarked upon, quietly cleansing the air of viruses and bacteria. You wouldn’t know- not unless you asked- that every attendee was PCR tested before entering the forum, or that in the case of a positive test, access was automatically, electronically, revoked. And if you happened to get a glimpse of the strange blue lights overhead, you could reasonably assume that their glow was simply a modern aesthetic choice, not the calming buzz of cutting edge Far UVC technology- demonstrated to kill microbes in the air.

It’s hard to square this information with the public narrative about COVID, isn’t it? President Biden has called the pandemic “over”. The New York Times recently claimed that “the risk of Covid is similar to that of the flu” in an article about “hold outs” that are annoyingly refusing to accept continual reinfection as their “new normal”. Yet, this week the richest people in the world are taking common sense, easy- but strict- precautions to ensure they don’t catch Covid-19 at Davos.

These common sense, easy precautions include high-quality ventiliation, use of Far UVC-lighting technology, and PCR testing. You’ll also see some masks at Davos, but generally, the testing + air filtration protocol seems to be effective at preventing the kind of super-spreader events most of us are now accustomed to attending.

It seems unlikely to me that a New York Times reporter will follow the super-rich around like David Attenborough on safari, the way one of their employees did when they profiled middle-class maskers last month. I doubt they will write “family members and friends can get a little exasperated by the hyper-concern” about the assembled Prime Ministers, Presidents and CEOs in Switzerland. After all, these are important people. The kind of people who merit high-quality ventilation. The kind of people who deserve accurate tests.

Why is the media so hellbent on portraying simple, scientifically proven measures like high-quality ventilation as ridiculous and unnecessary as hundreds of people continue to die daily here in the US?

Why is the public accepting a “new normal” where we are expected to get infected over and over and over again, at work events with zero precautions, on airplanes with no masks, and at social dinners trying to approximate our 2019 normal?

We deserve better. We deserve to be #DavosSafe as the hashtag going around on twitter puts it. Your children deserve to be treated with the care that world leaders are treating each other. Your family deserves to be protected from the disease which is still- unlike the flu- the third leading cause of death in the US. We don’t deserve to be shoved back into poorly ventilated workplaces while our politicians and press assure us that only crazy people would demand to breathe clean air.

Clean water and clean food are rights we fought for; we have regulatory bodies that ensure we aren’t exposed to pathogens via our water supply nor our food. In 1854, John Snow famously conducted his Broad Street Pump study in London and demonstrated that cholera was water-bourne; however, it took decades for our public policy to catch up with our scientific knowledge.

A public health case study published by the NBCI describes the years that followed:

The first use of chlorine as a disinfectant for water facilities was in 1897 in England. The first use of this method for municipal water facilities in the United States was in Jersey City, New Jersey, and Chicago, Illinois, in 1915. Other cities followed and the use of chlorination as standard treatment for water disinfection rapidly grew. During the 20th century, death rates from waterborne diseases decreased significantly, and although other additional factors contributed to the general improvements in health (such as sanitation, improved quality of life, and nutrition), the improvement of water quality was, without doubt, a major reason.

Forty-three years passed from the initial demonstration that pathogens were being spread via water, and public action and regulation to halt disease.

Can you imagine, in the 1890s, being somebody who argued against cleaning the water?

Can you imagine, in those years of plentiful cholera, calling the people who demanded shit-free water “hold outs”?

One thing COVID realists are accused of is being “doomsayers” and “fearmongers,” so let me share a dose of optimism about the future with you. When we choose- whenever we choose- to get COVID under control, there’s an exciting new world awaiting us. One, not only without constant COVID reinfection, but where our kids can grow up free of colds, flus, RSV, and many other common bugs. And no, contrary to what you may have heard, staying healthy (shockingly enough) is not bad for children!

Once we choose to institute ventilation standards and introduce new technologies like Far UVC lighting- and embrace masking as an easy, kind, and useful tool to control outbreaks- we can bring every nasty airborne pathogen under control the way we did cholera. We didn’t have the science before; now we do. (I mean that quite literally; I can’t recommend enough the linked Wired article cataloguing the long journey to establishing that Covid is, indeed, airborne).

We face a stark choice; down one road, the one with zero infrastructure upgrades, no air quality regulations, and Covid safety only for those who can afford it, you and your family will get Covid this year. You will get Covid next year. You will continue to get Covid over and over and over again, as the health problems - like cardiac damage, viral persistance, and immune system dysfunction- continue to build up. (The billionaires, of course, will not).

Down the other road, we quite simply treat ourselves the way Davos would. We engage with what the science is telling us and we build a safer, better world for our kids. We embrace the lessons this pandemic is teaching us, and let go of things we now know are harming people. We stop clinging desperately to the idea that 2019 will come back if we just get the virus one more time, and we come together to achieve what we’ve been told is impossible: elimination.

The economic elite thrive on our divisiveness and blame casting. They don’t mind that we’re calling each other names, engaging in racial stereotyping, or leaving disabled people to die, so long as we keep their machine running. But we can choose to stop throwing blame at each other, and direct it where it belongs: at the powerful people who’ve left us to suffer, at the politicians who are whipping people into a frenzy over masks instead of over our millions of dead, at the talking heads on TV that work so hard to convince us: you want to get sick. It’s better than being a *weirdo* or a *hold out*.

We needn’t wait 43 years to redirect our energies. France and Belgium have already introduced new air quality standards, and DIY projects to build Corsi-Rosenthal boxes for schools and healthcare settings have popped up around the country. We have the science, we have the technology. All we need now is the political will and the solidarity to truly end the pandemic- the kind of solidarity the super rich always show with one another.

The billionaires at Davos don’t accept continual Covid reinfection. They demand better. It’s time we demand better too.

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#387

“Hey Michael, do we really need to go through all this? You know why you are here, right?… Yeah you are here to be an intern, but did your dad tell you what you would be doing?… Jesus! He didn’t! Well shit! I’m just going to be blunt; there’s no reason to be coy here….

“Do you recognize me?… We met a few years ago at the company Fourth of July picnic. Yeah, I’m the Chief Security Officer of the company your dad works for. When your dad was in my office, going over this very last-minute two-week business trip to Vegas, he was saying that he was worried about you being alone for all that time. I reminded him that you are of age and should be responsible to be alone. He started going on and on that he was worried about you getting in with the wrong crowd. I laughed and said you spend most of your afternoons in the back theater of Ruby’s bookstore taking dick after dick and that the wrong crowd would be all the tradies who work the docks.

“Ha ha. If your dad didn’t know you were a sperm burper, he does now. The panicked look on your face says that you didn’t tell him. Oh well not my problem. He didn’t seem too phased by it though.

“A bit later we were talking about the expansion of our sites in Amsterdam and Munich. He started dropping hints that he wanted a promotion. I started to laugh. I told him that the Executive team, especially the CEO, Bryce Mullins, doesn’t think he’s upper management material. Your dad asked what he could do to change Bryce’s mind. I told him point blank, ‘Offer Bryce your son to fuck.’

“Oh yeah, we were talking about you. I bet he didn’t tell you all that when he said you that you could get an internship with us, now did he?… I didn’t think so. Yeah, if your dad allowed the CEO of the company to breed your cute little ass, he might just get that promotion and raise.

“And it’s not just Bryce, but me too…. What? You think I would conduct an interview for a legitimate intern at my private residence wearing a pair of swimming trunks?… Seriously, you would think that? Bryce and I go back decades to when we were both in the Corps. We would pick up a faggot like you just off base and take him to our motel room and fuck that cunt good. After the Corps, we met Ben Tutwiler who shares our affinity of using and abusing boys like you. The three of us formed this company. He’s the Chief Operating Officer, and he’s going to fuck you this week as well. Although, it will probably just a few times. He’s grown closer to his own faggot.

“Yeah, our company is founded by three fag fuckers. About five or six years ago we brought on our fourth fag fucking executive, our Chief Financial Officer Gary Roberts. Now you probably don’t realize this, but he’s already fucked you a few times. He’s a frequent patron of the same Ruby’s bookstore as you. How do you think we first heard about you being a cum dump whore? In case you were wondering, he’s the one who holds you head firmly in place while he instructs the men to back their asses onto your tongue.

“…Oh that got a smile out of you. You know who he is, hunh? Good. The four of us have specific tastes in our faggots. And each one of us will… interview you.

“We start now. Get naked faggot.

“…You can instantly follow orders. That’s good. Should you get hired as our intern, you won’t be wearing much around here. Come to think about it, you won’t have many possessions.

“Hell, like any other intern you work for free. Don’t worry, we’ll pay off your debts, which isn’t much.

“Nice body. You shaved? That’s a bonus. You will be kept hairless; Bryce will insist on it. Nice ass. Bend over and show me your cunt. Goddamned! You’re wearing a plug? I love it. Shit it out….

“Oh wait a moment, you’re loaded up! When was the last time you got fucked?… Lunchtime? At Ruby’s? How many loads are in you now? You don’t know!

“HA! I fucking love it. You come to what you think is a legitimate job interview, with your cunt loaded and plugged up. That’s fucking great. Take it out but clamp down. I want those loads to ferment in you a little longer…. Good. Good. That’s an interesting plug. It’s very stumpy. Perfect size for it to go in your mouth. You do realize that anything that comes out of your cunt should be cleaned off in your mouth? No, don’t lick it, just hold it in place.

“Follow me. Here let me give you something to look at, my ass. I may be fifty-nine, but my ass is still beefy like a 30-year-old who works out three hours a day. I don’t see you, but I know you are thinking about eating it. Don’t worry, like Gary, I love getting tongue fucked. You will be licking my shithole several times a day along with every other sweaty part of my body.

“OK. This pool house will be where you are going to be for the next couple weeks. I purchased this estate because of it. I put a lot of money into this space so that the four of us have a place to go to use faggots however and whenever we want. Mostly it will be you. Sometimes on game day, Ben will bring his boy over and both of you will serve and service us. It usually ends with a fuck fest of four on two.

“The two bedrooms are converted into a play space and a gym. You’ll sleep in the walk-in closet on a cot. The closet also doubles as a sling room when needed.

“Don’t be intimidated by all the sex furniture we have in here. Most of the time it goes unused, except for parties. The fuck bench is probably what you will spend most of your time on. Gary will definitely have you under the rimseat here or there’s another one in the bathroom. Ben will have you on the St. Andrew’s cross. That cupboard over there is nothing but various ropes, chains, leather restraints, plastic ties, rubber, and so on. If there’s a way to tie you up, Ben has it here.

“Speaking of which, here help me put these wrist and ankle cuffs on. You’ll have these on the entire time. It’ll make securing you into different positions easier. Ben likes to see them on the faggots we have here. He has had them on his boy for as long as they have been together. Here, let me put the padlocks on; we will be the ones to control when they come off…. Good. You’ll get to try them out on the St. Andrew’s cross over there.

“On your knees and lean forward. While Ben will like tie you down, Bryce likes to control you. This collar symbolizes that. When a faggot cunt is collared, it knows that it is not in charge, that it is owned, and that it is merely an object for real men to use. And that click of the lock now cements everything.

“I can see you are excited about this. Your pecker is leaking. You know what? So is mine. Look at it. I want you to beat off. This will be the first and last time you are cumming while here. So make it good. A pecker cage will be going on after you shoot.

“Then I’m gonna use your cum as my lube. Get your knees spread wide. Fuck this is beautiful. I have a faggot to play with for the next few weeks, maybe longer. Three of my best buds will share in your holes. You really have me leaking back here. I’m enjoying the view of your ass and back, thinking how good my arm would look going up your cunt.

“But I need to do this first. Hold your head still. This is a strap that will hold that plug in your mouth.

“Damn! That arm is going a mile a minute. Somehow let me know when you are close to cumming. I want to know the exact moment.

“Just think about your time here. You will be serving four men pretty much non-stop. Other men will be brought by. We may work you at the same time, but more often than not it’s done one-on-one.

“I want to fuck that cunt of yours, but I want your load first. So hurry the fuck up. My cock is ready to explode.

“From you grunts, you about to cum?… Good. Remember to collect it in your hand. I want you to cum on the count of five. One… Two… Three… Get ready. Four… And FIVE! Shoot!

“…Ha Ha Ha! You weren’t expecting that ball kick from behind, were ya? You faggots never do. Did you get any cum in your hand?… No? That sucks for you.

“What’s wrong? Your neck? Ohhhh. I forgot to mention. That collar is wired up. We can deliver painful shocks to you at any time. In case you were wondering, the shock was probably delivered by Bryce who is also in Vegas. This place is wired up with over one hundred cameras with microphones. Like any one of us, he has the ability of watching and probably was. I’m surprised he hasn’t said anything; the speaker system can broadcast orders to you, from anywhere in the world, and from any one of us.

“Roll over on your stomach and get your ass up in the air. I don’t give a shit that you are in pain from my ball kick and a shock from your collar. I want your cunt. You know what? I need a spreader bar first…. This one will do.

“I have nearly forty years in security and surveillance. There are sensors all over my property. You are to stay here or the pool area unless I give you permission. The collar will not allow you to go any further than this building, the pool, and the sauna hut. Oh, and that collar is waterproof. When I need you up in the main building, I’ll have the sensors turned off for that area.

“Monitoring faggots is so easy these days. I have been surveilling you for the past couple of months. Oh yeah, I know everywhere you went since Gary first connected with a bookstore cum dump whore, one that just happened to be the son of one of our employees. I ran a full background on you. I was able to hack into your phone, and I observed. I know the older men you try to connect with on Grindr and Scruff. I see the porn you watch. And you watch a lot of daddy porn, cruising porn, gang bang porn, ass eating porn, and so on.

“I know where you go. You hit the bookstore at lunchtime on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays. On Fridays you stay back there to hit the after-work crowd. On Mondays and Wednesdays, on your way back from your community college, you hit the rest area.

“During this time, I did an extensive background check on your dad just as I did on you. Your dad has some issues with workplace security that are being addressed today by Bryce in Vegas. Trust me, your dad will not interfere in your internship. This was all planned, faggot. Every moment you thought you had a choice, we chose it for you.

“Now the spreader bar is in place set to painfully wide. Since you didn’t catch your load, I’m going in dry.

“With your wrists clipped behind your back, you aren’t going anywhere.

“Are you crying? You are. And you look panicked! Feel like you have no control over anything? Good!

“Fuck it’s not going to take me long to cum. I’m ready to burst.

“Jesus! You are loose! And sloppy! The cum stew feels good. Oh man.

“Not going to take long at all…. Oh faggot, you are made to be a cum dump faggot whore. This cunt belongs to me.

“Get ready. Get ready. Here I cum. Fuck! Fuck! Fuuuuccccckkkkk!

“Shit! That was good. You got my load added to the cum stew you’re brewing.

“Your gaping hole could be tightened up. Clamp down on me…. That’s it? We’ll need to start cunt training on you. Get those pussy muscles back to providing pleasure.

“Hold still. I got to piss…. Oh man. Does this feel good. It feels right. You are a natural toilet. Gary said he pissed down your throat a few times. Toilet service will be expected of you. Mostly Gary and I are into it, but Bryce and Ben will use your mouth on game day.

“I’m gonna pull out. You need to keep this slop in you. Clamp down. It’s going to be tough, but do not spill one single drop. You do, you will regret disobeying me.

“You are a sight. I’m gonna lift up the spreader bar to the motorized pulley. Suspended upside down should keep that sludge in. The butt plug gag needs to come out. My cock needs to be cleaned off, and your mouth is at the right height.

“That’s it. Swirl your tongue around. Just like that. Faggot, you’re going to do fine here.

“Ok. I got to do some paperwork in the main house. I’ll be back in a while. If you need to be let down, respectfully call out. If one of us is watching you, we can let you down remotely.”

This story continues in Story #389, Story #394, and Story #400

[bobbertskeetz]

Hi! How are You? Hope u are good.

Can I request Spencer with a reader that had unsub parents? It can be female ir male

You can ignore this is You want! Thank u for hearing me

I'm so sorry for the delay on this request, I'm crap at trying to come up with unsub plot lines but I hope this somewhat lives up to the imagine you had envisioned my love !! Thanks a million for the request and I hope you enjoy <3

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟɪᴇꜱ ꜱ.ʀ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: After half a decade, Spencer's worst fears are assumed to come true...

Themes/Warnings: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, mentions of kidnapping, unsub parents, angst, general themes and violence of the show. | PSA!! This imagine is loosely based on Mosely Lane |

You hated having your picture taken. The knowledge that you could never truly have control over what will be done with it haunts you even to this day.

The physical danger may be gone, but your memory, one which was shared with the many children who, unfortunately, found themselves locked away behind the dingy cellar door, forever remains.

Spencer knew of the horror stories. Of course he did. You made it your mission to tell him yourself before one of his FBI buddies could find out for themselves. However, hearing the admissions fall from your mouth did nothing to soothe Spencer's fear and anger. Fear, for your safety. Anger, for the knowledge that you lived in fear for the majority of your life. Anger, for the knowledge that the only thing separating you from your parents was a couple layers of cement and a cell door. He knew first hand just how ineffective prison can be for victims safety - if an unsub wanted to achieve something or other, all it took was speaking with the right person. He hated that he knew that.

Especially when he received a token in the mail.

A small parcel, barely the size of his palm. A little thin package addressed to Whom It May Concern. Assuming nothing of it, he opened it. You had already left for work, bidding him his goodbye kiss and promising a home cooked meal by the time he returned from the office. There was no sense in waiting until you were both home to open it, what if it was urgent?

And so he did.

And oh how he wished he never had.

There in his hand, sat a small polaroid of a child. At first, he didn't recognise you - for the ten years he had known you, and the five you spent living together, you have all but refused to dig up any childhood photographs. However, the longer he stared, the more he noticed your teary eyes. Your scrunched nose and furrowed brows. The same expression you wear to this day when you wake from a nightmare, when you watch a scary movie, and when you first told him of the horror house your parents ran. When you told him of the polaroids you were forced to take of your 'brothers' and 'sisters', and of your task of lugging those who disobeyed your mother to the crematorium.

Yet you'd failed to tell him that your picture was taken along with the other victims. That your little face had been a part of the morbid photo album which remained in the evidence case. Perhaps you didn't know? Did you even remember having this picture taken, you couldn't have been more than 7 years old. Spencer felt sick. Suddenly, it dawned on him what he was holding. How did he come to have this. Who had left this at your shared doorstep. They knew where you lived.

They knew where you lived.

He just about caught the bile in his throat before he felt his pocket buzz.

Struggling to pull his gaze from the omen in his hand, he reached for his phone and answered, failing to see the caller ID.

"Reid?"

"Yeah. Hotch I know, but I might be a bit late."

Before he could provide a half-assed excuse to buy himself some time - time to think on how he was to go about bringing this up to you and the team - Hotch beat him to it.

"Reid," His voice was solemn, yet calculated, "We've received a package. Well - JJ has."

"It's them Hotch."

The silence was pregnant. Deafening.

"I know."

--

Your foot shook, in a desperate attempt to self-soothe. The fluorescent glow of the BAU was straining your eyes, leaving a slight pound in your temples. However, the main focus of your stress induced headache remained on the ambiguity surrounding as to why David Rossi appeared at your work to escort you to Quantico. And why your boyfriend has locked himself and Aaron away in the conference room for the last forty minutes. You were scared. You couldn't let it show, you'd learnt that the hard way. But, in a room full of profilers, it was hard to hide - you were convinced that they could all genuinely smell fear.

In fact, your fear was so prominent, you failed to hear Morgan calling your name until he was crouched in front of you.

"How bout we go into Reid now, huh?" You met his eye only briefly.

Carefully, you chose your next words, "Will you all tell me what's going on?" Pleading with your eyes, Morgan felt his stomach twist.

"C'mon sweetheart."

You didn't take much convincing. All you wanted was Spencer, to curl up into him and forget all about this disruption to your day. Part of you began to wonder if you were being completely over dramatic and misreading the situation, maybe he had a surprise for you. A date? But you knew, in your gut you knew. They'd come back to haunt you. Why else would this dread be bubbling in your stomach?

Derek opened the door for you, leading you gently by the shoulder. There, you saw your boyfriend, bent over the table resting his hands on either side of what looked to me scraps of paper. His sleeves had been messily pushed up over his elbows, top button undone and his hair was tussled, a tell-tale sign that he had been pushing his hands through his curls. But for why? You still didn't truly know.

He looked up. His stomach dropped.

Wringing your fingers together, you stood before him with a sheepish look across your face. He knew you suspected something, something bad. And maybe you were right. It still didn't make telling you any easier.

"C'mere honey," He held his arm out to you, inviting you to slot into his chest, "Can you look at these with me? I'm right here."

You wished you'd stayed at work.

There on the table in front of you, sat three polaroids. One, you recognised to be Laney, the girl you had befriended for years. The photo, you had taken of her, as you had of all the others, to keep in an album. Why? You didn't know. Proof? Maybe a part of you knew that one day the horror would stop, and you'd need to show someone some day what had happened in your house. Someone had to remember all those who couldn't survive. Like your Laney.

The other two forced your head to bury itself into Spencer's chest; one, was of your bedroom, or rather your cell, and one of you. Little you. When it was taken, who had taken it? You weren't so sure. Laney? Your father? Everything was a fuzzy mess of guilt, shame and fear, so much so you couldn't remember the half of it.

The one thing you knew for certain, you remembered hating having that photo taken. For what reason? You couldn't place. But you did know that to this day, you still hated having your picture taken. That would never change.

"Where did you find these?" He almost missed your words completely, you spoke so softly, voice strained and distant.

A shaky breath left his lips.

"They found us angel, I'm so sorry."

Your heart lurched. Surely you had heard him wrong. You asked him, silently begging you had indeed misheard, but to your horror, that just was not the case.

Just then, JJ stepped forward, a small piece of paper outstretched to you, "Spence received the one of you at your home. We were sent the other two here, along with this note."

Shakily, you grasped for the paper, sparing Spencer a short glance before guiding your eyes to the words scrawled out in front of you.

Your old home address, a date and time. A demand for you to be there alone, or you would be 'collected' regardless of your showing up or not.

Your head spun, had it not been for Spencer's firm grasp around your waist, you were sure you'd have collapsed then and there.

Tears welled up as your eyes locked with his. His own frown matching the drop in your stomach.

They were back. You both knew it, and for once, Spencer didn't have all the answers.

[livwritesstuff]

for @steddie-week day 5 | exes to lovers

fully and completely inspired by @emchant3d's divorced dad's post [x] from a few weeks ago bc i did not once stop thinking abt it

tags: modern day, artist!eddie, finance guy!steve, steddie as rich gay divorcees, sort of an accidental parent trap situation

They were too young, Steve thinks in retrospect – married at twenty-three, their daughter born when they were twenty-five, and then divorced before his twenty-seventh birthday.

He gets to think retrospectively because in a few years it’ll be a full decade since the papers for that last bit got signed. Now, Steve is thirty-four and sweating his ass off in a red polo and crisp jeans, the stiflingly hot July sun beating down on him as he scans the perimeter of a crowded playground for a familiar head of curly brown hair – not his nine-year-old. He found Rosalind already, wreaking havoc on the jungle gym. No, he’s looking for his ex (-husband, technically, but Steve usually stops at ex; the -husband part just makes him sad these days).

It’s custody swap day, which is either his favorite or least favorite day of the week depending on who the swap is favoring.

Today it’s favoring him which is why he’s slowly making his way around the edge of a playground in Bushwick, keeping an eye out for his ex, Eddie.

“Steve,” he hears from somewhere behind him. Steve turns towards the sound and sees not that curly head of hair he’d expected. Eddie’s hair is completely buzzed (which, for the record, was not the case last week when Steve dropped Rozzy off with him) and he’s wearing a paint-splattered white t-shirt tucked into old jeans and all that combined is making it reeeally hard for Steve to pretend he’s not crushing hard on the guy he divorced eight years ago.

“Dude,” Steve started, eyeing Eddie’s hair (or lack thereof) as he made his way to the section of fence that Eddie was occupying, “What–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie rolled his eyes, “Rozzy already hit me with all the good zingers so you’re too late.”

“No, I don’t –” Steve stopped, “It’s…not a bad look, just…you know. Why the change?”

Eddie looked away.

“Long story,” he replied as Steve remembered (yet again) that he doesn’t get full access to Eddie’s world the way he used to.

Luckily for Steve, Rozzy runs up to them and spares him from having to figure out a response for that.

“We should get pizza,” she says. Steve’s eyebrows fly up.

“We should get pizza?” he repeats.

“Please,” she adds, her eyes shining, “At Dad’s? And we play Mario Kart? Dad said I’m getting good at 200!”

“He said that?” Steve asked, and he glances over Rosalind's head to see that Eddie is making a so-so gesture with his hand.

He’s never been all that good at saying no to his daughter (or anyone), so it doesn’t take much more convincing on Rozzy’s part for the three of them to head off in the direction of Eddie’s loft, with a pitstop planned for the pizza shop down the block.

They actually have a nice time.

It’s true that Rozzy is getting better at 200cc – good might be a bit generous, but Steve’s fine with that (he doesn’t know if his ego could handle getting crushed by a fourth-grader).

Just as they’re finishing their second grand prix (the Star Cup, because Rozzy likes the dolphin race), one of the other kids in the building knocks on the door and invites Rozzy over for a sleepover, which Steve agrees to because he remembers the illicit kind of joy in a summertime Monday night sleepover.

Eddie doesn't show Steve the door after Rozzy's gone. Rather, he pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge – an expensive Sémillon he says was given to him by a client.

“So the art biz is still going well, I assume,” Steve comments as Eddie pulls two vintage wine glasses out of a cabinet and pours them each a healthy serving.

Conversation about work manages to sustain them through the first few glasses (Eddie actually remembered that it’s been just over a year since Steve left his dad’s Fortune 1000 for a CFO position at a marketing company that had just graduated from small to midsize status). They work through the second quarter of the bottle talking about Rozzy, and the third vanishes even quicker while Steve spills some of the latest Harrington family drama.

While Eddie is updating him on how Wayne is doing, Steve finds that he isn’t really listening, distracted in the way he can’t help but notice how Eddie’s paint-stained t-shirt is actually more like an undershirt, and a size too small for him, the torso and sleeves tight around lean muscle, and there’s a thin silver chain around his neck and a scruff of facial hair around his jaw, and –

Steve doesn’t immediately realize when Eddie stopped talking. When he does, when his eyes finally unstick themselves from the buzzcut and drop back down to Eddie’s, he sees that Eddie is staring at him too.

Eddie’s tongue darts out to wet his lip.

“Ask me again why I buzzed my hair,” he tells him.

“Why’d you buzz your hair,” Steve asks, because he’s obedient like that (and because he really does want to know).

“Steve–” Eddie stops, a giggly, wine-induced hiccup of a laugh slipping out before he shakes his head, “An entire can of paint tipped ov–” He cuts himself off with another half-hysterical laugh, barely managing to say, “Spilled on my head,” before he was completely doubled over, and Steve is laughing too because he can totally picture it and because he had a bit more wine than he planned to and this is honestly the first time that he and Eddie have hung out without their daughter in…Steve doesn’t even know how long.

“Steve,” Eddie says again when they finally both recover, and his tone is completely different this time around and there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before and something is happening, something is happening, “Please don’t kill me for saying this, but…fuck, it’s really kinda pathetic how badly I still want it to be you and me.”

Steve thinks he tries to respond, but then he was too busy kissing Eddie to do anything else, too busy scraping fingernails over Eddie’s scalp, too busy choking back a moan as Eddie sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, too busy tugging Eddie’s shirt out of his waistband to shove a hand up underneath and finding that he’s built more solidly than Steve remembers from the last time they touched like this, but something is telling him that’s true about Eddie – true about himself too – in more ways than one.

And if Rosalind comes home the next morning ready to ask how she’s getting back to Daddy’s house only to find that he’s already there, stealing Dad’s mug out of his hand for a sip of coffee when his own is right there…that’s a conversation for another day.

part 2

[whichcouldmeannothing]

big big marvey fic rec list

marvey is currently my most bookmarked ship, so trust me when i say i've been around the bend for marvey content. i have dug through a lot of it the past few months, so trust that these fics have been highly rated!

fics are loosely grouped, with the summary and my thoughts under the cut :3 no spoilers ofc bc i love you

MY PERSONAL FAVOURITES

A Specter-Ross Affair by @frivoloussuits (15k+, au)

“You ordered an ‘extra-hot, extra-wet cappuccino, single-origin, properly layered, to-go and ready five minutes ago to make up for your service speed or lack thereof.’” In which Mike is a barista, Rachel is a lawyer, and Harvey is paid excessive amounts of money to plan their joyous Christmas wedding.

"Love is just a particularly socially accepted form of fraud. It's a series of increasingly complex and fragile deceptions between two or more people, and, more alarmingly, between each participant and their own deluded subconscious."

i literally cannot recommend this fic enough. this might be my favourite read of the entire year, dead serious. this sounds fluffy but trust me, the pining and the angst go well like salt on a chocolate chip cookie: extremely decadent. everything about this fic goes insane and this should be your gateway drug into marvey, im so serious about this. READ IT. (weddingplanner!harvey)

of all the gin joints by @frivoloussuits (10k+, au)

Hanging around a neighborhood bar one night, Harvey befriends a guy named Mike after realizing they can both quote The Princess Bride on demand. In the law offices of Rand, Kaldor, Zane and Pearson, senior partner Harvey Specter takes on an unusual case, representing his managing partner's daughter as she divorces a Michael James Ross. Harvey sees no connection until it's far too late.

"They’re playing a virtuosic duet with inhuman ease, as if the intoxication has broken their boundaries and blurred them into a single entity."

this. obsessed with fics that really use the law in their plots, and this is a prime example. a lot of chemistry in this one that is described in a way that makes you jealous of the bond they share and there are still lines in this fic that i think about almost everyday but honestly, such a top-tier read. PLEASE PLEASE IF YOU LIKE SUFFERING ANF REALLY REALLY GOOD CHEMISTRY PLEASE

5U175 by Closer (26k, canon-adjacent)

Harvey sometimes moonlights as a Star Trek BNF. Mike might have an attitude problem on the internet. TiberiusGhost is strangely compelling, for a recluse who never goes to meetups, and Harvey's finding this kid Photohead vaguely familiar…

i know that the terminology in this one is hella old-school but trust me. as someone who doesnt read a lot of fandom fics, this fic has changed it all for me (also bc the author replied to my comment hehehe) stick with this fic because the way fandom weaves with the character development is absolutely delicious, i remember saying this in my og comment but this fic was written with love for fandom and you should definitely read it too!!! you'd absolutely love it! (also ben stans rise up ^^)

fics to sink your teeth into (20k+)

needs must by @melthemagpie (98k+, au)

When Grammy needs an upgrade in care, Mike knows that the usual one-off gig as a paid submissive won't be enough. He takes a job he's been refusing for a while - a long-term, full-time contract. He expects his client to be a sadistic asshole. He expects not to like it. He's wrong on both counts.

this is a fandom classic, every fic rec has this on the list (cw for dom/sub and prostitution, so if you're uncomfy please dont read) but i swear there are so many romantic moments in this one that make me swoon and the smut is very good, i usually tap out in long fics really quickly but this hooked me the whole way through twice. thats my ringing endorsement, READ THIS

Lobster and Other Catastrophes by @andthetardis (21k, canon-compliant)

After months of silence, Mike starts texting Harvey again out of the blue. Funny thing to do on his honeymoon, really.

BRO PLEASE. this was so good. angsty and pining-y enough even though it's mostly a text fic. text fics to me are more like comedic, but this one had substance and heart (and funny and enjoyable btw). pulls you in and really makes you want to stick it out and get to the beautiful ending <333 (harvey being soft is probably a category on its own :3)

The Game by @frivoloussuits (27k, hunger games au)

Harvey Specter and Donna Paulsen are efficient and elegant killers. They have trained since childhood, mentored personally by Jessica Pearson and marked for years as District 1's Tributes for the Hunger Games. Mike Ross is an orphan from District 12, a drug dealer, and an underage gambler. After years of scrutinizing the Hunger Games on TV to make savvy bets, he finds himself on the wrong side of the camera, now playing the odds just to survive. Harvey and Mike cannot, should not trust each other. Still, they strike a backroom deal.

"Because he’s clever and quick-thinking and he’s learned her main lesson well– don’t love anyone you wouldn’t be willing to see dead. Ideally, don’t love anyone at all."

I READ THIS WHEN I WAS REVISITING HUNGER GAMES AND OHHHHH THIS HAS THE ANGST. absolutely riveting. ths is the third fic im reccing from them bc i love frivoloussuits. i would die for them HHFSHFHKSDGDHFG i love the angst and the life-threatening situations that the hunger games provide and harvey as a career is correct. its just correct. everything here grips my soul

Disaster Stories by agatestones (22k, canon-compliant)

"Hold on," Mike asked, "you made Donna come into work in the middle of a blizzard?" "I don't make Donna do anything. Haven't you learned by now?" Harvey gave Mike a mean little smile, but under that was relief for anyone to see. "You, I can make come into the office in a blizzard."

reads like a novella to me, and it's really good!!! very episodic and you really feel like these are things that have happened in universe. its very slice of lifey and i reread it a lot as a comfort read, its like a big hug to me

Pizza and a Movie by Closer (30k+, au)

In an alternate universe, Harvey's still a lawyer but Mike's not a pot runner -- he's a deliveryman for Rollo's Pizza and Ribs, which happens to be Harvey's favorite pizza place. Once Harvey finds out his pizza guy is a genius, Mike's life takes a few turns he would not have expected...

i swear this is the most rom-commy fic marvey has to offer. i like aus that slap me in the face more with the alternate universe, but this is such a rom-com plot. fandom classic as well and it really reads like a hugh grant 90s movie and if thats not enough to pull you in idk what will tbh

Imprimatur by Closer (22k, au)

Mike was raised to believe Imprint was a life-changing event for those few lucky enough to experience it. Harvey was raised to believe it was a form of mental illness. When it actually happened, neither of them noticed.

this goes absolutely crazy. one of those fics where you read it and you almost want to throw your phone at the wall because the characters could make it so easy if they werent so stupid (but in a good way of course) but the way it was written, you feel the depth of the soulmate bond and why its so important (which a lot of soulmate aus forget to do loll) but goes down like an expensive and delicious dinner :)

afternoon reads (10k+)

Sony SRF-39FP by @frivoloussuits (11k+, canon-adjacent)

Anita Gibbs won’t settle for Mike, not when there are name partners within her reach. She offers only one deal– two years, no other charges against anyone else in the firm, as long as Harvey Specter turns himself in. And even as Donna and Jessica and Louis and Mike beg him not to, he jumps on the grenade. “Time to get busy living or get busy dying,” he remarks, and Mike gives a small chuckle. Then Harvey smirks, straightens his suit jacket, and strides into FCI Danbury.

“I can’t believe they’re trying to lock you in a box and forget about you,” Mike sighs as he leaves.

“Well, as long as you don’t forget me, I figure I’ll survive.”

“Maybe you haven’t noticed, but forgetting’s never been my strong suit.

cw for depersonalization and desc of solitary confinement, very very heavy but the way mike is there throughout everything makes my heart twinge. i really dont know how to describe this fic at all but its really good. it makes me cry a lot. also made me start listening to jazz which- uh

Here at the end of all things by @tattooedsiren (10k, au)

When he arrives at the Pearson Hardman building the lights are dimmed and the floor is deserted. His feet carry him to Harvey's office even though he expects it to be empty. Because Harvey probably fled the city via helicopter or teleporter or sheer force of will. But when he approaches the office he can see that Harvey is there. He has moved the couch so that it now faces the floor to ceiling windows and Mike silently sits beside Harvey, joins him in looking down at the chaos engulfing the city below. [Apocalypse AU]

I LOVE APOCALYPSE FICS UP UP UP badass!harvey makes me bark, but im a really big fan of people who find happiness in the worst circumstances and this fic does it so so so well. reminds me a lot of tlou episode like 2? the one with the strawberries. please this is what i revisit when i miss marvey and i dont have a lot of time because the world and the characters are jsut so delicious!!!

quick reads (1k+)

This Love is Silent by kim47 (8k, canon-compliant)

She should have known. She had known, that something was off, at least. She knew he was hiding something. She just never imagined it could be this. Despite Harvey's warnings, Mike tells Rachel the truth about everything. She's shocked, naturally, and more than a little angry, but she agrees to keep his secret, and even to date him. So when they break up, Harvey goes into damage-control mode.

RACHEL!! HELLO RACHEL!! im always up for smart and discerning rachel (this shows up in of all the gin joints too btw!!!) this runs realistic to me because it shows that rachelxmike arent some hopelessly wrong for each other couple, they have good and bad times. this feels more real to me than other fics bc its not like the world conspires for marvey to be apart, its just life. i know this makes it sound so sad, and it is, but trust me: this is really really really good i love this so much

an archive of harvey specter's expressions by @frivoloussuits (2k, canon-compliant)

Five old expressions that Mike rediscovers in new contexts once he and Harvey are (finally) together, and one that he sees for the first time. Alternatively titled “An Ode to Gabriel Macht’s Face.”

this was written for me. this is literally me. writing fic because gabriel macht is too pretty, like this fic is literally for me. a lot of peering at him to get this fic as masterfully written as it is, and i thank you author everyday for it. to me, this reads like it's been written with love and care and true adoration (Truly, like Mike)

Coffee-Cart Client Privilege by @frivoloussuits (7k, au)

Mike runs a coffee cart. The coffee cart.

"Why not? They're too big and dense to be a snack." So are you, Mike thinks, and yet.

IM SORRY I KEEP RECCING FRIVOLOUS SUITS THEYRE MY FAVOURITE WRITER IN THIS FANDOM HFBKABFDKHFBHKDSA this has the hand-wavy logic the show has itself but mike's internal monologue in this one is one of the best ive ever read and the way mike's integrated in the offices is just so well-done ahhhh

Objection by yeah its frivoloussuits again i feel bad tagging them like 7 times (2k, canon-adjacent)

When Mike announces he’s leaving, Harvey plans to hide the jagged pieces of his broken heart deep inside, where no one will ever find them. His heart would like to object.

BIGG fan of physical hurt/comfort!!!! also big fan of people absolutely freaking out in the hospital in fics, it makes me bounce of the wall!! very short but the angst and love really hits you quick and leaves you on the floor gasping for air. very good (also cant prove this but im very sure this is a scrubs reference.t hanks)

Excerpts From The Gospel of Harvey Specter, edited by Michael "Forever Awesome" Ross, 2011, 1st Ed, by @rcmclachlan (7k, canon compliant)

Mike can totally read people. Well, most people. Some people. Or maybe just Harvey, who's pretty much an open book.

this one's really funny! it doesent follow direct prose and instead plays a lot with the setting its in (where mike's a documenter of harvey) and its just so funny and adorable. has a lot of heart too, it isn't just crack or anything but you really feel everything mike does as he writes all this, read this!!1

One More Sleepless Night by @sal_si_puedes (9k, au)

Soul Bonds are one-sided – there’s usually mutual affection, but only one party feels the crippling need to be together as often as possible. If separated at length from their love, that party becomes crushed by longing, panic, and sheer hopelessness, and so it is illegal to forcibly keep Soulmates apart. Some days, Harvey Specter hates the Bond that skews his judgement and weakens his resolve, and he fears what would happen if anyone in his world ever discovers he is so compromised. He certainly never planned to disclose the Bond for the first time in the middle of Anita Gibbs’ office, in a last-ditch attempt to invalidate the deal sending Mike to prison.

HSDGFHSDKGHRLKGHK THIS FIC. i love fics that use more than just prose to tell their stories (see above fic) and this does my favourite thing that soulmate aus do, which is where they integrate in-universe explanations for the phenomenon. the amount of work and dedication put into this fic makes it absolutely sing and was absolutely lovely!!

also pspspsps

golden like the daffodils by @mini-mart (2k, canon-compliant)

Poetry holds meaning, for anyone who reads it. It obscures and dances around the literal and metaphorical, because it’s imbued with so much of something that it overflows out of any definition. It can make someone mad, or lovesick, or aroused, and the reactions would be absolutely warranted. Mike is poetry, to Harvey. - Harvey Specter could be a good politician, as he believes in pragmatism over poetry. He won't let his progress fall apart, won't let someone knock it down. And then someone unceremoniously cracks open a suitcase at his feet. Or: Harvey, pretty boys and poetry.

yeah yeah i wrote this yeah yeah self promo smth smth

there's a lot more that isn't here but i'll probably write a new one when i go for a deep dive through the ship tags again :3

^^ ao3 etiqutte applies! if you like the fic, kudos and comment and bookmark!! show your love! happy reading marveys! my gift to u :3

[fastandcarlos]

Little Interruptions : ̗̀➛ George Russell

summary: it's been a while since you and george got any alone time, however when that time arrives, you forget about the other little additions to your family who are around

You didn’t quite know where to look as George hovered over you, even after so many years together he found a way to make your heart race. Your eyes didn’t quite know where to look as a result of the close proximity between you both, resting your hands against his stomach. 

“How did I ever get so lucky?” George whispered to himself, “it’s been a while since we had a moment, just the two of us.” 

“It’s rare these days,” you chuckled, “fancy making the most of it?” 

You didn’t even need to ask George as he pressed a kiss to your lips. “I couldn’t think of any better way to spend my time. We might have to make it a quick one this time.” 

“You’re not as young as you once were Russell,” you teased, moving your hands to brush through his hair, “you sure you’ll be able to do it?” 

George’s eyebrows raised at your challenge, head shaking that you dared doubt him. “In that case sweetheart, allow me to remind you just why you fell in love with me in the first place.” 

“I’m not complaining,” you grinned, “it’s been a while since you reminded me of that, don’t you think?” 

George continued to scoff as you messed with him, a shrug of your shoulders following. “Trust me, by the time I’ve finished with you, you won’t be walking straight for the rest of the day.” 

“Challenge accepted,” you smirked, stretching upwards so that you could catch George’s lips with your own, teeth gently pulling against his bottom lip, allowing yourself to take control. 

As your lips parted, George briefly sat up and tossed his shirt down onto the floor, allowing you to take a moment to admire the definition in his arms that were either side of you. 

“Would it be the worst thing in the world if we made another baby?” George asked, watching as your head shook, your breath already starting to hitch as he spoke. 

“Let’s do it,” you chuckled, much to George’s delight. 

He took a moment to pull away from you, studying you closely. “It’s been a decade and I still count my lucky stars every day that I have someone like you in my life.” 

George gave himself a moment before kissing your lips one more time, slowly trailing along your neck, your chest, and down to your stomach, stopping just as he got to where your bottoms were. 

“Still just as good,” George spoke, beginning to pull your waistband down. 

Your body wriggled as you went to help George discard your bottoms, only to flinch and quickly pull them up again. Your bedroom door flew open as your daughter ran in. George scrambled back up and laid beside you, brushing his hands through his hair to try and appear composed. 

“Good morning,” she excitedly grinned, rushing around to your side of the bed, jumping up so that she could see you and George. 

You didn’t quite know how to react, your heart racing as you pulled the duvet back over your body, glancing to George with a helpless look in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart, it’s early,” George told her, “you should still be in bed sleeping.” 

Her head shook as she climbed over you to lay in between the two of you, completely unaware of the moment that she had managed to interrupt between you both. 

“I want to go downstairs and play, laying in bed is boring.” 

“Jesus,” George muttered underneath his breath, knowing exactly what he was going to end up doing.  

George sat himself up, hurrying your daughter out of the room, promising to be right down after her as he leant down and picked his shirt back up again. 

Once his shirt was on, George turned to look at you, neither of you quite knowing what to say. It was rare for you to feel awkward around George, but right now, all you wanted was the ground to swallow you up. 

George felt guilty as he looked at the nervous expression on your face, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, silently assuring you not to worry. 

“Now I remember why we don’t have sex anymore,” you whispered across to him, “I dread to think what she could’ve walked in on George if she was any later.” 

“Don’t worry, she saw nothing, don’t worry about something like that.” 

Your head nodded, trusting George and knowing that somehow you had managed to react quick enough to save yourselves from scarring your daughter for life. 

“That doesn’t mean that I’m finished with you yet,” he warned you. 

“You’ve got no chance if you think we’re doing anything after that near miss.” 

George huffed at your stubborness, secretly confidently that he would manage to pull your strings and get his own way with you eventually though. 

“I’ll go and put something on the television,” he informed you, “take your time and come and join us whenever you’re ready, I’ll make sure that she’s entertained.” 

You smiled appreciatively across at George, burying your head into your pillow once he closed the door behind himself, wondering where it all went wrong for you both. 

As you got yourself dressed and ready for the day, you couldn’t remember the last time you and George were intimate together.  These days it was like you only recognised yourselves as parents, not the fun loving young adults that you once were. 

Once you were ready, you headed down the stairs to see George laid out on the sofa, your daughter sat on the floor with her eyes fixated on the screen, giggling away at the episode you were sure she had seen several times. You moved to where George was, sitting yourself down in the space that he tapped beside himself, inviting you to lay down next to him with his arm draped around your shoulders. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier,” George whispered into your ear. 

Your head shook straight away, “you don’t need to be sorry, I just got panicked knowing that she walked in. You’re right though, we shouldn’t do nothing just because she’s around.” 

“We just need to be more careful, that’s it,” George encouraged. 

You hummed in agreement with you, neither of you wanted to lose the passion that you once had, even if your daughter was around. There was still plenty of time available for the two of you, you just needed to try and be better at finding it and making the most of it too. 

“I get that it’s scary, but I was serious earlier when I said about having another one,” George added, “she’s getting older and I’d love for us to complete our family now.” 

“I agree,” you smiled, resting against George’s chest. “We might just have to be a bit more selective about our opportunities to try and make a baby this time around compared to last time.” 

“I’m sure if we spoke to our families too they’d help us out,” George suggested, “I know we’re mum and dad, but they say it takes a village to raise a baby, don’t they?” 

Once again you hummed in agreement, “we’re not going to end up losing ourselves, are we? Not like those couples you see as they get older.” 

“No way, I love you too much anyway to ever be able to stay away from you.” 

“Good, because I love you too.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐇𝐒

summary: it’s said that, on the shortcut of a common trading route, there lives a fearsome kraken and all those who want to cross have to part with some of their valuables. so, take a gulp and take a breath, then go ahead and pay the toll….

pairing: kraken! azul x gn! reader

warnings: fluff; mentions of drowning, allusion to death, tentacles (it is a kraken after all), softie azul (someone’s in loveee)

a/n: a small idea i had that i thought would be perfect for halloween; i thought it was a fun premise and works as a neat cross between azul’s unique magic, ursula’s “you got to pay the toll” and the superstition of neptune’s toll; happy halloween ♡

twisted wonderland masterlist

The salty breeze bit at your skin and your hair whipped against your cheeks. Absentmindedly you pushed the loose strands from your eyes in repetitive motions, useless as they were. However, your focus was elsewhere entirely. On the horizon, landmasses contrasted with the vast ocean surrounding you, the steep cliffs on one side and the wide- stretched cluster of islands on the other leaving only a narrow gap for your ship to navigate through.

It was beautiful against the deep red of the sinking sun.

“Nasty sight yer pushin’ on us, cartographer.” A gruff voice joined you at the railing, grating as it always was. You couldn’t say you liked the captain of the Triton Trading Company much, a man withered by decades of seafare and about as stubborn as the cliffs coming up ahead. “But cuttin’ days worth of journey with that might be worth listenin’ to a guppy like ya.”

“I assure you, Captain, I’ve made this trip safely on numerous occasions,” you sighed, trying to suppress the urge for a pettier response. “As long as you remember what I’ve told you before our departure, the price for—“

“Yeah yeah, I heard ya perfectly fine the first time,” the burly man grunted, waving you off like a bothersome fly. “Still, yer so green behind the ears, I first thought ya were growin’ algae there. Makes it hard to believe ya, ya know.”

“And if you don’t it’ll cost us all greatly,” you hissed back, fixing your eyes on the horizon again. “In any case, I suggest you think this through carefully, it’s almost time to make your decision.”

“Hah, as if I needed advice from ya,” the captain scoffed before stomping down the deck again. You exhaled more forcefully than necessary.

Either way, you could soon part ways with him again, pockets lined with a hefty sum of gold for charting a course that shortened trading routes significantly. You’d also see your beloved again. Those thoughts comforted you and kept you from decking one or the other member of the crew. Sea spray reached all the way over the railing to sprinkle your face with thousand kisses from the ocean and you smiled fondly.

By the time the cliffs loomed high over the ship, the only natural light source illuminating the deck was the pale moonlight, intersected by the shadows of clouds travelling with you. The few lanterns people were holding floated like wisps in the fog. Since daylight, the temperature had dropped steeply, a chill creeping from the sea onto deck, wafts of mist licking and coiling around your ankles. 

“It’s time to pay the toll, Captain,” you announced, voice strong even among the uneasy shifting of the crew. “Let me see what you chose.”

Arms like tree trunks crossed over a wrinkled uniform, the skin around his elbows grey and dry from years of being exposed to salty air. His bushy eyebrows were knit tightly together in what could only be a foreboding omen of trouble. “Now tell me why I wouldn’t throw ya overboard for even suggestin’ something so ludicrous. Reckon ya’d be enough to pay yer nonsense toll?”

“While you’re right that me and my skills are worth quite a lot of gold, you need me to navigate your way through the waters up ahead.” You mirrored his stance, determined not to budge either. “Though if you want to crash against a wall of rocks and sink your ship, be my guest. Well, if something else doesn’t sink it first.”

“Pah, as if I’d throw valuable treasure overboard because of some little fairy tale you’ve spun, guppy.” The captain’s voice was a mixture of amusement and a scoff as he made the biggest mistake of his life. “I won’t part with a single coin to appease your little—“

A cry cut him off, the head of a crew member slamming against the grimey wood before his nails scratched along the deck as he was dragged backwards and overboard by his ankle. It happened again. And again. And again.

All around you, crew members were pulled into the endless abyss of the sea, screams of terror and dread following them into the depths. The captain’s eyes wavering with regret as his gaze trailed along the shadows eclipsing the moon, reaching higher than the ship’s mast, curling and uncurling languidly as if savouring the moment before crashing down on the deck.

“Kraken! It’s the Kraken!”

The crew’s shrieks broke whatever daze their disbelief had them in and panic broke over them like a wave against a cliffside. Not that any of their running and crying could save them now. Wood splintered under the assault of tentacles that stretched longer than the ship by far and more men were caught in coils of inky black. The ship started to dip where the bow had been crushed mercilessly, water now pouring in.

You watched on in apathy, a hand on the railing where you could feel the sea spray against your skin. The scene did not come as a surprise to you. Honestly, you had expected it when the captain first hired you.  In all fairness, you had warned them, had made it abundantly clear that the condition for passing through this shortcut was that the Kraken’s toll had to be paid if you wanted to sail on unharmed.

It didn’t take long until it was only the captain and you left tumbling along the wreck of the former deck. His face was contorted in an expression that could only be described as pathetic and it robbed you of every urge to gloat. You couldn’t hear his stammering over the crashing of the waves, and you didn’t care for it either, as eight winding appendages ensnared the ship whole and pulled it underwater for good.

Closing your eyes, you embraced the familiar caress of the ocean as you held your breath.

You awoke in the soft blue glow of a rocky lagoon, the bioluminescence of flowers growing in the dim light reflected in the vast pool of water murmuring gently just a few steps away from you. Sitting up somewhat groggily, you checked for any injuries, certain as you were that you had none, and only found pulsing marks littered across your skin, some the size of dinner plates. You reached your hand into the water, speaking fondly.

“A little eager, were we, darling?” 

Water rushed down in streams from the figure emerging from the depths of the sea, pearling on his lilac and onyx skin and making him glitter like a million jewels. Shells and corals adorned his body in elegant clusters and perfectly framed the golden sundial shell dangling around his neck. However, nothing compared to the gorgeous pair of sea-blue eyes shining down at you.

“My apologies, beloved.” His voice echoed around the cave, melodic and more beautiful than any song, as he swam closer to you, submerging himself back into the water up until his neck, so he could be at least somewhat on eye-level with you. “But it has been so long since I last saw you and I missed you dearly.”

“Well, I can’t blame you,” you mused, stretching out your arm so he could lean his face against the palm of your hand. It hardly covered his cheek at all, yet you still stroked along the smooth skin adoringly. “Azul, I love you.”

“And I love you more, my pearl.” The giant octopus merman gently returned your affection by coiling a tentacle around the length of your leg, the width of which thicker than your own thigh. Its tip slipped under the hem of your shirt, mirroring your soft caress against the dip of your lower back. “Even if that foolish captain had thrown three chests of gold overboard, I might have sunk the ship anyway just for the way he spoke to you.”

“You heard that, huh?” Smiling you let yourself be pulled closer to the water by the alluring tug of the tentacle massaging the flesh of your thigh. “Though it wouldn’t exactly help our business model if you also drowned the people actually giving you their valuables.”

“Dead men tell no tales,” Azul simply said, shrugging his beautifully sculpted shoulders as he closed his eyes in faux sympathy. “You could have just said they did not listen and paid the price.”

“Mhm, and it wouldn’t be suspicious at all if I am always the only one to miraculously survive these attacks of the scary, merciless Kraken,” you teased, sliding your hand up to push some of his silvery strands out of his eyes so you could admire more of his beautiful face. “Besides, people would start avoiding this area again if nobody made it out alive anymore.”

“Must you always be right about these things, my dear?” His sigh was one of deep sorrow, a melancholic air to the way he slowly rose and sank in the lagoon’s pool. Another tentacle slowly curled around your middle as two strong, human arms encircled you, clasping together behind your back, so your lover could lean further onto land. “Is it so wrong of me to wish that you would never have to part from me again? That I could appreciate and hold your lovely form whenever I wish to?”

“But you said it yourself, didn’t you? That I came up with a very efficient way of generating wealth,” you reminded him, playful lilt to your voice as your hands wandered over his slick lilac skin. “And it has been pretty effective, hasn’t it? Word of the Kraken’s toll has spread far and wide from what I’ve heard.”

“It’s true, most ships passing through here have thrown some of their prized possessions overboard,” Azul admitted. Something flickered in his gaze and the appendage around your middle tightened its hold on you, though careful not to hurt you. One of its smaller suckers latched onto the exposed skin of your collarbones to leave a possessive mark, soothing your partner even if he was the only one who knew of its existence. “Don’t you think your work is done now? You’ve successfully planted the scheme in people’s heads, there’s no need for you to sail with them now. Stay by my side, don’t return to the ports.”

The rippling of the water was comforting to your ears, moving with your lover’s languid movements, inky tentacles unfurling and curling around you. Never had you believed that you would survive your first meeting, let alone come to love Azul. Now, however, his presence was soothing and safe, knowing full well he would never hurt you, nor let you come to any harm.

“Are you sure?” Your hand slid down his shoulder, then stroked along the smooth black limb still holding you close. “You know I hate to be away from you just as much, but I also want to help you wring the most profit out of this.”

“I’d rather lose out on some of that gold, it’s pocket change in the grand scheme of things anyway. But I don’t want to see you leave again, waiting for you while not knowing if you’re safe, whether some sleaze is trying to steal you away,” he gravely confessed, sliding closer to you than he already had been. Soft lips placed a kiss on the crown of your head, light as sea spray, though it covered far more than just that. “You’re the one treasure I can never part with.”

Something heavy draped around your neck, droplets of water hitting your face as you angled it to look at the octopus arm hovering over your head. When you glanced the other direction, a pearl necklace gleamed up at you, soaking your shirt. You felt more tentacles wrap around your wrist, your waist, your ankle and even sliding gently over your ear, slowly and intimately leaving gleaming golden accessories in their wake, tickling the pads of your fingers in parting.

“You’re so beautiful,” Azul whispered meaningfully, oceanic eyes drinking you up with the reverence people usually reserved for deities. “I’d lay the world down at your feet and pluck the stars from the sky if you asked me to. If you say the word, whatever you long for shall be yours. As long as you stay with me, I’ll gladly grant every one of your wishes. Just don’t leave me again.”

The jewellery clinked as you moved, equal parts gift and claim staked on you. Standing on your tiptoes you started trailing kisses over his shoulders, avoiding shells and corals, his skin slick and cool under your lips. With equal rapture as he bestowed upon you, you charted a course from his collarbones, over his throat and up to his jaw, a path you had mapped out multiple times before. A soft sigh grazed your ear as your kisses reached the corner of his lips, the beauty mark you adored so much receiving special attention. 

With the utmost care, your affection was returned, the pads of human fingers brushing over the curve of your back and down the slope of your arms, making Azul hum as the various valuables adorning you clinked pleasantly under his ministrations. The lagoon’s blue luminescence reflected off the pieces and bathed your skin in a soft azure glow, reinforcing his supposition that you had never belonged with those humans, but that it had been preordained for you to be a part of the ocean; a part of him. “What’s your answer, my pearl?”

“Well, when you ask me like that…” You trailed off playfully, leaning against the comfortable pressure of the hands holding you, knowing he’d never let you fall. Languidly, you ghosted your fingertips along the sable appendages embracing you, then lifted your gaze to meet his, a smile coiling around your lips. “It’s a deal.”

It was always a welcome sight to see his bright eyes go wide in surprise before a smug smile illuminated his face. Clearing his throat, which did nothing to dispel the flush of colour dusting his cheeks, the merman swiftly swept you up into the palm of his hand to bring you to his eye-level. Azul hadn’t always been so comfortable with touching you or being touched himself, so the fact that you could now lean in and flutter kisses against his eyelids, and he let you without any complaints, warmed you from the heart out.

“You know what that means, right? The contract is binding now.” His eyes were positively sparkling now, more dazzling than ever as he slowly reclined backwards, slowly drifting towards the open sea with you. However, instead of drinking in the splendid grandeur of the sun rising over the waves, the two of you were completely enchanted by the other. “I never break my contracts, as you are aware. And I can only hope that you are much the same, my love.”

Grinning fondly down at him, you were certain you could put all his worries to rest. Meeting Azul had been a mercy granted on your poor soul, so until the song of your heart ended and the sun set on the two of you, you were more than happy to bind yourself to him. It was a deal you would honour for the rest of your life.

© the-travelling-witch 2024 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit; do not copy into an ai

if you like my writing, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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[skalfy]

Misunderstandings

alexia putellas x reader, ~4.1k words, part 1/2 - Part 2 here

angst in this part, but planning for a happy ending.

Hi! for people waiting for part 3 of the Misa story I promise I am working on it, just been busy and got caught with some other ideas, including this one. Hope y'all enjoy this in the meantime!

Also please feel free to send me requests, I am not very quick, but would love to take on some ideas. I don't really have a complete list of players I will/won't write for, but if you send me one for someone I won't, I'll reply and let you know so you can send it elsewhere :)

--

You had no idea how you had gotten off on the complete wrong foot with Alexia Putellas.

It had only been a month since you joined Barcelona on a three year deal, fulfilling a lifelong dream while launching you far out of your comfort zone. You were shy, and coming from Tigres, and before that, college football in America, you hardly even had a former opponent to befriend. All of your new teammates were strangers, and in some cases, even strangers you’d looked up to for years. All of your teammates except one, that was.

In a strange twist of fate, you had met Ingrid Engen almost a decade prior, when the two of you were both 17. You had an aunt--not a real one, but one of your father’s old friends from college-- who had moved to Norway a few years before you were born. Your family had gone to visit Aunt Anna every couple summers, spending a week or two seeing the fjords and the beautiful traveling the countryside. The summer you were 17, Aunt Anna had invited you to stay for a whole month. It was meant to be a sort of final hurrah before you started college in the fall, and your parents agreed without much debate.

Your second night at Aunt Anna’s house in Melhus, you had headed to the football pitch down the street with the intent to complete your assigned summer workout, and instead you had met Ingrid. That evening on the pitch was the start of a whirlwind month-long friendship as the two of you bonded over your love of the sport, then grew to find you had much more in common beyond that. One night as you sat on your bed in Anna’s house, Ingrid had told you that she was gay, opening up about the feelings she had for one of her U-19 national teammates. She held you in a tight hug as, for the first time, you said out loud that you thought you might be gay too.

You had said a tearful goodbye at the end of the month, but stayed in touch with Ingrid somewhat throughout the years, exchanging infrequent texts congratulating each other on football achievements or to check in on life. You had been pleased to hear that things worked out with her national team crush, Marie, though sorry to hear it ended a few years later. She had cheered you on in turn when you had your first serious relationship with a girl at college. When you first arrived at Barça, the two of you hadn’t seen each other since that month in Melhus, even with your respective places on your senior national teams, but you still considered her a trusted friend.

During the your first month with the Blaugrana, you had gravitated immediately toward Ingrid. You were delighted to fall back into the easy friendship you had shared so many years ago, and it helped that you were nervous to attempt to befriend your other teammates. You worried that you were monopolizing Ingrid’s time, but she easily assuaged your concerns, telling you that she was happy to spend the time together and that she would be there to support you as you took opening up to the team at your own pace. She offered you an open invite to have dinner with her and Mapi whenever you were ready to branch out.

Though you mostly kept to yourself and Ingrid, the rest of the team seemed friendly and open for the most part. Pina and Patri didn’t seem to mind your shyness and often chattered happily to you, managing to include you as a third member of their two person conversations in the changing room. Your spanish wasn’t perfect, but three years playing in Mexico had brought you up to a passable level.

Keira and Lucy, often accompanied by Ona, would also frequently bring you into conversations. You got the sense that it was as much for Keira’s sake as yours, she seemed more than pleased to have another native english speaker to chat to. You appreciated their dynamics, full of biting wit and teasing that reminded you of time with your national teammates.

The one person who seemed to hold nothing but animosity towards you was the one who you had been most excited to play with. You racked your brain, but couldn’t place any reason why you so often seemed to be at the receiving end of Alexia’s ire, but it was unmistakeable. At best, she ignored you-- the few mornings you had arrived early enough for the two of you to be the only ones in the changing room, she remained stubbornly silent, hardly acknowledging you at all besides a flat look as you entered. At worst, she singled you out in training, barking critique after critique. You had a relatively thick skin, but the captain’s intense disapproval wore on you as it never seemed to relent.

The obvious explanations that you could think of for her behavior were out. You were a forward, used to playing out and out striker or tucked under as a false 9, but you hadn’t played midfield since a few times in a pinch in college, so even setting aside her unmatched abilities, she couldn’t possibly think you were threatening her place. You had hardly ever played against her, coming off the bench late in a game once against Spain, and playing most of a friendly with Tigres. You had certainly never put in a risky tackle against her, you didn’t think you had even made any impact on her. Certainly nothing she might hold a grudge for-- you hadn’t, say, nabbed a winning goal.

As far as you could tell, it seemed like it was something you had done since joining Barça, because she hadn’t seemed so frosty on your first meeting. The captain had been quiet but polite as she welcomed you to the team, even returning the shy smile you had given her when you were introduced, but by the end of the first week it became clear that you had drawn her ire.

You had asked Ingrid for her opinion, and, while she agreed that Alexia did seem to be especially critical of you, she couldn’t come up with an explanation. After thinking through it, she optimistically suggested that it could be a misguided attempt to help you adjust to the Barcelona playstyle. At the skeptical wince you gave her in response, she offered to ask Mapi to weigh in. You thanked her, but declined. Alexia’s best friend’s opinion would likely be your best chance to understand, but you were wary of putting either Ingrid or her girlfriend in an awkward position.

--

A few days after that conversation with Ingrid, a particularly bad day of practice with Alexia all over your every move had you feeling desperate. You had stuck it out to the end of the session, but raced away as soon as you could, eyes hot with unshed tears and face red with embarrassment and exertion. You passed through the changing room only long enough to kick off your boots and grab your keys and phone. Jana was inside and changed already, on a slightly shortened training plan as she returned from injury, and she called out in concern as she saw you dart for the exit.

“¿Estás bien, Y/N? ¿Qué pasó?” You shook your head as the younger player stepped toward you, not sure whether you were answering no to the first question or trying to deny anything was wrong. Either way, Jana took matters into her own hands, grabbing you gently by the elbow and guiding you to face her. “Let me drive you home, vale?” you choked back a sob and let the defender walk you towards her car.

You told Jana which apartment building you were in and she didn’t bother to plug it into the GPS, navigating the short drive easily. She had turned on some music and you were grateful that she let it play quietly without asking you any more questions. When you reached your building, she turned the car off and climbed out, circling around to meet you at the passenger side door, clearly intent on seeing you all the way in. You let her walk you through your apartment door, sinking onto one of your kitchen chairs once you were in. The defender stood at the edge of the kitchen, looking a little uncertain.

“¿Quieres que llame a alguien? Call someone?” she asked.

“Voy a llamar a Jenni. Gracias por todo. Puedes quedarte si quieres.” you replied, managing a genuine smile at the young defender. She smiled back, pulling out the chair nearest you to sit.

Jenni had been one of your closest friends at Tigres, and she was eagerly checking in on your move to Barcelona every day, but you had held back about the challenges you were having with Alexia. You were afraid to gossip about the captain, especially with Jenni, and you weren’t entirely sure what kind of reaction to expect. But after the day you had, you craved Jenni’s support and guidance too much to keep holding back.

The phone only rang twice before Jenni picked up, greeting you with a cheery “¡hola, cariño!” you tried to answer her in return, but you were caught off guard by the wave of tears that surged back at the sound of her voice. All you managed was an urgent sniffle as you fought to hold the tears at bay.

“¿Cari? ¿Qué pasa?” Jenni’s voice, now concerned, crackled through your phone’s speakers again. After a moment, you felt Jana’s hand slide onto your knee comfortingly. You turned to her and saw that she had reached her other hand out, palm up. You handed the phone to her and watched as she immediately brought it to her ear.

“Hola, Jenni. Es Jana.” she greeted her former teammate before launching into a stream of spanish too quick for you to try to follow. You zoned out to the sound of Jana’s voice, focusing on deep breaths to unclench the tight knot of tears high in your throat.

You had managed to relax yourself considerably by the time Jana brought your attention back with a light squeeze to your knee where her hand still rested. You looked up to see her holding the phone between the two of you, an expectant look on her face.

“Jenni asked if you are ready to tell what’s wrong.” You nodded and took a deep breath.

“Alexia hates me. I don’t know what I did, but she hates me and I don’t know how to fix it.”

“How do you know, what is she doing? Cari, Alexia is shy and competetivo. Maybe she doesn’t know she is hurting you.”

“No, Jen.” you felt a tear roll down your cheek. “She knows. If it’s just the two us she will ignore me, she can’t even look at me. When we are with the team she tells me everything I do is wrong, my touch, my passes, my shots. I know I am not as good as everyone else here, but I’m trying and none of it is enough for her. I can see how she is patient and kind with the young ones, so I know it is about me.”

“Es verdad, I haven’t been in the practices, but the others have been worried about it. I didn’t know it was so bad, but Ale has been muy dura.” Jana chimed in, and you were a little surprised to hear her mention the team was concerned.

“I thought I wanted to play here, but I can’t do this for three years. I just want to be back at Tigres.” you admitted.

“Lo siento, Y/n. Lo siento mucho. I wish I was there to hug you.” you could tell she meant it by the waver in her voice, and it made you miss her even more fiercely.

You talked through everything you could think of, all your interactions with Alexia, every idea you had eliminated for what went wrong. Jenni and Jana alternated between outrage and murmured words of comfort, but mostly just listened as you vented everything you had been holding in for weeks. By the end, you actually felt better. Whether it was the release of finally letting everything go, or the relief of hearing two people who knew Alexia agree that something wasn’t right, a weight was definitely lifted from your chest.

“So what should I do?” You finally asked Jenni. “How can I fix whatever this is?”

“Oh, nena, you shouldn’t fix this, it’s Alexia who needs to. Quandó ella escuche lo que tengo--”

“Jenni, no porfa! You can’t talk to her about this.” You loved Jenni, hot head and all, but you couldn’t let her go off on Alexia about this. “Thank you, I know you would do that for me, but I need to do this. I don’t want her to think-- I can’t ruin—”

“Vale, I understand, cari. I won’t say anything, prometo.” Jenni saved you from struggling to explain further. In the pause that followed, Jana spoke suddenly from next to you.

“I think you need to talk to Ale. O sea, if you want to understand what is in her head. Maybe Mapi knows, but,” she stopped with a shrug, and Jenni finished for her,

“Only Ale knows what Ale is thinking. Jana is right.” You nodded, even though Jenni couldn’t see you. She sighed over the phone, then continued. “It might be easier if you are gentle. Even if she doesn’t deserve it.”

“Gracias, Jenni.” You were suddenly very tired. “Te amo mucho. I wish I was back with you.”

“Yo también, nena. Te amo mucho. I am here if you need me.”

“I know. Good night.”

“Good night.” You hung up the phone and placed it on the table.

Jana stood from the chair next to you and held a hand out to you. When you took it, she pulled you gently to your feet, then wrapped you in a hug. You immediately softened into the embrace, grateful for the comfort. She held you close for a long moment, then released you into a light hold.

“I know you have Ingrid, but I’m here for you too, Y/n. We haven’t had much time to get to know each other, but I’m glad you are at Barça and I want to be your friend.” The earnest look in her eyes as she spoke nearly had your own tearing up again. You tugged her back into a hug, squeezing her fiercely before you let go.

“Gracias, Jana. I want to be your friend too. Thank you.” You could feel a smile break across your face, and she grinned in return. “I should let you go home before it is too late. Are you okay to drive?”

“Yes, gracias. It is a short drive, we are almost neighbors. You can visit me soon and I will show you!”

You walked Jana back down to her car, exchanging numbers before you said your goodbyes. Despite everything, you felt a glow of hope for your future at Barcelona. At least you had a new friend and some kind of plan.

--

You were halfway through your pre-practice routine the following morning when your phone chimed with a message. It was Jana.

Jana: ¡Hola! Do you need a ride this morning?

Jana: Because I made you leave your car

Jana: Not sorry for that 😋🚙

You had completely forgotten about your car, so you were grateful for both the reminder and the offer.

You: Yes, thank you! I can walk to you if that is easier.

Jana: Do not worry, I will pick you up. 20 minutes?

You: Perfect

True to her word, Jana picked you up outside 20 minutes later. The drive was much more lighthearted than the previous night. You asked about Jana’s english, curious about why it was so good when she had spent her whole career in Spain. She started to explain that it was part of the curriculum at La Masia, but then cracked a smile and confessed that it was mostly because she was dating Jill and it was much easier than learning Dutch.

You had been curious about the rumors around the two, and seeing the way Jana lit up made you glad to hear they were true. You said as much to the defender, which led to her telling the story of how they met during the rest of the drive. The sweet story left you both in a good mood as you pulled up to the training center.

You climbed out of the car and grabbed your bag, laughing with Jana as she came up next to you and bumped into your shoulder as you started to walk together. For the first time in a while, you didn’t feel dread at the thought of walking into training, and you weren’t desperately searching for any sight of Ingrid. Jana seemed to be noticing the same thing.

“You will have to let me take you home more often if it puts you in this good of a mood!” She said, wrapping one arm around your shoulders.

You were about to respond when another voice beat you to it.

“Jana. Y/N.”

You froze, looking up to see Alexia approaching. Jana squeezed your shoulder where her hand rested. The captain had an unreadable expression on her face, eyes darting from you to Jana, then back to you.

“Hola, Capitana.” You said, lowering your gaze as her eyes met yours.

“Can I talk to you?” It was clear that the question was directed at you. When you didn’t immediately respond, she spoke again, voice softening almost imperceptibly. “Jana, vé sin nosotros. Iremos pronto.”

Jana caught your eye and you nodded slightly. You appreciated her willingness to look out for you, but you didn’t want to get her in trouble, not to mention you wanted to speak to Alexia anyway. The defender gave you a final squeeze to your arm before walking past Alexia toward the training center.

The two of you stood in silence. For a moment, your mind raced to guess what she had stopped you to say, but you pushed the worry down. With the way your relationship was going, it hardly seemed worth predicting what her latest criticism would be. You stared over Alexia’s shoulder, waiting.

“Jana has a girlfriend.” It was maybe the last thing you expected the midfielder to say, and you were caught completely off guard.

“What? I—I know.” You sputtered out. Jana’s last comment jumped into your mind, and when Alexia didn’t say anything else, you felt the need to continue and clarify. “What Jana said… She didn’t mean what it sounded like. She gave me a ride home last night and then this morning.”

“Bueno.” Alexia finally said, quieter than before.

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” You asked, voice flat.

“Ah...” she hesitated. “No.”

The blonde turned and walked away as you watched. The good mood you had only a few minutes earlier was gone, leaving behind a sort of hollow feeling. Jana had been the one to drive you, the one with her arm around your shoulders, and the one to make a silly joke about taking you home, but still, Alexia assumed the worst of you and you only. Suddenly, you felt like an idiot for thinking you could talk anything out with the captain. A surge of hopelessness washed over you as you imagined her scrutinizing every interaction you had with your teammates in addition to your skills on the pitch, and you felt sick. You walked to where you left your car last night, pulling out your phone to text Jonatan.

You: Lo siento, estoy enferma y no puedo ir a practicar.

--

Once at home, you buried yourself under the covers on your bed. You still felt awful from the interaction with Alexia, but you were overwhelmed by a wave of other emotions-- guilt for missing practice, anger at yourself for letting a personal issue get in the way of your career, and a deep fear that things were not going to get better.

Your phone was vibrating in the other room, but you ignored it, certain it wasn’t anyone you wanted to talk to right now. Ingrid was at the practice you just left, and it was far too early for Jenni or your family to be awake in their timezones.

As you lay bundled in your bed, the adrenaline from your high emotions faded, and you found yourself suddenly fighting heavy eyelids. Slowly, you faded into sleep.

--

You awoke to a loud pounding on your apartment door. Disoriented, you dragged yourself out of bed, padding out into the living room as the noise continued. You flipped the deadbolt and yanked the door open, coming suddenly face to face with your insistent visitor.

“Alexia?”

The blonde shouldered her way past you without a word, marching into your living room and looking wildly around. You closed the door and locked it before turning back to see Alexia peering into your bedroom. You snapped.

“Alexia! What the hell are you doing?”

“Looking for Ingrid!” She turned to snarl at you, eyes cold.

“What? Ingrid’s not here, what are you talking about?” You were genuinely confused, and Alexia barreling her way through your apartment wasn’t helping. You reached out and caught her by the elbow as she made to walk into your bedroom. “Stop, please! Can you just explain what’s going on?”

Alexia shook your hand off her arm, but stayed put.

“I’m not stupid. You show up here while Mapi is injured and try to steal her girlfriend. I see you every day at practice all over Ingrid. You don’t talk to anyone except her, you follow her around, you take her out for coffee, all while my best friend isn’t there to see. At first I thought you were just friendly, but it’s only with her.” Her chest heaved as she paused to take a breath. “Then I realized today you skipped practice and convinced Ingrid to join you and I knew.”

Your head was spinning and you were certain your jaw was nearly on the floor. You understood Alexia’s words, but struggled to comprehend what she was saying. As it finally clicked, a burst of laughter rose up in your chest. Alexia looked on, eyes narrowed, as you found yourself almost giggling.

“I’m, I’m sorry. It’s not funny!” You managed, pulling yourself together with a deep breath. “It’s just… you’ve been making me feel awful for weeks now because you think I’m trying to steal Ingrid from your friend? Did you even think to bring it up to Mapi herself?”

The blonde made no move to respond.

“I’ve been friends with Ingrid since we were 17. Mapi knows that. If we had any interest in each other we would have sorted it out long before now. You’re completely right that I’ve been following her around and sticking by her side, but you’re completely wrong about why. God, Alexia, I just came from halfway across the world to play for a team full of people I’ve looked up to for years. I miss my family and Jenni and the rest of my old teammates. A month ago, Ingrid was the only person I knew in this entire stupid country!”

You closed your eyes for a long moment, trying to calm your racing heart. Your body felt like you had just played 90 minutes of a championship final. When you eventually opened your eyes again, it was to the sight of Alexia still rooted to the same spot. She had hardly moved a muscle other than to drop her gaze to the floor, back and shoulders. rigid with tension. You left her in the bedroom doorway and walked over to sink into the same kitchen chair Jana had occupied last night.

“Y/n, I—” she started, but paused at the sound of the lock, then the knob turning on the door. It swung open.

“Y/n! Sorry to use your spare key, but you weren’t answering my texts! I would have come sooner, but I had a dentist’s appointment I had to leave practice for. Are you okay? Are you sick? Jana said you seemed fine until you talked to Alexia this morning, did she say something?”

“I’m okay.” Ingrid’s gaze caught you when you spoke, then rose to look past you as she responded.

“Good, I-- Alexia?”

“Alexia was just leaving.” You spoke before the blonde could. “Are you okay to drive home, Capitana?”

“Sí. Yes.” She answered quietly, finally moving away from your bedroom and towards the door to leave. Before she stepped out, she paused to turn your way. “Lo siento, Y/n. I will fix this.”

When the door shut behind her, you dropped your head into your arms on the table.

Part 2