#closing affidavit

[marvelsmostwanted]

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[spicyschemmenti]

NEEDING A BREAK ➫ alex cabot

pairing: alex cabot x sassy bimbo!fem!reader

synopsis: a high-profile case has alex more stressed than usual and you take it upon yourself to do what you do best: drive her insane until she finally admits she needs a break

warnings: unprofessional behaviour/banter, heavy flirting, teasing, suggestive comments, and physical closeness, reader is alex’s assistant, creating a dynamic where professional boundaries are blurred

word count: 2.7k

author's note: lmk if you wanna be added to future posts of this pairing!

The click of your six-inch Louboutin heels against the cold tile floors of Alex’s office is a sharp contrast to the scratch of her pen against paper, the only other sound filling the otherwise silent room. You don’t even need to announce your presence as she always knows when you’re there, but she keeps her head down anyway, pretending to be engrossed in whatever ridiculously complicated legal document is spread across her desk.

From what you can see over her shoulder, it’s a deposition transcript, something dense and wordy, full of legal jargon that would bore most people to tears. But not you. You understand every word. Not that Alex ever gives you credit for it.

Her glasses have slid down the bridge of her nose, blonde hair slightly mussed from the countless times she’s raked her fingers through it in frustration. The lines of exhaustion are starting to set in around her eyes, and if you had to guess, she’s been sitting at that desk for at least six hours straight without so much as a sip of water or a single second to breathe.

You prop yourself against the doorway, tilting your head as you take in the sight of Manhattan’s most intimidating ADA looking way too overworked for her own good. With a dramatic sigh, you push off the frame and strut forward, the pink latex mini-dress hugging your curves in all the right places.

The color practically screams Barbie, especially with the way it glistens under the office lights, paired with your glossy nude lips and the French tips that have just the right amount of sparkle. It’s not exactly office attire, but when have you ever cared about that?

You plant a manicured hand on your hip, tapping one perfectly filed nail against your thigh. “Alright, boss. Enough.”

Alex, still pretending she hasn’t noticed you, merely hums, flipping another page of the deposition. “Not now.”

Oh, she’s adorable. Like that’s ever stopped you.

You roll your eyes, stepping closer until you’re practically looming over her desk, catching a proper glimpse of the papers in front of her. Oh, it’s that case, the one with the Wall Street CEO who thinks his money can buy his way out of a human trafficking charge.

The guy’s lawyer, some smug Columbia-educated asshole with a penchant for twisting witness testimonies, had just filed a motion to suppress key evidence, and judging by the way Alex is ruthlessly highlighting passages in the affidavit, she’s gearing up for a legal battle of epic proportions.

Still, she’s exhausted. And you? Well, you’re annoying when you want to be.

Alex finally sighs, removing her glasses with that exasperated little motion you love so much, pinching the bridge of her nose like she’s already regretting entertaining you. “I have deadlines, and unlike you, I don’t have the luxury of ignoring them.”

You gasp, offended. Hand to your chest, lips parted dramatically. “Are you implying that I don’t work hard?”

Alex doesn’t answer, which is probably for the best because you’re not about to let her win this one.

Without hesitation, you snatch the file right out of her hands, watching in delight as her mouth parts in pure disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Her voice is low, controlled, and just a little dangerous.

You flash her a smug smile. “Boss, you need a break.”

Alex reaches for the papers, but you hold them above your head, your six-inch stilettos giving you just enough height to keep them out of her reach. Her jaw clenches, that sharp blue gaze narrowing like she’s considering whether or not she could legally kill you right now and get away with it.

“Give. Those. Back.”

You shake your head, blonde curls bouncing slightly. “Mmm… no, I don’t think I will.”

And because you never know when to quit, you take it one step further. With all the grace and confidence in the world, you drop down into her lap, swinging your legs over the arm of her chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Alex freezes.

Like, fully stops breathing for a solid five seconds. You feel it—feel the sharp inhale, the tension that coils in her muscles, the way her hands tighten into fists against the arms of the chair because she refuses to put them anywhere near you. Which is a shame, really.

Her voice, when she finally finds it, is strained. “You have five seconds to move.”

You hum, tapping your nails against her silk blouse, letting them trace lazy circles just over the first button. “Or what? You’ll arrest me?”

Alex swallows hard, her tongue darting out to wet her lips just for a second, but you notice.

You always notice.

She exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose for the second time in the last five minutes. “I hate you.”

You grin, leaning in until your lips are just inches from her ear. “No, you don’t.”

There’s a long pause, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside. For a moment, you swear she might actually snap, might finally give in to whatever tension has been simmering between the two of you for the past several months, might grab your waist and yank you closer like she wants to. But instead, she sighs, leaning back just slightly, eyes flicking to yours with something unreadable — something that makes your stomach flip.

“Fine.” Her voice is quieter now. “Ten minutes.”

You beam, victorious.

Still, you don’t move.

And neither does she.

After a long moment, she raises a brow, her hands still firmly gripping the arms of her chair. “Are you going to get off of me now?”

You tilt your head, pretending to consider it. “Hmm. I dunno. I think I’m quite comfy.”

Alex exhales slowly, like she’s actively resisting the urge to throttle you. But beneath the frustration, there’s something else—something dangerous and slow-burning that makes your grin widen.

She tilts her head slightly, her voice dropping just a fraction. “You’re playing a very risky game.”

And oh, do you love it when she talks like that.

So you just smirk, settling in just a little closer, letting your fingers trail up the lapel of her blazer with an infuriating slowness.

“Oh, boss,” you murmur, voice saccharine sweet. “I always win.”

Alex’s jaw is tight, her perfectly-manicured nails digging into the armrests of her chair like she’s trying to physically restrain herself from reacting. You can see the conflict in her eyes, the push and pull of annoyance, attraction, and exasperation swirling together in a way that has her this close to snapping. But because she’s Alex Cabot, because she’s made of pure ice and self-control, she doesn’t do anything.

She just stares at you.

You stare right back, lips curled into a smirk as you lean in just a little more, fingers still tracing along the edge of her blazer, pink acrylics standing out against the dark fabric. She could push you off. She could order you to move, threaten you with termination, or even physically remove you herself. But she doesn’t.

Because she likes this.

Because she likes you.

But Alex isn’t going to admit that. Not now. Not ever.

So, after a long pause, she simply exhales sharply, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with that sharp, assessing gaze that makes defense attorneys crumble in the courtroom.

"If you're going to waste my time, at least be useful."

You gasp, hand flying to your chest in mock offense. "Boss, I am always useful."

Alex doesn’t dignify that with a response, but the slight twitch at the corner of her mouth betrays her amusement.

Still perched in her lap like you own the place, you lazily reach over and grab the file you’d stolen from her earlier, flipping through the deposition notes as if they were a tabloid magazine. “Ugh. Men are so predictable.” You scan the text with ease, your painted nails skimming over key sections, cherry-picking the ones that actually matter.

Alex arches a brow, arms folding across her chest. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

You flick your eyes up to hers, a cocky grin playing at your lips. “First of all, Mr. Rich-As-Fuck-And-Twice-As-Stupid over here is lying his ass off. He contradicts himself three times between page two and page six. The defense is hoping you won’t catch it.” You flash Alex a knowing look. “Spoiler alert: you already have. But they don’t know that yet.”

Alex’s lips press together, but you see the satisfaction in her expression.

You continue, kicking one leg playfully in the air, your heels catching the light. “Second, they’re trying to suppress the security footage because the CEO’s mistress is in the background. They’re gonna argue it’s ‘prejudicial’ to show the jury because it could make him look immoral.” You roll your eyes. “As if being a cheating, greasy old man is somehow worse than human trafficking.”

Alex lets out a quiet scoff, but she still doesn’t interrupt you.

You smirk, tapping the page. “But here’s where they fucked up. They claim their client wasn’t even at the hotel that night, right?”

Alex nods slowly, eyes narrowing. “Yes…”

You beam. “Then why did his lawyers just submit a motion to suppress footage of him being there?”

Silence.

Alex’s gaze snaps down to the document in your hands, then back to you.

Then, she smiles.

Not her usual, tight-lipped, polite courtroom smile. No, this is something different. This is something genuine, something fond.

And fuck, if that doesn’t do something to your heart.

She exhales, shaking her head slightly. “You are… infuriating.”

You grin, flipping your hair dramatically over one shoulder. “And yet, you love me.”

Alex doesn’t answer. She just watches you for a moment, studying you like you’re some kind of enigma she hasn’t quite figured out yet.

And then—very slowly, very deliberately—she rests a hand on your thigh.

Not in a sexual way, not in a way that immediately suggests anything inappropriate, but in a way that tells you she’s not pushing you away.

She’s letting you stay.

Her fingers are warm against the sleek material of your dress, and for the first time all night, you’re the one who freezes.

Alex tilts her head slightly, voice lower now. “You done yet?”

You swallow, blinking once before regaining your composure. “I mean, I could keep going, but I don’t wanna show off too much. You might start feeling insecure.”

Alex lets out a soft, amused scoff, shaking her head.

She still doesn’t move her hand.

And neither do you.

Instead, you just smirk, flipping the file closed with one hand while the other casually traces up Alex’s arm, your nails lightly skimming against her skin.

“Admit it, boss,” you murmur, tilting your head. “You’d be lost without me.”

Alex’s fingers are warm against your thigh, resting there like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like she didn’t just spend the last five minutes pretending she wasn’t one wrong move away from snapping.

And the worst part? She knows what she’s doing. She knows exactly how much space is between the two of you (barely any), she knows exactly how her palm feels against the sleek, latex material of your dress (smooth and dangerous), and she knows exactly what kind of effect she has on you.

But two can play this game.

Your smirk doesn’t waver, but it does shift—just slightly, turning into something more smug, more challenging, more I dare you to keep this up, boss.

You lean in, slow and deliberate, just enough to close that tiny bit of distance between you, your lips hovering close to her ear, close enough that if she just turned her head half an inch, you could...

But she doesn’t.

Of course she doesn’t.

Because Alex Cabot is nothing if not disciplined, and she would rather die than let you see her crack first.

So instead, she does what she always does. She exhales through her nose, slow and controlled, like she’s beyond exhausted by you, like she can’t believe she lets you do this to her every single damn day.

Her fingers twitch against your thigh for half a second before she finally moves her hand, dragging it away from you like she hadn’t just been resting it there like she belonged.

You watch as she leans back in her chair, rolling her shoulders before running a hand through her perfectly styled blonde hair, messing it up just enough that it makes her look a little less put together, a little more like someone who’s been dealing with your bullshit for way too long.

"You finished?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, voice dry as ever.

You let out a little hum, tilting your own head right back. "Depends. You admitting that I just did your job better than you, or are we still pretending like you didn't just get your ass saved by your favorite assistant?"

Alex scoffs. Full on, outright scoffs, like she cannot believe the words that just left your mouth, like she's so done with you, but she’s not, not really. Because if she was? She wouldn’t let you get away with it. She wouldn't let you stay like this, sprawled across her lap, your hands casually playing with the lapel of her blazer like you own her, like you can do whatever you want and she’ll just sit there and take it.

And the thing is? She does.

She always does.

"You are a menace," she mutters, shaking her head as she reaches for the file you so rudely snatched from her earlier, flipping through the pages like she’s actually going to go over the notes, like she’s not just double-checking them because she doesn’t want to admit that you were right.

You flash her a sickeningly sweet smile, one that’s all lip gloss and trouble, and tap your nails against her desk. "And yet, you haven't fired me. Wonder why that is."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t react, but you see the way her lips press together, the way her jaw tightens just a little, the way she turns one page too fast like she’s trying so hard to ignore you.

And god, it’s so cute.

"If you were any other employee," she finally says, tone calm, measured, the way it always is when she's trying not to let you get under her skin, "you would’ve been escorted out of this office a long time ago."

You just smile, propping your chin on your hand. "But I'm not any other employee, am I?"

Alex pauses.

It's only for half a second, barely long enough to register, but you notice it.

Because you always notice.

She lets out a slow, quiet breath, then finally glances at you. And there’s something in her expression, something heavy, something unspoken, something that makes your stomach flip way too fast for your own good.

But then, just as quickly as it came, it’s gone.

And she’s back to rolling her eyes, shaking her head like you’re nothing but a headache in six-inch heels.

"Go file those case notes," she says, waving a dismissive hand toward the stack of paperwork sitting at the corner of her desk. "And for god’s sake, get off of me before someone walks in."

You pout, dragging your nails lightly against her blazer as you finally—reluctantly—move off of her lap, making a show of stretching like you were so comfortable there, like it was so inconvenient for you to leave.

Alex doesn’t react.

Not really.

But you see the way she exhales, the way she rolls her shoulders again, the way she doesn’t immediately meet your gaze when you stand up.

Interesting.

You make your way over to the desk, your hips swaying just a little more than usual as you pick up the stack of case files, flipping through them lazily.

"You know," you say, tapping a manicured nail against one of the pages, "if you'd just let me handle these from the start, you wouldn't be so stressed all the time. Maybe then you wouldn't have to pretend you don't enjoy me sitting in your lap."

Alex doesn’t look at you, doesn’t even glance up from her work, but you see the way she stiffens, the way her hand briefly tightens around her pen.

And god, if that isn’t the best part of your day.

[acowardinmordor]

Risk and Reward

Steddie-adjacent. Tw: homophobia

I always love fics where Steve makes himself Eddie’s alibi while Eddie is still unconscious/in a coma. Knows that it will work because he knows in this town there is no way anyone would believe that Steve Harrington would come out if it wasn’t real. No one would believe it, because everyone knows that his parents are always gone, because his dad is in Congress railing against the gays and their depravity and how they deserve to die and burn.

Steve saying it. Signing an affidavit about it. Giving quotes to the ravenous press. It has to be true. And everyone who doesn’t think it’s disgusting think it’s the most romantic thing in the world.

The government was stepping in, all eyes were pointed at Munson, and he was going to be thrown in a cell for life. Or, to save the cost of the trial, he would have vanished somewhere between the hospital and the prison.

Steve coming out stops that. Airtight alibi, reinforced by the knowledge that there will be consequences.

Eddie is safe, and the government has changed tactics, is blaming dead Jason Carver for it all. Eddie wakes up six weeks later, shocked to wake up at all, and trusts his uncle enough to play along. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were dating the Harrington kid?’ Eddie knows how to tell a story that leaves space for a player to fill in their side. He tells stories about little moments and always describes things from his perspective. That way, if it contradicts the story that’s already out there, he can make a find quip about how he remembers it different.

When he finally gets a moment alone with his uncle, two days later, his guess gets confirmed. Wayne knows damn well that Eddie’s gayer than a maypole, and also knows that Eddie has called Steve his nemesis for years. Wayne knew from the second Steve said it that it was a lie, and knew it would work if it was believed.

The only thing confusing Eddie - well, the only thing in this tiny slice of his world - is why his fake boyfriend/no-longer-nemesis, isn’t in the hospital too, playing the part. If the guy was willing to say it at all, then he’d go all in. If there was one thing Eddie’d learned during those days, it was that Steve only ever did something at 100%

And yes, part of him feels terrible that Steve did this just to save him. He feels awful knowing that this is going to ruin a chance for a normal life. Wayne said the Indianapolis paper picked up a story about it. But at the same time, he’s so fucking grateful. Steve saved him. Again. And now, at least for a while, they’ll need to keep up the story. He’ll get to hang out with him, pretend they’re dating, stand close and cuddle closer. He also feels bad about how excited he is for that chance.

It’s the next morning when Eddie realizes his uncle dodged every question about why Steve wasn’t here. Wayne dodged almost every question after explaining what happened with Steve and the press and the Feds in the first weeks. Then, nothing.

The party visits him that afternoon, a veneer of joy stretched thin over something worse. Eddie’s first guess is that Red didn’t make it. But he hears her a moment later, complaining about ‘these stupid casts slowing me down’. The kids aren’t as good at dodging as Wayne is. Eddie gets the story quickly, such as it is.

The Harringtons came home from DC, gave a few speeches in praise of law enforcement against a serial killer. They visited the families of those that died.

They sent an assistant to find Steve in the hospital to deliver a message. No one else heard it, but the best guess is that it was a threat. Steve went with the assistant. They haven’t seen him since. When Dustin confronted the Harringtons at their last event in town, all they’d say was that ‘our son is getting the best help, and we love him dearly’

Eddie looks at Robin when he hears that for what it is. She drops the kids back home and begs a sympathetic nurse to let her talk to Eddie past visiting hours.

“It’s been a month since he vanished”

“Where?”

“We don’t know, we tried, even Hopper - he’s not dead - couldn’t find him. And this guy named Murray. We don’t know.”

“But…. ‘The best help’. You know that means…”

“I know”

“He’s, Christ, Buckley, he’s straight. Ladykiller. He’s straight and they sent him to some—“

“Yeah, but Eddie… I don’t know if I should… I guess, not that it matters now, and he never said anything, but he’s my best friend. He’s my soulmate. I know him and I think… if his dad wasn’t like he is… if he’d ever felt safe saying so… he knew they’d be furious when he came forward as your alibi, but he told me they’d just disown him, and it would be over. He was scared, but he was okay with what he thought was going to happen”

“I thought he hates me”

“He kinda did”

“Not anymore?”

“No.” There’s a pause where they both think about where Steve might be right now.

“Maybe he hates me again now.”

“I don’t think he would, but…”

And Eddie thinks how weird it is to see spastic Robin Buckley, who rambled in the Upside Down and always had more energy that she could contain, acting so subdued. No. So broken.

They both heard the Harringtons’ speeches and ads when he ran for office. They know what the man thinks about people like them. They both heard stories about what the places are like, where someone can go to ‘get help’

“Do you think I’ll ever get to thank him?”

“No.”

“Do you think we’ll ever see him again? You and the kids at least?”

She’s quiet for a long time, before she picks up her bag.

“If he ever gets to leave wherever they put him, and we ever see him, I don’t think he’ll be the person we knew anymore.”

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb III

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 1500 words. Pt 3 is up at em! Non-MC!Reader as the law student POV. Expect flirting, hot af barista Caleb, jealousy and plenty of banter with the newbie barista. Today Caleb surprises you… kind of. And the MC, who knows where she is? Mystery, indeed… Poll below! The last one… me thinks heeeeh.

Parts: initial one shot, part 1, newbie POV, part 2, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101

Your Honor, he’s smirking again | Pt. 3

The law library is supposed to be sacred ground. Hushed reverence. Paper rustling. People highlighting like their lives depend on it.

But your laptop screen is currently filled with… apples.

Literally. Just—apple images. Cross-sections. Vintage posters. Pages of orchard trivia.

And your notes? They’ve completely devolved.

Exhibit A: Apple juice (Caleb’s drink of choice. Unexpected. Possibly romantic.)

Exhibit B: Apple charm on chain. Small. Worn. Too meaningful to be aesthetic.

Exhibit C: The way he said, “I just have a thing for apples.” With a grin like a sealed affidavit.

Tapping your pen against your teeth, you stare down your own handwriting. You’ve written “Who is she?” in the margin no less than six times. Circling each one harder than the last.

The charm wasn’t random. You know it. It was the kind of thing someone gives you when they mean it. And Caleb? Caleb doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to wear things without meaning.

You click open another tab. Type: “Apple symbolism in relationships.”

You’re mid-scroll on an article called ‘What Your Favorite Apple Says About Your Soulmate’ (Red Delicious apparently equals “overcommitted and delusional”—rude)

It’s the push you need. You close your laptop, shove it into your bag, and make a snap decision to change the scene.

Because obviously, the most rational way to break your obsession with Caleb… is to go sit directly in his workplace.

——————————————————————————

The café is quiet when you arrive—except for the simmer of K-pop in the background. You knew the newbie was into that kind of music (not that you’re judging, though you definitely are, just a little).

The newbie catches sight of you and gives a small, almost imperceptible nod from behind the counter—equal parts “welcome back” and “still spiraling, huh?”

You nod back: Of course you’re spiraling.

Behind the counter, the newbie shrugs—same, but in their own way. A silent acknowledgment. Two members of the same tragic club.

You pick your usual table, set down your things, and open your laptop again.

Two minutes later, you’re back on apple symbolism. Like you never left.

Your phone buzzes.

newbie: stop i can feel it from here

You glance around. One earbud in, apron on, their usual slouch behind the counter. They catch your eye for half a second, then immediately look back down like they weren’t just watching you.

You message back:

You: the charm’s an apple, right?? it has to mean something… do people wear apple charms for fun???

newbie: i dunno. i’m not the fruit feelings department.

You stare at your screen. Then back at them.

The newbie moves to wipe down a table as you approach—clearly already clean, but it gives them something to do with their hands. You try to look casual. You are not.

“Hypothetical question,” you say, voice pitched at normal human volume. “Has Caleb ever dated someone who… also had a weird fruit obsession?”

They glance at you. “Hypothetical?”

You nod. “Purely academic. Research purposes. National interest.”

Newbie gives you a look like I cannot believe I am complicit in this. Then sighs. “You mean like… an apple girl?”

You freeze. “She’s real?”

“I mean—no,” they say quickly, eyes flicking toward the espresso machine like it might save them. “I don’t think there’s a her. Or… if there is, she’s not, like, around. Never been around here, at least…”

You squint. “But?”

They shift their weight, fingers tugging at the edge of their sleeve. “It’s just… the necklace? It’s always there. Like—always.”

They glance at you, voice dropping a little. “He’ll swap out rings, change outfits, wear different earrings sometimes—but that chain? Never leaves his neck.”

Another pause. Then, softer: “It’s like it’s part of him.”

There’s a flicker of something hesitant—like regret, or just shyness. “Sorry. That’s all I’ve got. I just… notice stuff.”

You try not to let your face do anything dramatic.

“That’s fine,” you say. “It’s fine. Just… taking mental notes.”

They nod slowly. “You look like you asked for peace of mind and got a busy signal.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s rude. Accurate. But rude.”

Then the bell above the door rings.

And you know it’s him. The shift in atmosphere gives it away before you even turn.

Caleb walks in like he owns the lighting—hair ruffled, a worn athletic zip-up hugging his frame just right, one strap of a backpack slung over his shoulder, and a grin in place like it was designed by a committee and unanimously approved.

Your eyes flick straight to his chest. But the jacket’s zipped, collar popped just enough to block the spot where the chain usually peeks out.

You squint. Casually. Or as casually as someone hunting for emotional evidence can look.

Nothing.

Just soft cotton, a flash of silver from a ring on his hand—but no charm. No dog tag. No apple.

It feels like someone ripped a page out of your evidence binder for a class case prep.

“Golden Girl,” he calls, spotting you. “Back again. You really can’t resist a good caffeine felony.”

You open your mouth to shoot something back, but he’s already striding over, apron in one hand, and—

“Hey, actually,” he says, slowing near your table, “I need a legal opinion.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve got this customer,” he says, eyes too bright. “Keeps showing up. Possibly addicted to me. Definitely judging my apple juice innovations.”

Your stomach flips. “Sounds serious.”

“Oh, it is.” He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Might have to take legal action. Or hire a very competent defense attorney.”

“You’d need one,” you say. “Because that drink was a crime.”

He leans forward just slightly, eyes glinting. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll prosecute me.”

Your thoughts immediately call for a recess. Indefinitely.

“Are you… asking for a mock trial date?”

He shrugs. “I prefer to think of it as… study support. Mutual interest. Also, I brought cookies.”

Caleb reaches into his backpack and pulls out a small paper bag like a magician pulling a rabbit—casual, practiced, unfairly charming. “Bribery,” he says, voice low and amused. “Very illegal. But effective.”

You’re laughing before you can stop yourself. “Fine. But if I catch even one apple reference in your opening statement—”

“You’ll what?” he says, tilting his head. “Sentence me to flirtation?”

You groan. “That was terrible.”

“That was golden, Golden Girl.”

Your phone buzzes under the table.

newbie: get a room. or i’m calling HR

You glance toward the counter.

They’re watching you over the espresso machine, one eyebrow raised, tongue piercing catching the light as they chew their lip to keep from laughing.

You fire back:

You: enjoy your floor mop. i’m cross-examining the emotionally unavailable hot guy.

You look up. Caleb is watching you, still leaning forward like he’s waiting for your verdict.

Then, with one lazy motion, he unzips his jacket.

And there it is.

The chain catches the light as the fabric shifts. The dog tag resting against his chest, and just beside it, the apple charm. Small. Still there.

Definitely still there. Damn.

Your want to bite your lip.

Instead you pick up one of the cookies. Take a bite. Chew slowly.

Then narrow your eyes at him, mid-chew.

“You baked these, didn’t you?”

Caleb raises a brow, smug. “Maybe.”

You shake your head, still chewing. “Unbelievable. I can taste the real butter.”

He laughs. “That good?”

You point at the cookie like it personally betrayed you. “I hate how good this is.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, all lazy confidence, one hand propping up his jaw like this is fun for him.

You chew like it’ll help quiet the spike of jealousy and tension in your chest. You straighten yourself, back to normal.

“Well,” you say. “I suppose I could consult. For a fee.”

“Oh yeah?” His grin sharpens. “What’s your rate?”

You lift an eyebrow. “Tell me who the apple charm’s from.”

He stills—just for a beat.

Then he smiles again. Slower. Warmer. Almost… fond.

“Dangerous question,” he murmurs.

“Try me.”

He doesn’t answer. Just pulls out his own notebook—small, leather-bound, lived-in—and flips it open to a blank page.

“Fine,” he says, voice warm, a little too casual. “Let’s make this a real trial. You ask your questions. I’ll take the stand.”

It’s a joke. Maybe. But there’s something in the way he says it. In the way he doesn’t look away.

And for a second, you think—he wants to be known.

Which might be worse than anything you imagined about the apple girl.

Because now you’re not just spiraling.

You’re falling.

You open your mouth, ready to press him further—channeling your inner attorney, zeroing in on the charm. But you don’t get the chance.

There’s a sharp crash from behind the counter.

You both turn.

The newbie stands frozen mid-shift, holding half of a shattered glass in one gloved hand, the other covered in foam and regret.

Caleb’s on his feet in a heartbeat, already crossing the room. “Hey, you okay?” he says, all soft and low as he crouches down beside them.

He pats their back gently—steady, reassuring—then starts gathering the mess, hands careful around the broken pieces like he’s done this before.

“Don’t worry about it,” he murmurs. “Happens to everyone.”

You catch the newbie’s eyes over his shoulder. Wide, guilty, and very clearly saying: Sorry.

You blink once, then give a tiny, resigned nod back: It’s fine. I’m coming back.

And you both know it’s true.

——————————————————————————

Part 4

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: Writing this is my perfect drug. Caleb flirting + the law student snapping back = pure brain bliss. I LOVE THEM. Final poll time (24hrs only!): are we yeeting the MC out of the universe or letting her stay? The arc works either way but… I gotta say, keeping her? Chef’s kiss. Superior flavor, in my humble chaotic opinion. And Red Delicious does not mean overcommitted and delusional it’s just my sad sense of humor. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻

[rmytears]

HOW NOT TO KEEP A RELATIONSHIP SECRET. calex one-shot.

SUMMARY: Casey's day takes an unexpected turn when SVU’s newest detective develops a crush on Alex and, for some reason, asks her for help. Determined to keep their relationship a secret, Casey tries to deflect… only to somehow end up giving him accidental dating advice.

The 16th precinct hummed with its characteristic chaos—a symphony of ringing phones, heated debates over case files, and the persistent whir of an overworked coffee maker that hadn't been properly cleaned since the Obama administration. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt coffee, a scent that had become as much a part of the building as the worn linoleum floors and the flickering fluorescent lights that cast everything in an unflattering pallor.

Casey Novak sat at her desk, surrounded by towering stacks of discovery materials that threatened to topple at any moment. Her reading glasses were perched precariously on the edge of her nose, and her auburn hair was twisted into a messy bun that had gradually migrated sideways throughout the morning. She was only half-listening to the ongoing debate between Fin and Olivia about lunch options—Fin advocating for the new Thai place around the corner, while Olivia stubbornly defended her usual deli sandwich.

"I'm telling you," Fin insisted, gesturing with a case file, "they've got these dumplings that'll change your life."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "The last time you said that about food, I couldn't taste anything for three days."

Casey smiled to herself, letting their familiar bickering fade into background noise as she focused on the affidavit in front of her. The words were starting to blur together—something about chain of custody that she'd read four times without really absorbing—when a shadow fell across her desk.

Detective Ryan Callahan stood there, all six feet of earnest awkwardness, shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous teenager at his first school dance. He was new to SVU, barely six months on the job, with the kind of fresh-faced enthusiasm that hadn't yet been tempered by the harsh realities of their work. In the field, he was surprisingly competent—good instincts, quick on his feet, and genuinely empathetic with victims. But socially... well, that was another matter entirely.

His dark hair was slightly disheveled, as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit Casey had noticed during particularly stressful cases. Today, his tie was slightly askew, and there was a coffee stain on his otherwise pristine white shirt. He had the look of someone who had spent considerable time rehearsing what he was about to say, only to forget every word the moment he opened his mouth.

Casey raised an eyebrow, setting down her pen. "Callahan, what's up?"

He cleared his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. "Uh, so, I had a question."

She waited, watching as he fidgeted with his badge, clipping and unclipping it from his belt. The silence stretched between them like taffy, growing more awkward by the second.

Finally, he scratched the back of his neck—another nervous tell—and said, "About Alex."

Casey blinked, her heart doing a complicated gymnastics routine in her chest. "Alex?"

"Yeah." He shuffled closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "I mean, I figured since you two spend a lot of time together, you'd know... if she's, you know, seeing anyone."

Casey felt her world tilt sideways. Oh, this was bad.

Very, very bad.

Callahan, completely oblivious to the internal crisis he had just triggered, pressed on with the determination of someone walking straight off a cliff. "I just—I don't know. She's incredible. Smart, sharp, kind of terrifying but, like, in a hot way? Not that you need me to tell you that, obviously, you know her better than I do. Which is why I was hoping you'd, uh, help me out here."

Casey's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again, performing an impressive impression of a fish out of water. "Help you out?" she repeated, her voice hitting a pitch she hadn't reached since high school choir.

He nodded, eyes bright with hope. "You think she'd go for a guy like me?"

Casey, who had built her career on her ability to think quickly under pressure, who had stared down serial killers and sociopaths without breaking a sweat, who had once delivered an entire closing argument with a sprained ankle and didn't miss a beat, suddenly found herself completely incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

Because here she was, sitting at her desk on a Tuesday morning, being asked for dating advice about her girlfriend by a man who had no idea he was essentially asking for tips on how to seduce someone who was very much taken.

By her.

The irony was almost poetic.

Swallowing hard, she forced what she hoped was a professional smile but probably looked more like a grimace. "Listen, Callahan, if you're interested in Alex, maybe you should ask her yourself." The words tasted like betrayal in her mouth, but what else could she say?

Callahan's face fell slightly. "Yeah, but I don't want to come on too strong. I figured you might have, like, some insight? Maybe you could, I don't know..." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice further, "put in a good word?"

Casey let out a sound that could only be described as a strangled cough, drawing curious glances from nearby desks. Her mind raced through possible responses, each more absurd than the last. She could tell him the truth—but no, they'd agreed to keep their relationship private, at least for now. She could make up some reason why he shouldn't pursue Alex—but that felt dishonest, and besides, what reason could she give that wouldn't raise more questions?

"I—uh—I'm not really—"

"Just a little nudge," he pressed, his enthusiasm growing in inverse proportion to her comfort level. "Like, what does she like? Coffee? Flowers? Should I be, you know, mysterious and aloof? Or direct? I've been reading this dating advice blog, and it says women like confidence, but also vulnerability, but also strength, but also sensitivity..." He trailed off, looking at her expectantly.

Casey stared at him, her brain screaming in at least three different languages. This was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, except she wasn't just watching—she was somehow both the conductor and the person tied to the tracks.

And yet, instead of shutting it down, instead of making an excuse and escaping with what little dignity she had left, she found herself muttering, "She likes espresso. No sugar."

The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she'd made a terrible mistake. Callahan's face lit up like Times Square at Christmas.

"See? That's helpful! Anything else?"

Casey internally cursed herself in all the languages she knew, and a few she didn't.

Two days later, Casey was seriously reconsidering her career choices. Maybe she should've become a tax attorney. Or a librarian. Or literally anything that wouldn't have led to her current predicament, watching her girlfriend's unwitting suitor execute what had to be the most painfully earnest courtship attempt in NYPD history.

The precinct had become a stage for Callahan's increasingly elaborate gestures. Every time Alex entered the building—her sharp heels clicking against the floor, her presence commanding attention without effort—there he was, materializing like a well-meaning ghost with perfectly timed offerings.

"Just happened to grab an extra espresso," he'd say, placing the steaming cup on her desk with the careful precision of someone handling evidence. The coffee was always from that expensive place three blocks over, the one with the pretentious baristas and lines out the door. Casey knew for a fact he'd started getting there twenty minutes early just to beat the morning rush.

Alex, for her part, had progressed through a fascinating spectrum of reactions. At first, it was just a slightly quirked eyebrow, the barest hint of confusion crossing her otherwise composed features. Then came the studying—those piercing blue eyes narrowing slightly whenever Callahan appeared, like she was processing evidence in a particularly puzzling case.

The coffee was just the beginning. Suddenly, Callahan was everywhere. Holding doors open with an eager "After you, Counselor." Casually mentioning cases he knew she'd won—"That Martinez cross-examination? Legendary stuff." He'd even started wearing better suits, though his ties remained perpetually crooked in a way that made Casey's fingers itch to fix them.

And then there was the day he'd watched Alex verbally demolish defense attorney Trevor Langan in court. Casey had been there too, ostensibly to observe the trial, but really because Alex in court was a sight to behold. The way she moved, the precise timing of her questions, the subtle shift in her voice when she went in for the kill—it was like watching a master artist at work.

Callahan had been sitting next to Casey, presumably there to learn trial techniques. But halfway through Alex's cross-examination, Casey heard him whisper, "Holy shit," with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences.

After court, he'd caught up with Alex in the hallway. "That was incredible," he'd gushed. "The way you cornered him on the timeline inconsistencies? And then that thing with the phone records? Pure genius."

Alex had paused, tilted her head slightly, and given Casey a look that clearly said, 'We need to talk.'

Because that's when it clicked. The coffee. The compliments. The way Callahan's eyes followed Alex around the precinct like a lovesick puppy. And most damningly, the fact that he seemed to know exactly how Alex liked her coffee.

There was only one person who could have told him that.

The look Alex gave Casey in that moment promised a conversation that would be neither brief nor comfortable.

"You are going to explain to me," Alex said later that day, her voice carrying that dangerous calm that made hardened criminals confess on the stand, "why my girlfriend is helping a man flirt with me."

They were in Alex's office, where the late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the polished desk. The door had clicked shut with a finality that made Casey's stomach drop.

Casey, perched against the desk, tried for casual. "Okay, first of all, not my fault."

Alex arched an eyebrow, a gesture that could have been patented for its ability to convey volumes of skepticism without a single word.

"No?"

Casey groaned, running a hand through her hair. "He asked me if you were single! What was I supposed to say?"

Alex folded her arms, her blazer—charcoal grey today, impeccably tailored—shifting with the movement. "You could have said 'no.' That's generally how people answer that question when they are, in fact, not single."

The sarcasm in her voice could have stripped paint.

Casey flinched. "Okay, yeah, fair, but he caught me off guard, and I didn't want to, you know..." She gestured vaguely. "Out us."

Alex inhaled deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose—a rare display of exasperation from someone who usually maintained perfect composure. "And your next brilliant move was... what? Coaching him?"

"I didn't coach him," Casey protested, though her voice lacked conviction. "I just—he wouldn't drop it, and I panicked, and now he's bringing you coffee, and—" She threw up her hands in surrender. "Look, I didn't think it would work!"

Alex let out a laugh that held absolutely no humor. "Well, it did. And now I have a detective attempting to woo me with caffeine and admiration for my cross-examinations." She stepped closer, her heels silent on the carpeted floor. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to maintain professional authority when someone looks at you like you've hung the moon every time you object to hearsay?"

Casey winced. "... He did say that thing about the Martinez case, huh?"

Alex leveled her with a look that could have melted steel. "Yes. He did. In fact, he's apparently been studying my old cases. This morning, he quoted my closing argument from the Wilson trial. Word for word."

A beat of silence filled the office.

Then, Alex took another step forward. Then another. Her movements were deliberate, predatory, like a cat cornering its prey. Casey found herself pressing back against the desk, suddenly very aware of how the temperature in the room seemed to have risen several degrees.

"So, tell me," Alex murmured, close enough now that Casey could smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that made coherent thought increasingly difficult. "How exactly were you planning to resolve this, Counselor?"

The way Alex said 'Counselor' should have been illegal in at least three states.

Casey cleared her throat, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. "I figured eventually he'd... move on?"

Alex's lips curved into something that was not quite a smile but promised all sorts of interesting consequences. "Mm. I have a better idea."

Before Casey could process what was happening, Alex's hand had slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair, pulling her in for a kiss that was definitely not appropriate for office hours. It was slow, deliberate, thorough—the kind of kiss that made Casey forget every legal precedent she'd ever memorized.

When Alex finally pulled back, Casey's brain had officially gone offline. Her lips tingled, and she was pretty sure she'd forgotten how to form sentences in English.

"I—" Casey started, then promptly lost whatever she was going to say when she caught the look in Alex's eyes.

Alex smirked, looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Let's see if Callahan still has questions after that."

And with that, Alex turned and opened the office door.

Straight into what appeared to be half the SVU squad.

Olivia, Fin, and Elliot stood there, wearing expressions that ranged from surprised (Olivia) to amused (Fin) to mildly uncomfortable but supportive (Elliot).

Olivia blinked. "Oh."

Fin's grin could have powered half of Manhattan. "Damn. Thought you two were just bad at flirting. Turns out you were just sneaky."

Elliot shook his head, though there was a hint of a smile playing at his lips. "Honestly? We should've seen it coming. Nobody spends that much time 'reviewing case files' after hours."

And because the universe wasn't done with them yet, Callahan chose that exact moment to walk by. He stopped, coffee cup in hand—probably another perfectly prepared espresso—and took in the scene. His eyes moved from Alex's slightly smudged lipstick to Casey's thoroughly kissed expression, and understanding dawned on his face with almost audible clarity.

"Well," he muttered, "that explains... a lot." He paused, then added with a weak laugh, "Like why you knew her coffee order."

Casey groaned, burying her face in her hands. Alex, somehow still maintaining her composure despite everything, simply adjusted her blazer with precise movements.

"Well," Olivia drawled, her grin growing wider by the second, "this is fun."

"I hate all of you," Casey mumbled through her fingers.

Alex, fighting what looked suspiciously like genuine amusement, reached over and laced their fingers together.

"Too late now, darling," she murmured, squeezing Casey's hand. "Might as well own it."

And as Casey looked at the team's smug, knowing faces—Olivia's warmth, Fin's mischief, Elliot's awkward acceptance, and even Callahan's embarrassed but genuine smile—she realized there was no winning this.

But maybe, she thought as Alex's thumb traced small circles on her hand, winning wasn't the point.

At least she had Alex.

And really good espresso.

Two weeks later, Callahan left a peace offering on both their desks: gift cards to that expensive coffee place he'd been frequenting. The note attached read: "Sorry for the awkward. But in my defense, your girlfriend is terrifying in court. - RC"

Alex kept the note pinned to her bulletin board, right next to the conviction record that had so impressed him.

And if anyone noticed that Casey started wearing her ties a little crooked, or that Alex's lipstick needed touching up more often after their "case review meetings," well...

Some things were better left unsaid.

Even in a building full of detectives.

[beardedmrbean]

A 16-year-old Missouri girl who had been missing since December was found alive nearly 700 miles away in a registered sex offender's home.

Officers from the Fort Collins Police Department were led to a Colorado home April 15 after receiving a tip through the missing teen's Instagram account, which had been dormant since she was reported missing Dec. 6, 2024, according to an arrest affidavit obtained by 9NEWS.

On April 16, investigators determined her account was accessed from an IP address at a home where 44-year-old Maximilian Bondrescu lived.

Due to Bondrescu being a registered sex offender, investigators got a warrant and went to his home April 18, officials said.

Bondrescu denied to officers that there was a girl inside the home, but she was later found hiding in a closet, the affidavit said.

"The house was searched, and the missing juvenile was located inside. Bondrescu is currently a registered sexual offender," police shared in a news release on their department Facebook page. Police confirmed Bondrescu was booked into Larimer County Jail and is facing a number of charges, including the following:

Class 2 Felony – 2nd Degree Kidnapping – Child

Class 3 Felony – Sexual Assault on a Child – Pattern of Abuse

Class 4 Felony – 2nd Degree Assault

Class 5 Felony – False Imprisonment – Minor Locked in Room

Class 1 Misdemeanor – Failure to Register as a Sex Offender – Incomplete Registration

Class 2 Misdemeanor – Child Abuse

Class 2 Misdemeanor – Harboring a Minor

Class 2 Misdemeanor – Obstructing a Peace Officer

The victim was 15 when she was initially reported missing outside Columbia, Missouri, when school officials notified her father that she was not at school that morning, the affidavit says. He told police that when he got home from work, she was still not home, and he was unable to reach her by phone.

Students at the school had reported the teen had talked about running away to Colorado, according to the affidavit.

The victim, who was not identified due to her age, told investigators she began communicating with Bondrescu in November 2024 on an app called "Boo" but then moved their conversations to Snapchat.

Police said the "investigation revealed that Bondrescu rented a vehicle to drive to Missouri where he met with the juvenile female and then drove her to Colorado."

According to the affidavit, Bondrescu picked her up in the middle of the night and "took a route that avoided any toll roads."

When they arrived in Colorado, the victim told police, Bondrescu wrapped her in a blanket and carried her into the house "so no one would see her." Bondrescu also made her dye her hair and wear a mask and sunglasses if they ever went out, the documents state. 

Police added that the victim reported to investigators that she was held against her will, but Bondrescu would sometimes take her out and make her work for his snow removal company, FoCo Sno GO. 

While she was forced to work for Bondrescu's company, police said, she was also required to wear a mask while shoveling to conceal her identity and age. 

Police are asking any customers who used this company to contact Det. David Guy at 970-416-2026.

"The importance of the work done by the Fort Collins Police Cyber Crime Unit and similar units across the nation play a vital role in helping to keep our children safe," Fort Collins Police Assistant Chief Kristy Volesky said. "Had it not been for the diligent work of these detectives, the juvenile could have continued to be victimized. Our investigators will now work closely with the district attorney’s office to ensure justice for this child." 

Bondrescu is being held on $500,000 bond with his court date scheduled for Monday, May 5, according to Larimer County Jail records.

[theboywithburninghands]

Hey guys

I’m on your timeline again. No bad news today, but I have some things to share that are like… sort of vent-esque? Nothing too bad. I’m definitely less in a hole than I was last week.

Anyway, I am working on “Rosenrot.” Ch. 33 is shaping up to be huge, and I want it to be perfect. So it will take longer than average. It will also focus on characters primarily developed by myself and my close friend @noble-crimson, who you should follow on here and on Twitter and also forfeit your mortal possessions to.

I also wanted to give a thank you to @toonsforkicks22 and @quietrainflower for their support, the former for basically helping me outline the latter half of this story and the latter for their continued support and singing of “Rosenrot’s” praises. As you’ve already given your mortal possessions to Crim, please send them an affidavit transferring ownership of your soul to them. Notarized, black ink only.

Anyway, the reason I want to post today actually isn’t at all about Digital Circus or my writing pertaining to Digital Circus. It’s actually about The Gaslight District.

That show and I have a weiiiiird relationship, lemme tell you. And I’m going to dump about it here because… well this is a blog.

So, here’s the thing. I haven’t actually sat down to watch the damn thing. I want to, but I can’t. Like, physically I can’t. I get super anxious whenever I actually try, and I can’t put my finger on WHY.

I’m not disturbed by it. I’ve stomached much MUCH darker stuff in my day that I won’t mention here because I know some of you guys are morbidly curious.

I don’t hate the idea. I think the idea of a group of bad guys with good hearts can work great when you do it right.

I don’t hate the characters either. Hell, Mel Hill is canonically bi AND named after a great Gorillaz song, that’s a one-two punch.

Maybe it’s the villains? I don’t find them particularly interesting. Yes, I’m well aware that evil angels are a creepy idea, and that a lot of people have resentment towards organized religion, but like, dude. From what I’ve seen they’re so outrageously evil it’s almost kind of funny? Like doesn’t uh… *checks notes* Diligence kill one of his flunkies for making him jump slightly? Come on now, that’s just impractical.

Or maybe it’s the whole “anti-chosen-one” story. I dunno if it’s just me, but I’ve never really liked stories where someone’s immediately abhorred because “the prophecy says anyone with eleven toes is the Blood Prince of Morgoroth” and they have eleven toes so everyone treats them like a pariah. That kinda thing stresses me out a little.

I dunno. I’ll probably come around to it, but for now it’s in this weird “observe but not too close” space.

Anyway, thank you for reading if you read this far. No hard feelings at all towards anyone that enjoys Gaslight District, I have the problem, not you or the show.

Uh. Happy pride? I didn’t think of a good way to end this 😭

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

What a front cover...

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

March 6, 2025

Heather Cox Richardson

Mar 07, 2025

This morning, Ted Hesson and Kristina Cooke of Reuters reported that the Trump administration is preparing to deport the 240,000 Ukrainians who fled Russia’s attacks on Ukraine and have temporary legal status in the United States. Foreign affairs journalist Olga Nesterova reminded Americans that “these people had to be completely financially independent, pay tax, pay all fees (around $2K) and have an affidavit from an American person to even come here.”

“This has nothing to do with strategic necessity or geopolitics,” Russia specialist Tom Nichols posted. “This is just cruelty to show [Russian president Vladimir] Putin he has a new American ally.”

The Trump administration’s turn away from traditional European alliances and toward Russia will have profound effects on U.S. standing in the world. Edward Wong and Mark Mazzetti reported in the New York Times today that senior officials in the State Department are making plans to close a dozen consulates, mostly in Western Europe, including consulates in Florence, Italy; Strasbourg, France; Hamburg, Germany; and Ponta Delgada, Portugal, as well as a consulate in Brazil and another in Turkey.

In late February, Nahal Toosi reported in Politico that President Donald Trump wants to “radically shrink” the State Department and to change its mission from diplomacy and soft power initiatives that advance democracy and human rights to focusing on transactional agreements with other governments and promoting foreign investment in the U.S.

Elon Musk and the “Department of Government Efficiency” have taken on the process of cutting the State Department budget by as much as 20%, and cutting at least some of the department’s 80,000 employees. As part of that project, DOGE’s Edward Coristine, known publicly as “Big Balls,” is embedded at the State Department.

As the U.S. retreats from its engagement with the world, China has been working to forge greater ties. China now has more global diplomatic posts than the U.S. and plays a stronger role in international organizations. Already in 2025, about 700 employees, including 450 career diplomats, have resigned from the State Department, a number that normally would reflect a year’s resignations.

Shutting embassies will hamper not just the process of fostering goodwill, but also U.S. intelligence, as embassies house officers who monitor terrorism, infectious disease, trade, commerce, militaries, and government, including those from the intelligence community. U.S. intelligence has always been formidable, but the administration appears to be weakening it.

As predicted, Trump’s turn of the U.S. toward Russia also means that allies are concerned he or members of his administration will share classified intelligence with Russia, thus exposing the identities of their operatives. They are considering new protocols for sharing information with the United States. The Five Eyes alliance between Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the United Kingdom and the U.S. has been formidable since World War II and has been key to countering first the Soviet Union and then Russia. Allied governments are now considering withholding information about sources or analyses from the U.S.

Their concern is likely heightened by the return to Trump’s personal possession of the boxes of documents containing classified information the FBI recovered in August 2022 from Mar-a-Lago. Trump took those boxes back from the Department of Justice and flew them back to Mar-a-Lago on February 28.

A CBS News/YouGov poll from February 26–28 showed that only 4% of the American people sided with Russia in its ongoing war with Ukraine.

The unpopularity of the new administration's policies is starting to show. National Republican Congressional Committee chair Richard Hudson (R-NC) told House Republicans on Tuesday to stop holding town halls after several such events have turned raucous as attendees complained about the course of the Trump administration. Trump has blamed paid “troublemakers” for the agitation, and claimed the disruptions are part of the Democrats’ “game.” “[B]ut just like our big LANDSLIDE ELECTION,” he posted on social media, “it’s not going to work for them!”

More Americans voted for someone other than Trump than voted for him.

Even aside from the angry protests, DOGE is running into trouble. In his speech before a joint session of Congress on Tuesday, Trump referred to DOGE and said it “is headed by Elon Musk, who is in the gallery tonight.” In a filing in a lawsuit against DOGE and Musk, the White House declared that Musk is neither in charge of DOGE nor an employee of it. When pressed, the White House claimed on February 26 that the acting administrator of DOGE is staffer Amy Gleason. Immediately after Trump’s statement, the plaintiffs in that case asked permission to add Trump’s statement to their lawsuit.

Musk has claimed to have found billions of dollars of waste or fraud in the government, and Trump and the White House have touted those statements. But their claims to have found massive savings have been full of errors, and most of their claims have been disproved. DOGE has already had to retract five of its seven biggest claims. As for “savings,” the government spent about $710 billion in the first month of Trump’s term, compared with about $630 billion during the same timeframe last year.

Instead of showing great savings, DOGE’s claims reveal just how poorly Musk and his team understand the work of the federal government. After forcing employees out of their positions, they have had to hire back individuals who are, in fact, crucial to the nation, including the people guarding the U.S. nuclear stockpile. In his Tuesday speech, Trump claimed that the DOGE team had found “$8 million for making mice transgender,” and added: “This is real.”

Except it’s not. The mice in question were not “transgender”; they were “transgenic,” which means they are genetically altered for use in scientific experiments to learn more about human health. For comparison, S.V. Date noted in HuffPost that in just his first month in office, Trump spent about $10.7 million in taxpayer money playing golf.

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo pointed out today that people reporting on the individual cuts to U.S. scientific and health-related grants are missing the larger picture: “DOGE and Donald Trump are trying to shut down advanced medical research, especially cancer research, in the United States…. They’re shutting down medicine/disease research in the federal government and the government-run and funded ecosystem of funding for most research throughout the United States. It’s not hyperbole. That’s happening.”

Republicans are starting to express some concern about Musk and DOGE. As soon as Trump took office, Musk and his DOGE team took over the Office of Personnel Management, and by February 14 they had begun a massive purge of federal workers. As protests of the cuts began, Trump urged Musk on February 22 to be “more aggressive” in cutting the government, prompting Musk to demand that all federal employees explain what they had accomplished in the past week under threat of firing. That request sparked a struggle in the executive branch as cabinet officers told the employees in their departments to ignore Musk. Then, on February 27, U.S. District Judge William Alsup found that the firings were likely illegal and temporarily halted them.

On Tuesday, Senate majority leader John Thune (R-SD) weighed in on the conflict when he told CNN that the power to hire and fire employees properly belongs to Cabinet secretaries.

Yesterday, Musk met with Republican— but no Democratic— members of Congress. Senators reportedly asked Musk—an unelected bureaucrat whose actions are likely illegal—to tell them more about what’s going on. According to Liz Goodwin, Marianna Sotomayor, and Theodoric Meyer of the Washington Post, Musk gave some of the senators his phone number and said he wanted to set up a direct line for them when they have questions, allowing them to get a near-instant response to their concerns.” Senator Lindsey Graham (R-SC) told reporters that Musk told the senators he would “create a system where members of Congress can call some central group” to get cuts they dislike reversed.

This whole exchange is bonkers. The Constitution gives Congress alone the power to make appropriations and pass the laws that decide how money is spent. Josh Marshall asks: “How on earth are we in this position where members of Congress, the ones who write the budget, appropriate and assign the money, now have to go hat in hand to beg for changes or even information from the guy who actually seems to be running the government?”

Later, Musk met with House Republicans and offered to set up a similar way for the members of the House Oversight DOGE Subcommittee to reach him. When representatives complained about the random cuts that were so upsetting constituents. Musk defended DOGE’s mistakes by saying that he “can’t bat a thousand all the time.”

This morning, U.S. District Judge John McConnell Jr. ruled in favor of a group of state attorneys general from 22 Democratic states and the District of Columbia, saying that Trump does not have the authority to freeze funding appropriated by Congress. McConnell wrote that the spending freeze "fundamentally undermines the distinct constitutional roles of each branch of our government." As Joyce White Vance explained in Civil Discourse, McConnell issued a preliminary injunction that will stay in place until the case, called New York v. Trump, works its way through the courts. The injunction applies only in the states that sued, though, leaving Republican-dominated states out in the cold.

Today, Trump convened his cabinet and, with Musk present, told the secretaries that they, and not Musk, are in charge of their departments. Dasha Burns and Kyle Cheney of Politico reported that Trump told the secretaries that Musk only has the power to make recommendations, not to make staffing or policy decisions.

Trump is also apparently feeling pressure over his tariffs of 25% on goods from Canada and Mexico and an additional 10% on imports from China that went into effect on Tuesday, which economists warned would create inflation and cut economic growth. Today, Trump first said he would exempt car and truck parts from the tariffs, then expanded exemptions to include goods covered by the U.S.-Mexico-Canada trade agreement (USMCA) Trump signed in his first term. Administration officials say other tariffs will go into effect at different times in the future.

The stock market has dropped dramatically over the past three days owing to both the tariffs and the uncertainty over their implementation. But Trump denied his abrupt change had anything to do with the stock market.

“I’m not even looking at the market,” Trump said, “because long term, the United States will be very strong with what’s happening.”

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[mariacallous]

In late August 2023, Ilya Gambashidze was in a conference room at the office of Social Design Agency, a Russian IT company he founded that is based in Moscow, close to the world-renowned Moscow Conservatory. Gambashidze was relatively unknown in Russian politics at the time, but just a month earlier his name had appeared on a Council of the European Union’s list of Russian nationals subjected to sanctions for playing a central role in a sprawling disinformation campaign against Ukraine.

In the conference room, Gambashidze was laying out his plans for a new target: Along with his colleagues, he began drafting what would become known as the Good Old USA Project. The project was supposed to influence the outcome of the US presidential election in favor of former president Donald Trump, specifically targeting certain minorities, swing-state residents, and online gamers, among others, in a scheme that included a full-time team dedicated to the cause.

On Wednesday, Gambashidze and his company were named by the US Department of Justice among the architects of a disinformation campaign known as Doppelganger that has for the past two years been targeting Ukraine and, more recently, US elections. The Doppelganger campaign uses AI-generated content on dozens of fake websites designed to impersonate mainstream media outlets such as The Washington Post and Fox Business, using a network of fake social media accounts to disseminate pro-Russian narratives targeting audiences across the globe. Doppelganger is a Kremlin-aligned disinformation campaign that was first linked to the Kremlin in 2023 by the French government.

On Wednesday, the Justice Department announced the seizure of 32 internet domains it says are linked to the Doppelganger campaign which violate US money laundering and criminal trademark laws.

“Today’s announcement exposes the scope of the Russian government’s influence operations and their reliance on cutting-edge AI to sow disinformation,” FBI director Christopher Wray said in a statement. “Companies operating at the direction of the Russian government created websites to trick Americans into unwittingly consuming Russian propaganda.”

The Treasury Department had previously sanctioned SDA and Gambashidze in March for its part in the Doppelganger campaign. But the court documents unsealed on Wednesday contain a treasure trove of documents and meeting notes from Gambashidze and his colleagues, outlining in unprecedented detail the goals and tactics that the Kremlin has been deploying in order to influence the outcome of the 2024 US election.

The records also reveal the plan was discussed at the highest levels of the Russian government, with Sergei Kiriyenko, the first deputy chief of staff of the presidential executive office, playing a key role. The notes appear to show that President Vladimir Putin may have been updated on the campaign; in one meeting with Russian government officials, Gambashidze wrote that government officials told him they had “reported to the President about the project,” which the FBI agent who authored the affidavit said he took to refer to Putin.

The documents show that the orchestrators of the campaign targeted existing divisions within US society, using racist stereotypes and far-right conspiracies to target supporters of former president Donald Trump.

​​"They are afraid of losing the American way of life and the ‘American dream,’” Gambashidze writes in one document outlining his “guerrilla media” plan. “It is these sentiments that should be exploited in the course of an information campaign in/for the United States.”

The same document is full of racist and conspiratorial claims, including that Republicans are “victims of discrimination of people of color.” It adds that white middle-class people are being discriminated against with high inflation and rising prices, while “unemployed people of color end up being privileged groups of the population.”

And the goal of the campaign, from the beginning, was crystal clear: “To secure victory for [Donald Trump],” Gambashidze wrote in the Good Old USA Project planning document.

The Good Old USA plan openly admits that “none of the significant American politicians can be considered pro-Russian or pro-Putin,” and so rather than focus its efforts on trying to convince people that Russia is great, the plan called for promoting the idea that the US should be focusing its resources less on Ukraine and more on domestic issues, such as rising inflation and high gas prices.

“It makes sense for Russia to put a maximum effort to ensure that the Republican Party’s point of view (first and foremost, the opinion of Trump supporters) wins over the US public opinion,” the Good Old USA Project planning document reads. “This includes provisions on peace in Ukraine in exchange for territories, the need to focus on the problems of the US economy, returning troops home from all over the world, etc.”

As well as getting Trump elected, the campaign’s secondary goals included increasing the percentage of Americans who believe the US is doing too much to aid Ukraine to 51 percent, and reducing the percentage of Americans who have confidence in President Joe Biden down to 29 percent.

The plan lists a variety of audiences the campaign specifically wants to target, including residents of swing states, American Jews, “US citizens of Hispanic descent,” and the “community of American gamers, users of Reddit and image boards, such as 4chan.”

The document describes this category of gamers and chatroom users as the "backbone of the right-wing trends in the US segment of the Internet.” In recent months, the Trump campaign has embraced many of the most influential figures within these communities, including many who share deeply misogynistic rhetoric on a regular basis.

To spread their narrative, the plan called for the creation of YouTube channels that shared pro-Trump content as well as other viral videos (“music, humor, beautiful girls etc,” according to the documents) in order to appear at the top of search results for “US elections.”

Meanwhile, Gambashidze and his colleagues used Facebook, Twitter, and Reddit to create community groups of Trump supporters, with one sample name given as “Alabama for America the Great.” The document also reveals that the Russians planned to use Reddit as a vector to disseminate their propaganda as it is a platform “free from democratic censorship.”

Gambashidze’s plan outlined how Doppelganger would create 18 “sleeper cells” on social media platforms in each of the swing states, which would “at the right moment, upon gaining momentum, become an important instrument of influencing the public opinion in critically important states and portals used by the Russian side to distribute bogus stories disguised as newsworthy events.” It’s unclear if these so-called sleeper cells were created and, if so, whether they are still present on the platform.

The campaign also used targeted ads on Facebook to not only promote their narrative but also to gain valuable insight into what messages were sticking and which were falling flat. “Targeted advertising in Facebook allows tracking reactions of users to the distributed material in real time and directing the psychological response group to contribute to comments thereof,” the document reads. “With the help of a network of bots the psychological response group moderates top discussions and adjusts further launches depending on which group was affected the most.”

One of the key aspects of the Kremlin’s campaign is also to engage with influencers. According to the FBI’s affidavit, Gambashidze’s company ​​“extensively monitors and collects information about a large number of media organizations and social media influencers.”

According to the Good Old USA project document, the Kremlin was seeking to work with influencers who are “proponents of traditional values, who stand up for ending the war in Ukraine and peaceful relations between the US and Russia, and who are ready to get involved in the promotion of the project narratives.”

Among the types of influencers listed as possible collaborators are actors, politicians, media representatives, activists, and clergymen.

The affidavit references one document maintained by the Social Design Agency, which is not included in the unsealed court documents, that contains a list of more than 2,800 people identified as influencers. While this list is global, US-based influencers account for around 20 percent of the accounts being monitored, including many US lawmakers, according to an analysis of the list by the FBI.

The Social Design Agency also maintains another list, again not included in the court documents, that tracks over 1,900 “anti-influencers” from 52 different countries, with US-based accounts. The FBI agent who authored the document assessed that “anti-influencer” refers to accounts which post “content that SDA views as contrary to Russian objectives.”

In a note from one of the meetings with Russian government officials discussing the campaign’s use of influencers, Gambashidze wrote: “We need influencers! A lot of them and everywhere. We are ready to wine and dine them.” Though no links have been confirmed, hours before the Doppelganger affidavit dropped on Wednesday, Tenet Media, an organization that features a slate of right-wing commentators, was alleged in an unsealed Department of Justice indictment to have been largely funded by Russian state-backed news network RT.

The Social Design Agency operation appeared to be extremely well-run and well-resourced. There is a “project office” consisting of four teams that include one entire group dedicated to monitoring the social media posts from GOP lawmakers in order to generate ideas for topics to cover.

These would then be handed to a “text factory," with orders to whittle down the topics handed to them by the monitoring team to four to five main issues, along with eight to 10 basic posts for social media platforms and 40- to 60 comments to post under those social media posts for the network of bots. Another team was called the “manga editorial office,” which was charged with producing a daily output of three to four images, including memes. Finally, a video team was tasked with producing three to four videos each day.

“In order for this work to be effective, you need to use a minimum of fake news and a maximum of realistic information,” the document’s authors wrote. “At the same time, you should continuously repeat that this is what is really happening, but the official media will never tell you about it or show it to you.”

Antibot4Navalny, a group of anonymous Russian researchers who have been closely tracking Doppelganger’s activity, are doubtful that the affidavit will have a significant impact on the campaign’s activity.

“Frankly, I believe it's whack-a-mole as long as EU providers keep doing business with [Social Design Agency], and UK-registered shell companies keep helping SDA with its operation,” the researchers told WIRED, citing their own investigations earlier this year.

[rainydayandmondays]

Secret Santa is Coming....

Summary: Time for the Secret Santa gift exchange and Andy knows you deserve only the best gift. And who says it can’t be a gift for both of you.

Pairing: Andy Barber X Reader, Jake Jensen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit language, explicit sexual content, male masturbation, female masturbation, voyeurism, Daddy kink, slight non-con

Author’s Note: A follow up to the Thanksgiving Potluck. I don’t think Andy is okay with just a one-shot with his sweet girl.

“Mr. Barber.”

Andy looked up to see you standing just inside his doorway. Your hands dropping to be held in front of you, he watched as you momentarily shifted from foot to foot. You were uneasy and that should never be how you feel around him. He dropped the affidavit he had been reading back to his desk, before rolling his shoulders, and sitting back in his chair. Something had you skittish and he wouldn’t have that.

“Yes, sweetheart.”

You bow your head at the nickname, your bashful reaction to it would never get old with him. However, he did try to use it sparingly. Waiting until you two were mostly alone, he would softly say it and watch you smile before catching yourself.

“Can I talk to you about something?” You looked at him, your brow furrowing as you waited for his response. Something was wrong. He could feel his own unease build up the longer he watched you, your fingers now fidgeting in front of you.

“Is that even a question? Of course, you can,” He gestured to the seat in front of him.

You seemed to loosen up at his response, your hands dropping the gripped hold you had them in. Turning to close the door behind you, you gave him a small hopeful smile before taking the offered seat.

He continued to sit back, despite wanting to inch closer to you. You were calmer now and he didn’t want to break you from that peace that you had regained, “What’s going on?”

You took a quick inhale before asking your question, “Are you the one leaving coffee on my desk every morning?"

The coffee. You knew about the coffee. After Thanksgiving, he hadn’t wanted to give up the feeling he felt watching you enjoy him so much. He embraced the flashes of you licking your lips after finishing his potluck offering. They would keep him busy popping up over the long holiday weekend.

Laurie had ordered in catering for their family meal. Things were starting to pick up for her at work as they entered the holiday season. Buying everything and then cooking the turkey dinner wasn’t something she was willing to take on. Instead, they had pulled the plastic containers from the takeaway bag, quickly heating them up before sitting down to the saddest Thanksgiving meal. Thoughts of you were the only thing that pulled him out his funk to start pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic.

He decided that weekend that he would find a way to share that with you again. Your friend may have thrown out that thinly veiled threat, but he would find a way around it. Returning to the office after the holiday, he decided to keep his ritual to his nightly shower. No more parking garage camera feed for your noisy friend to make noise about. He found if he worked late enough, by the time he got home, there would be no one up to ask why he took a tumbler with him to shower.

Filling up his trusty tumbler every night, he would grab it from the refrigerator each morning as he waved goodbye to a wife and son who seemed to be more enthralled with their phones than anything he was doing. Heading to the local coffee shop after his morning swim, he would sit in his car adding his special ingredient to the small light roast brew with double espresso shots and half and half.

Making sure to get in as early as possible, he would leave the cup of coffee on your desk before hustling to his office. He had done so for the last week, a smirk lighting up his face when you brought the cup to the weekly team debrief for the latest cases. But now you knew it was him. He should have known you would figure it out.

Trying his best to not react to your question, he pulled on all his skills to keep the best poker face. He could come up with a reason for it that wouldn’t return you to that ball of nerves that had stood in his doorway.

He cleared his throat before responding, “You caught me. I know the late nights you have been putting in. That can’t be easy to do and then only to go home and help your parents. Figured you might need something to look forward to.”

You hummed at his explanation, looking down before returning your gaze to him, “That’s very kind, Mr. Barber. Sweet even. It’s just…people like to talk. I’ve worked so hard. And I don’t want anyone to think that I got anything because of…because of anything else other than work.”

Your eyes had continued to flit between him and your hands in your lap as you spoke. He could tell that you had thought through your small speech, probably even prepped yourself on your drive in. He also knew that one of the office gossips had gotten to you. He was selfish and he wanted the moments with you but not at the risk of you feeling uncomfortable.

Leaning against the desk, he looked at you straight on, expressing as much empathy as possible, “Understood. No more coffees.”

Your shoulders finally came down from around your ears and you sighed, nodding back in thanks.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” you replied before rising to walk towards his office door. He wanted to correct you. Remind you to call him Andy. However, he figured it was best not to push his luck. Watching you push the wrinkles from your skirt as you walked away, he called back to you, “I don’t want you worrying about this or what anyone may say, okay?”

Stopping to look over your shoulder, you reached to grab at your necklace, “I won’t.”

“Promise me?” He smirked as you continued to twiddle with the gold chain.

“I promise,” you answered as he nodded for you to leave.

With the click of his door closing, he looked down at his desk, saving your promise to his memory. He’ll use it later tonight.

Holding the slip of paper in his hands, your name neatly scrawled across it, he smiled to himself. A couple of people in the office decided to put together a Secret Santa exchange. Apparently, the Thanksgiving potluck was such a success when it came to team building, the higher ups agreed to the next holiday activity. Even had HR sign off on it.

Andy had been in court when the bag of names had been passed around. He didn’t give it much thought. Since your stop in his office a week ago, he had kept his distance. It wasn’t something that he wanted in the slightest. But he was willing to respect your genuine worry about office gossip. No more tumblers, no more early coffee runs. The research requests still happened but always through the weekly team huddle.

However, now seeing your name chosen for him, he had to smile to himself. Of course, it would be you that he would get. Of course, him trying to keep his distance would mean you finding a way back to him.

He sat down, leaning his chin in his hands, “Okay, sweet girl. I understand.”

The office had pretty much cleared out with most people starting their holiday vacations. The last few streamers from the small Christmas luncheon had been balled up and chucked in the bin, when Andy made his way out to the bull pin. You were waving off the last of the other paralegals as you collected your stuff to make your own way home.

“Hey sweetheart,” he saw you jump a little before turning to him.

You had worn a red Christmas sweater with a white bow handstitched along the collar. Your normal pencil skirt had been replaced by a pair of black slacks. And although not his favorite, the pants had done wonders for your ass. He had watched as you moved around the office putting up the last-minute decorations, only to take them down.

“Hi Andy.” You replied turning and looking up at him from your office chair. He caught the small smile that wanted to break free at your utterance of his name. That was good, you were comfortable around him again.

Clearing his throat, he brought the gift bag from behind his bag, presenting it to you, “Merry Christmas.”

“So, you were my Secret Santa,” you smirked looking at the packed gift bag he had hastily bought from the Walgreens down the street.

“It’s a three-part gift,” he answered, nodding towards it and urging you to open it.

Taking the stuffed tissue paper from the top you reached in pulling out a pink tumbler. You let out a small giggle, “For my coffee?”

He fully smiled this time, before shrugging his shoulders and pointing to the remaining items in the gift bag. Putting down the tumbler, you turned back to the bag, reaching the bottom of it, you pulled out a wooden paper weight. Carved into the center was the seal for Boston College Law School. Your brow creased as you tried to piece together the meaning of the gift. He watched as you finally looked back to him, your look pleading for an answer.

“That’s the second part. An old college buddy of mine is the registrar. I told him about a paralegal that had aced her LSATs, had helped on numerous high profile ADA cases, but hadn’t had the chance to enroll yet.” He looked on as the puzzle started to come together in your mind. Your brow creased further as tears started to line your eyelashes.

“They have grant funds set aside every year for students that display great potential. He took care of everything. You can enroll whenever you’re ready. There will be a space for you. That’s the third part.” He whispered the last of his explanation. The tears that had been threatening to fall now ran fully down your cheeks.

“Oh my God. Thank you.” You jumped from your chair, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

Initially taken by surprise, he hesitated momentarily before letting his body relax into your hold. His hands landing on your back as you sniffled into his dress shirt and whispered quiet thank you’s in his ear.  He threw up his own thanks at the office being empty. Something tells him that you may have restrained yourself more with an audience.

Starting to feel you pull away, he resisted the urge to cling to you. It had been a while since Andy had a genuine hug. He had been mostly regulated to side hugs with Laurie. Every once in a while, it would include a kiss to the cheek. And Jacob, well he was fully rooted in his teen years and any idolization that he might have had for his dad had been long gone. He would only get quick nods of recognition from over the top of the phone from his son. But now with you, he could feel the heat of your body, the small catches in your breath as you tried to regulate your outburst. This was something he couldn’t give up.

“I’m so sorry. That’s not very professional of me. It’s just…this means so much to me.”

Your tearful smile at him tempted him to bring you back into his embrace. To just hold you as all the happy tears flowed out of you.

You giggled again, shaking your head, “I have to tell my parents. I have to…”

He nodded at you, seeing all the possibilities run through your mind. He had opened doors for you. Had given you a better future. Had put that delighted smile on your face. He had done that. You quickly began to pack up your remaining things, yesterday’s brief stuffed in with your laptop. Turning to him again, you smiled again grabbing onto his forearm and squeezing.

“Merry Christmas sweetheart.”

“Merry Christmas Andy.”

“Can you believe it, Jake? I can enroll whenever I’m ready. There’s a space just waiting for me.” You talked animatedly to your best friend as you placed the carved paperweight on your bookcase. It would sit perfect with your old undergrad books and picture of Jake and you from your graduation.

“That’s amazing, Ace! So, he just called a friend and got this all sorted out?” Jake asked facetiming you from his room.

He had suspicions about your kind of boss since before meeting him Thanksgiving. You had mentioned how many late nights you had been spending at the office recently and how walking out at night gave you the heebie-jeebies. The protector within him woke up immediately at that, ready to offer to pick you up if he needed to. You would never ask him to do that yourself. That’s when you brought up Andy Barber and how he started walking you out.

It hadn’t taken Jake long to dig up information on the ADA. He had the white picket fence life, although there wasn’t too much about his past listed. That was the first red flag. Hacking into the courthouse’s camera feed had been relatively easy. These older government buildings never bothered upping their security.

Andy Barber always parked in one of the garage’s blind spots. That would be the second red flag. After you left, Andy wouldn’t be seen exiting until half an hour later. What could he possibly be doing in a parked car for thirty minutes? That was the final red flag.

“His friend is the registrar at the school. He was able to work it out. What?” Sitting down on your bed, you leaned back looking at Jake on your phone. He was making his slightly worried puppy dog face.

“It’s just that’s a lot to get coordinated so fast.”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Jake?” You asked only to see Jake’s face immediately deflate. The worried puppy dog look morphing to kicked puppy. His eyes widening behind his glasses.

“Of course, I’m happy for you Ace. It’s just that you’re too trusting sometimes.”

“I’m not a child,” you grumbled back, and Jake wanted to jump through the phone and ease your anger.

“You’re not. You’re a person with a good heart that wants to believe the best in people,” he saw the crease in your brow ease as he spoke, “And that’s why I gotta look out for you.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your small smile at Jake’s statement. From the first moment he had run into on his skateboard, knocking both of you over in the quad in college, he had looked out for you.

“When do you come back?”

“Why? Do you already miss me?” You watched Jake wiggle his eyebrows suggestively, causing a round of giggles to erupt from you. He pretended to be hurt by your outburst before continuing, “Probably not until the new year.”

You hummed, sitting back up, Jake and you sat in silence as he watched the disappointment take over your expression. He searched for a way to get you to smile again when he heard the knock at the door. Quickly looking back at the door, he breathed a sigh of relief seeing he had locked it.

“I gotta go, Ace.” He watched you nod a short okay, before finally getting up from your bed.

“I miss you.” “I miss you too, Jake.”

Andy sat down at the desk in his home office. Neck stretched back along the back of the chair, as he thought back on the last couple of hours since getting home. Walking in, he noticed all the lights were off, not even the Christmas tree in the den was lit. Disengaging the alarm, he made his way into the kitchen to see a sticky note stuck to the fridge. Laurie had to go back into the office to finalize the preparations for the end of the year gala, while Jacob spent the night at a friend’s. So much for family time.

Putting an order into the local Italian place, he went upstairs to change out of his work clothes. He contemplated jumping in the shower, until he heard the doorbell ring with his takeout. Turning on the tree in the den, he ate his pasta dish with only the twinkling Christmas lights on. What had his life become? What had his family become?

Dropping the to-go containers in the trash, he wandered back to his office. He thought about powering up his laptop and finishing the closing remarks for one of his cases, when he found the holiday favors that you had passed around the office this morning. Your red sweater on, you greeted everyone with such joy for the upcoming holiday. He couldn’t help but smile up at you, as you left the favor on his desk.

You were a sweetheart. His sweetheart. His sweet girl. He rubbed along his bottom lip as he remembered your reaction to his gift. The hug had surprised him. But fuck if he hadn’t loved every minute of it. He didn’t even mind the soft sniffling you made as your tears stained his tie. He had made those tears.

Opening his iPad, he logged into the recently downloaded program. Would you have already told everyone about what he had done for you? Would you have passed around the carved seal of your new school for everyone to admire? Would you have put it in a place of pride? He wasn’t sure, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

Finishing entering the credentials, he watched as his screen came to life and he saw your bedroom space. It was cheerful like you, with multiple pillows adorning your bed and bursts of color in the pictures you hung on your walls. He devoured the scene, greedily taking in everything he could see, when he heard the click of the bedroom door. The small camera was powerful and could zoom 10x but was stationary in the middle of the school seal.

He waited, hearing you hum a Christmas song along the with opening and closing of drawers off camera and the tossing of a bath towel on the bed. Finally making your way into view, he saw your silk two-piece set. The navy-blue pajama top with white piping along seams hugged your tits. Your free tits, there’s no way you were still wearing a bra with the way your nipples poked through. And the shorts that accompanied it, covered the curve of your ass, but he watched as they inched up as you started to turn down the bed.

He shifted in his seat as he set the iPad to lean against the monitor stand on his desk. Widening his legs and easing back into his chair, he adjusted himself. He hadn’t had a chance for his nightly ritual. But seeing you now, he was happy to see he would have new things to add to his memory. You always knew how to take care of him. His sweet girl.

After setting most of the pillows aside, you climbed into bed, reaching over for your earbuds and phone. He couldn’t tell what you were listening to but judging by the content smile on your face, it must be good. He watched as you closed your eyes, listening to whatever was piping through your earbuds. Reaching down, he rubbed himself through his pajama bottoms. Nothing too aggressive, just softest of touches. The kind he always imagined you would give him. Always delicate and soft at the start.

He sighed to himself as he watched you, “My sweet girl.”

Lost in the moment, he didn’t catch you shifting at first. However, looking back at the screen, he saw your hand move to your top. You let out a small sigh as your fingers started to flick at your nipple, rolling it between your fingers. He frantically sat up, engaging the zoom function to watch up close. Your nipples were amazing, and he knew given the chance he would lap at them, giving them little bites to see you squirm. Your eyes were closed, breathing harsher, as you played with your tits.

“Play with her tits, sweet girl. Show me how sensitive they are,” He whispered as he took full hold of himself. After hitting his fist on the underside of the desk, he pushed back from it to make room for his hand as he continued to slide up and down his shaft.  

He could hear the little sighs you were making as they started to get louder. He knew you would be vocal. You would tell him everything that made you feel good. Both your hands covered your tits while the buttons of your shirt lay open from where you had torn it open to get your hands in.

“Jesus, you’re going to be the death of me.” He squeezed around the tip before breaking contact with the screen to spit down onto himself. At feel of his warm saliva, that winking eye dribbled out onto self.

Hearing shifting, he looked back to find you grabbing one of the pillows you hadn’t bothered to put aside. Now, what were you doing now? He watched as you grabbed the forgotten towel still at the foot of your bed. Placing the pillow in the middle of the bed, you draped the towel over it before swinging a leg over and straddling the setup.

“Fuck me. Take what you need, sweet girl.” He grunted as you started to rock back and forth on the pillow.

Your hips started a natural rhythm, one hand still pawing at your tit while the other held you steady on your perch. As he looked on, the more he dribbled out on his hand, and he finally reached down pushing his pants and underwear off. His ass was momentarily cold on the leather of the seat, but he couldn’t be bothered to care as you kept humping your pillow.

“Daddy.”

Andy nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard your whisper. Your bottom lip now caught between your teeth as you whined.

“Daddy is here. Fuck, I’m right here.” He fisted himself, finally dropping to grab onto his balls and rolling them in his palm.

“Daddy, please.” You mewled out your whimper and he had to grab tight at his base to avoid blowing his load right then and there. You were close, but fuck him, if he missed it by losing it first.

“What do you need, sweet girl? What do you need from daddy?”

“Daddy, I can’t.”

How could you answer him? You had to know. His sweet girl was so smart, she could figure anything out. You had to know he was here. That he could see you. That he was watching you. You were doing this for him.

“Yes, you can. Daddy says you can. I’ll even count down. Five.”

You stuttered slightly before picking up your pace again.

“Four.”

He tightened his grip, corkscrewing his hand on each trip up.

“Three.”

Your breathing was getting harsher as you brought down your other hand, using both to steady you as your hips rolled.

“Two.”

He was almost there. His balls had already started to pull up as he planted his feet to thrust into his fist.

“One. Come on, my sweet girl. Come for daddy.”

He nearly lost it, as you threw your head back, mouth gaping in a silent cry, and the rest of your body spasming. Fucking his hand, he watched as a gush of liquid flew out of you, wetting the towel beneath.

“Oh fuck. Such a good girl. Such a good, fucking sweet girl.”

Standing up, he aimed for the screen as he lost it on the image of his sweet girl squirting for him. He twitched and continued to rub out every ounce he had for her. For once, he didn’t think about it going to waste. It hadn’t, not with what you had given him tonight.

Bracing against the edge of the desk, he flopped back into his chair, as you rolled off your pillow completely drained.

“Thank you, daddy.” You gave one final whisper before peeling off your pajama shorts and grabbing the covers to go to sleep.

“You’re more than welcome, sweet girl. Rest now.”

Andy watched you snuggle into bed, returning to the woman he knew from the office. No longer the horned up, little one that just needed her daddy to take care of her. Taking a tissue from the console behind him, he wiped himself down before wiping the screen and desk. Pulling his boxers and pajama pants back up, he started to log out of the camera’s app, when a dialog box popped up, asking to save or delete recording.

He hesitated only for a moment, before clicking save.

Maybe these work holiday functions weren’t the worst thing in the world.

@sarahdonald87

@buckybarnesisdaddy

@theinheriteddutchess

@welp-heregoessomething

[leasthaunted]

Episode 135: Attack of The Saucers!

It's Least Haunted UFO Month! And to kick it off we're going all the way back to the beginning. Get ready to meet Kenneth Arnold. A 1940's flying fire extinguisher flogger who's strange encounter in the skies over the state of Washington would change science fiction, pop culture, and launch a thousand conspiracy theories. The truth is out there, and it's tamer than you thought.

As always, please come join the episode discussion on the Least Haunted Discord!

Enjoy the images and videos below!

Kenneth Arnold from Boise, Idaho. A fire extinguisher salesmen who uses a CallAir A-2 plane to fly around the Pacific Northwest to make his sales.

A CallAir A-2 single engine plane. Has a range of approximately 330 miles, and a top speed of 112 mph. Only 218 were ever built.

On June 24th 1947, Kenneth Arnold was flying from Tacoma to Yakima in the state of Washington (the orange line). On the way he decided to fly around Mt. Rainier (circled in yellow) to look for a missing U.S. Marines aircraft that had vanished somewhere to the south west of the mountain in December 1946

Mt. Rainier, elevation 14,410 ft (4,390 m), prominence 13,210 ft (4,030 m). Topographically the most prominent peak in the contiguous United States, and highest peak in The Cascade Range.

At approximately 3:00 PM Arnold saw nine objects flying in an echelon pattern moving from north to south. He observed two different object designs. The lead was crescent shaped. Here is an older Arnold with an artists rendering of what the lead object looked like based on his description.

The other eight "air craft" looked circular, and he would describe them somewhat differently each time he told the story. Here is a signed affidavit with his own sketch that was part of the Army investigation into the incident.

When first reporting his story, Kenneth Arnold described the way in which the craft flew as being Like how a saucer skips across water... Unfortunately this poor choice of metaphor would get misconstrued and misreported as "Saucer-like" or "Saucer-Shaped", and then FLYING SAUCERS.

Within days "Flying Saucer" mania had swept the nation.

According to Kenneth Arnold, he calculated the speed of the objects to be somewhere around 1700 mph! Which in June of 1947 was impossible. The speed of sound is 700 mph, and that barrier wouldn't be broken until September 1947. The only plane that could come close to the sound barrier that was in regular military use was the Lockheed P-80 "Shooting Star", which had a top speed of 594 mph or Mach 0.76. Coincidentally a squadron of about 24 P-80's were running exercises in the greater Seattle area that day… Just saying.

Could Arnold have seen an experimental aircraft like the Vought V-173 "Flying Pancake"?

Unlikely. Since there was only ever a few built (not the eight that Arnold had seen), and any experimental aircraft that he might have seen in Washington State would have most likely been manufactured by Boeing (headquartered in Washington) and not by Vought (Based out of Connecticut at the time). Also, the twin propeller craft definitely could not move anywhere near the speed estimated by Arnold. Could these have been aircraft from the private sector? Was there a 1940's Tony Stark out there? One possible culprit was Jonathan Edward Caldwell. A Canadian-American aeronautics engineer and inventor. One of his ideas was for a rotating barrel of wings as a means of propulsion and lift...

Spoilers... This totally can work!

Caldwell was rumored to have invented a flying saucer shaped craft. The FBI followed up on this and did find an abandoned prototype in a tobacco shed in Maryland. However this craft was definitely not what Arnold saw, and was very rudimentary.

Could he have seen Lenticular clouds? Lenticular clouds are disk shaped, form in inversion layers in the air (particularly over mountains. This picture is of lenticular clouds over Mt. Rainier), and they can form and dissipate quickly. When viewed from above at particular angles, they can appear shiny or wet. This is because Lenticular clouds form in inversion layers, which is the same thing that causes water mirages on a hot highway. The official explanation after a thorough government investigation is that Kenneth Arnold saw lenticular clouds and mirages.

Although we may never definitively know what it was exactly that Kenneth Arnold saw (it was not aliens!), one thing was for certain, his days of schlepping fire extinguishers was over! He would embrace his place in the UFO hall of fame, and start making money off of his story.

And as it so happened, others would also take inspiration from him to make money. Lots of money. But for that we need to turn to Garth's Corner...

The Flying Saucer (1950)

The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951)

War of the Worlds (1953)

This Island Earth (1955)

Forbidden Planet (1956)

Earth vs. The Flying Saucers (1956)

Invasion of the Saucer Men (1957)

Plan 9 from Outer Space (1957)

Battle in Outer Space (1959)

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

We need to pay close attention to the case of Kseniia Petrova. She’s a Russian-born researcher who was detained by Customs and Border Protection back in February when traveling back from a conference in France. Like others caught up in the “immigration crackdown” by the Trump administration, Petrova has been held in ICE detention ever since. In her case, a custom agent alleged she had failed to declare frog embryo samples that she’d picked up from a colleague to bring back to the U.S. For this, the government canceled Petrova’s visa and threatened to deport her. But her case is about far more than frog embryos. For starters, her home country is Russia, where she was outspoken against the war in Ukraine and was part of the exodus of Russians opposed to Putin’s invasion. She now faces persecution or worse for her anti-war activism should she be sent home, even while the Trump administration bends over backwards for Putin and the Kremlin. She’s also a researcher and valued member of the Harvard medical sciences community, which has been the constant target of the Trump White House. Being deliberately cruel to Petrova means Trump gets to traumatize Harvard in yet another way. Petrova has been languishing in a detention facility in Louisiana, but things had begun to move her way. This week, Judge Christina Reiss, a federal judge in Vermont hearing Petrova’s habeas petition, questioned government lawyers over whether Customs and Border Protection actually had the authority to cancel Petrova’s visa. Judge Reiss had set a bail hearing for next Friday, and many viewed it as a hopeful signal that she was set to release Petrova from custody.

[...]

The government charges Petrova criminally

Apparently out of sheer spite, and faced with the prospect of losing another case where they had egregiously overreached and overreacted, the government charged Petrova with felony smuggling. That’s a charge that carries up to 20 years in prison. Felony smuggling laws are intended to deter profiteers from deliberately carrying in endangered species, not to punish researchers who fail to declare frog embryo samples. Normally when you fail to declare something that should have been itemized at customs, you could face a fine. It’s considered a minor infraction. And in this case, it isn’t even clear that frog embryos count. According to Petrova’s lawyer, customs experts conveyed that that she “did not need a permit to bring in her non-living scientific samples that are not considered biological material under U.S. Customs law.” The criminal complaint itself is a just single page attaching an affidavit from a Homeland Security agent. In that affidavit, the agent makes much of the fact that, after checking her text messages on her phone (!!), he learned that Petrova apparently had been told by a colleague that she should declare the samples. But she had joked about not having a plan to carry them in, saying, “I won’t be able to swallow them.”

[...]

Filing criminal charges now? Really?!

When someone is taken into custody by immigration officials, it is customary to charge them first with any crimes they have committed. This makes sense because criminal charges, which are far more serious, should always take priority over any immigration violations, which are normally just civil violations. Once the individual has been prosecuted, explained Ingrid Eagly, co-director of the Criminal Justice Program at the UCLA School of Law, to the New York Times, the authorities can begin the process of removing them from the country. In Petrova’s case, “they put her in removal proceedings, and now are saying it is a criminal case.” Dr. Eagly explained that this was a “ratcheting up of the charges,” an atypical move that “seems retaliatory, designed for a particular end.” [...]

Playing dangerous politics, holding political prisoners

Petrova’s case has been prominent in the headlines. She has received support from all across the country and the world. A feature on her plight was published in the New York Times. Her work as a scientist studying images for cancer diagnostics has been widely lauded, while her detention has been condemned as a pointless harm, not just to her but for medical science and the world. [...] This is of course the same position the government has taken with Kilmar Abrego García and all the other political prisoners in El Salvador’s CECOT facility. I say “political prisoners” because that is precisely what they’ve now become. Petrova, Abrego García, and others are being held for purely political reasons, by or at the request of the U.S. government. It’s not because they’ve committed any actual crimes or are in any way deserving of the treatment they are receiving. Rather, it’s because the administration wants to telegraph strength and cruelty, just like any other fascist regime. It’s also why the White House is so desperate to cast them as “criminals” and stretch the laws and the truth, even to absurd degrees, to fit its narrative. That makes this fight not just about achieving justice for those wrongly arrested and held, but also about rejecting the raw politicization of their cases and of our immigration and criminal justice systems. Indeed, fighting for justice for Petrova and others now means no less than fighting for the rule of law, democracy and the very soul of our nation, now put at serious risk by the tyranny of the Trump regime.

Russian-born researcher, Kseniia Petrova, is yet another political prisoner locked up in ICE detention over failure to declare frog embryo samples to customs. This doesn’t merit a stay in ICE internment camp at all.

Petrova escaped Russia due to her outspoken opposition to Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Jamie Reed: My name is Jamie Reed.

Heather Mullins: And what organization were you with today?

Reed: I am the co-executive director of the LGB Courage Coalition and I'm also a whistleblower from a pediatric transgender center in St. Louis, Missouri.

Mullins: Okay, so tell us about that. What is your story of coming forward when you blew the whistle?

Reed: Yeah, so I worked in a pediatric gender center for almost five years, starting in 2018 and in 2023, I went to my state's attorney general. I filed a formal affidavit and came forward as one of the first whistleblowers here in the U.S. There were also a huge number of whistleblowers that were coming forward in England earlier than I. When I came forward, I published a story in the Free Press and within about six months time most of the gender centers in the state of Missouri were completely closed based on a legislative bill to ban these practices.

Mullins: And so you were testifying today in there about some data that came from hospitals here in the state of New Hampshire. Can you talk a little bit about that?

Reed: Yes. So, there's an amazing organization called Do No Harm. They have put together a national database for a state-by-state look at the pediatric gender industry here in the U.S. They purchased and they analyzed a very large data set of insurance data and they found and were able to identify individual hospitals in each state - that included New Hampshire - for billing procedures for puberty blockers, cross-sex hormones, and surgeries.

There were video testimonies of the two doctors that I worked with. They said that nobody in our center had anything to do with surgery. And yet, after I blew the whistle and an investigation was done into Wash U and Children's Hospital, they did finally end up admitting, after pressure from the state attorney general, that yes, pediatric surgeries, top surgeries, had been performed.

So I'm not surprised by that.

Mullins: What were the repercussions once they found out that they had been lying? Was anybody held accountable for that?

Reed: No. Part of this is that there's going to be a whole lot of people who claim, "I was just doing what I was told." These clinicians want to continue to do this as long as they can even if it means committing fraud.

Mullins: And then just lastly, what are the big things that you want people to know about this quote-unquote "gender affirming care" that the legacy media is not telling?

Reed: I think the two biggest takeaways is that this is not a partisan issue. So, most of us are lifelong Democrats and a huge number of us are gays and lesbians and we are absolutely opposed to pediatric gender transition. We look at the evidence and we want evidence-based care for young people who are distressed about their sexed bodies.

Mullins: Thank you so much, and where can people go to find you?

Reed: I'm actually on Twitter at JamieWhistle.

==

Whenever they say they're not doing surgeries, they're doing surgeries. Which is strange considering they insist gender affirming harm is "life saving," so why are they skittish rather than proud of all the sex-anxious kids they've put under the knife?

[trishxtrix]

The Bench Across the Street

AO3

Part 1 | Previous | Part 9 | Next

Summary: What if Abby is hurting and forcing Frank to take benzos to “control” his ADHD?

What if few hours after the argument, Frank is brought to the ED on a brink of an overdose and some unexplainable injuries.

TW: Abuse, Overdose, Suicide Attempt

Tags: Dark!Abby | Frank whump | Frank-centric | Miscommunication | Abusive!Abby | abusive relationships | threats of violence | implied/reference child endangerment | is this considered AU? | spousal abuse | men can be victims of abuse too

——————————————————————————————————

Frank

I couldn’t hear them anymore. Not really. Just voices blurring in and out—like I was underwater and everyone else was standing above the surface, talking through glass.

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My breath felt like it was caught halfway up my throat. No matter how deep I tried to inhale, it wouldn’t stick. Wouldn’t settle. I couldn’t look at Cynthia or Reeva or Morales without my vision pinholing, like I was falling into some small, cold tunnel I couldn’t get out of.

And Mia wasn’t there. That was the worst part. I didn’t realize how much space she took up—not just in the room, but in the air. In my spine. Like she carried a part of my balance with her, and when she left, the axis tilted.

She hadn’t said how long she’d be. 

And I didn’t ask. 

I couldn’t.

Everytime someone spoke my name, I flinched. Couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form words, My body was still in the room, but I wasn’t

I was on that bench again.

Across the street. Watching the hospital doors. Waiting for the world to forget me. And I couldn’t tell them that. Couldn’t explain how loud it had gotten in my head again. Couldn’t say that the only thing I’d wanted—more than oxygen, more than escape—was her voice. That steady, familiar cadence. Something to cut through the noise.

Then—

The lock turned.

The front door opened.

I didn’t look up.

I didn’t have to.

Her footsteps were brisk, sharp, not rushed. Measured. Purposeful.

Mia.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just walked across the room and then she was kneeling beside me. “Frank,” she said softly.

I blinked.

“I’m here,” she added, steady and certain. “I’m back.” She didn’t reach to pull me out of it. She didn’t try to fix it with her hands. She just offered her presence like a rope laid on the floor between us—no pressure, just choice.

Her hand was open. There if I needed it.

And I did.

I slid mine into hers—fingers cool, her grip anchoring, not too tight. Just enough. 

It felt like something clicked back into place. Not everything. Not healing. But human again. “I couldn’t breathe,” I said, the words brittle. “I couldn’t think.”

“You don’t have to explain it,” she said. Her hands stayed wrapped around mine, still and solid, like it had all the time in the world. Behind her, the room shifted. Reeva eased back in her chair. Morales stepped further away. Cynthia looked down, like she was letting the moment stretch as long as it needed to. 

Mia turned to me again. Her voice was quiet, just for me.

“Do you want to stop here for today?”

I shook my head slowly “No.”

Her eyes searched mine. “Are you sure?”

“I need to keep going,” I said. “Even if it hurts.”

She nodded “All right,” she said gently. “Then we keep going.”

~~~~~~~

The worst part wasn’t saying it.

It was the silence after.

The way no one moved right away. How everyone waited, respectfully, as if the weight of what I’d said still hadn’t settled into the floor. 

Reeva closed her file with a soft, purposeful click. Cynthia’s tablet dimmed. Morales gave me a nod—silent, but solid. 

I sat back on the couch, still holding Mia’s hand. She hadn’t moved either. 

It was like the air shifted. No longer fragile—just heavy with the next steps.

Cynthia broke the quiet. 

“We have enough for our internal documentation,” she started gently, “but we’re going to need to finish the full affidavit, your medical consent forms, the DV disclosure packet, and the third-party impact statement, and an optional DV escalation log.”

I nodded like I understood all of that.

I didn’t.

Reeva set a manila folder on the coffee table “I’ve drafted preliminary language based on what Mia discussed with me. You can edit as needed. Nothing gets submitted until you say so.”

I stared at the folder. 

“Do I need to sign anything now?”

“Only what you’re ready for,” she said, “we’re still in pre-escalation.”

Pre-escalation. 

As if this wasn’t the most escalated version of my life I’d ever lived.

“What happens once it’s filed?”

“Public record begins,” Morales answered, pulling out a small black notebook from her inner coat pocket. “Once we file anything official, it goes on record. Custody, injunctions, DV reports. A paper trail.”

“And Abby?” I asked

“She’ll know,” Cynthua said. “Eventually. That’s not the issue. The issue is whether the case can hold under the scrutiny if she pushes back hard.”

“She will,” I said. “She already has the stage set.”

That’s when Reeva leaned forward, her voice calm but decisive,

“Frank, I need to be honest with you. There is a structural gap in the evidence.”

“What kind of gap?”

Reeva glanced at Cynthia, who answered. “You’ve never sought formal medical care after the incidents of physical abuse. No hospital records. No documentation. No third-party witness. Nothing admissible that proves she’s harmed you outside of your word.”

I froze. 

“But Mia…she’s seen—”

Mia spoke before I could finish “I have logs. I documented bruising. Photos. Timestamp. When he came to my apartment after the worst of it. I kept notes.”

“That helps,” Reeva said, measured, “but you’re his friend. His emergency contact. You’re not neutral in the eyes of the court.”

“And even if I was,” Mia added softly, “what I have won’t be enough unless Abby slips while people are watching.”

“She won’t,” I whispered, “she’s too careful.”

“That’s why we need proximity,” Cynthia said. “Supervised. Protected, but close enough that if she starts again, it’ll be caught. Real-time evidence. Something we can act on faster.”

Morales nodded. “With consent, I can authorize a passive welfare check protocol. Cameras outside the property. Time text confirmations. If anything goes sideways, we’re on it.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“You want me to go back,” I said. 

Everyone went still again. 

Except Cynthia. 

“You’re not staying,” she said, “but you need to go back.”

The silence that followed was different. Sharper.

Mia leaned back with an unreadable expression but the acceptance rolled off of her in waves. Her hand squeezed mine for a short second before saying “Explain.” 

Cynthia nodded. “The strength of the case hinges not just on past documentation—but on current, observable conditions. Abby will deny everything. She’ll reframe. Reposition. She’ll say the pills were yours—and have the documentation for it. The emotional instability was yours. The threats? A Miscommunication.”

“And without recent and admissible proof,” Reeva added, “without proximity? She’ll claim you ran out. That you abandoned your kids. That you are unstable and uncooperative. It won’t stop the case, but it could slow it down. A lot.”

Morales’ voice was low, almost apologetic. “We need something recent. Tangible. Concrete context. If you go back and she repeats the behavior—or even attempts to manipulate the narrative—we can act faster, file deeper, and escalate with the weight of law behind us.”

“You want me to walk back into the house of the woman who—” I stopped. Swallowed. “Who told me she’d hurt my kids if I didn’t comply.”

“You’d never be alone,” Cynthia assured. “You’d never be unprotected.”

“But I’d be…in it.”

“In position,” Reeva clarified. “To let the system see her for what she is. And to give your children something stronger than rumor or character witness.”

I looked at Mia. 

She hadn’t said anything. She just sat there, still and unreadable. Her free hand resting on her lap in a loose fist, and the other in my hand. Grounding.

“Are you okay with this?” I asked, voice low.

It came out smaller than I meant it to. Not asking for permission. Just wanting to know if she could live with it if I said yes.

She looked at me then. Really looked.

Her eyes were tired. Not from the day. From all of it.

“No,” she said. Honest. Immediate. “I’m not okay with it.”

She took a slow breath, and when she spoke again, her voice wasn’t shaking—it was steady and stripped bare. 

“But I want you free, Frank. I want you so far out of this that she never gets to say your name like it belongs to her.”

She paused, her gaze holding mine.

“And if the only way to get you there means you have to go back for awhile…I’ll do everything I can to make sure you survive it.”

The silence after that wasn’t empty.

It was full of all the things she didn’t say—like how many nights I’d shown up at her door with bruises and silences, how she’d watched me unravel without ever pushing too hard, how she’s stitched me together more times than the hospital ever had.

I exhale. Sharp. Shaky. 

“I’ll think about it.” 

“You’ll have time,” Cynthia said. “But not too much. The longer the paper trail stays empty, the harder it gets to close the distance between what she’s done and what we can prove.”

I nodded and in my chest, the fear twisted again—this time not at what Abby might do.

But what I might have to do to survive one more time. 

Just to be believed.

[beardedmrbean]

The man accused of the fiery assault on pro-Jewish protesters in Boulder, Colorado, did not complete his attack plan “because he got scared and had never hurt anyone before,” police wrote in an affidavit.

Boulder Detective John Sailer wote that the suspect, Mohamed Sabry Soliman arrived at the scene Sunday with 18 Molotov cocktails but threw just two while yelling “Free Palestine.”

Soliman, 45, told authorities he took a class and learned to shoot a gun while planning the attack, the affidavit says. He later found out he could not purchase one because he was not a U.S. citizen. He then taught himself how to make Molotov cocktails from YouTube videos, the affidavit says.

He told authorities no one else knew of is plan but that he did leave a journal with his family.

Soliman, a native of Egypt who lives in Colorado Springs, is accused of attacking a weekly "Run for Their Lives" demonstration on Sunday. Twelve people ages 52 to 88 suffered burns ranging from serious to minor, police said.

A federal affidavit charging Soliman with a hate crime and attempted murder says he targeted the “Zionist group." Soliman said he learned about the demonstration from an online search and wanted to keep Zionists from taking over "our land" of Palestine, according to the affidavit. It says Soliman, the father of five, told investigators he planned the attack for a year and waited for a daughter to graduate from high school before executing it.

12 burned in Boulder attack: Suspect charged with federal hate crime

Soliman's daughter won local scholarship

Investigators say Soliman told them he waited until his daughter graduated to mount his attack. That daughter appears to be Habiba Soliman, who was profiled in an April story published in the Colorado Springs Gazette as one of its "Best and Brightest" senior class scholarship winners.

Habiba told the paper she arrived in the United States as a high school sophomore speaking little English. She attended Thomas Maclaren School, a K-12 charter school, where she not only worked on her English but signed up to learn German as her foreign language requirement. She also started an Arabic club.

Habiba was born in Egypt but lived in Kuwait for 14 years. Because she was not Kuwaiti, attending medical school there was not an option, she said. The move to the United States provided a chance to fulfill her dream, she said.

“Coming to the USA has fundamentally changed me,” she said. “I learned to adapt to new things even if it was hard. I learned to work under pressure and improve rapidly in a very short amount of time. Most importantly, I came to appreciate that family is the unchanging support.”

Soliman's path from Egypt to Boulder

Soliman is a native Egyptian who entered the United States in late 2022 on a tourist visa. He later requested asylum and remained in the country after his visa expired in February 2023. He, his wife and their five children lived in Colorado Springs, about 100 miles south of Boulder. Soliman worked as an Uber driver, the company confirmed.

His daughter, Habiba, graduated from high school with honors on May 29. Her dad drove to Boulder to attack the protest three days later, according to investigators

Unable to purchase a gun, Soliman told investigators he turned to gasoline, glass bottles and a backpack sprayer often used by landscapers to dispense pesticide or fertilizer. Soliman told investigators he stopped several times, on his drive from Colorado Springs, to buy the bottles for the Molotov cocktails, the 87-octane gas to fill them and to Home Depot to buy flowers as camouflage to make it easier to "get as close as possible to the group."

− Trevor Hughes

Trump administration pledges crackdown

Todd Lyons, acting director of U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement, said the immigration story of Soliman is far from unique.

"There are millions of individuals like this that we are attempting to locate from the past administration that weren't properly screened that were allowed in," Lyons said.

President Donald Trump, in a social media post Monday, called Sunday's attack "yet another example of why we must keep our Borders SECURE, and deport Illegal, Anti-American Radicals from our Homeland."

Secretary of State Marco Rubio, echoed Trump in his own post, warning that "in light of yesterday’s horrific attack, all terrorists, their family members, and terrorist sympathizers here on a visa should know that under the Trump administration we will find you, revoke your visa, and deport you."

Boulder suspect's next court date is Thursday

Soliman appeared in court on Monday and was ordered held on $10 million bond. He is due back in court on Thursday. The suspect faces a maximum sentence of life in prison if found guilty on the federal hate crime charge because he was also charged with attempted-murder in state court.

Soliman also faces state charges including 16 counts of attempted murder and 18 counts of possesion of incendiary devices and related offenses. The attempted-murder counts alone are punishable by up to 384 years in prison, Boulder County District Attorney Michael Dougherty said.

More federal and/or state charges could be added later, authorities said.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

EAST COAST SEA SERPENT

On August 14, 1817, in Gloucester Harbor, Massachusetts, an eighty-foot sea serpent charged toward the ship where Matthew Gaffney, the ship's carpenter, stood firing his gun at it. According to Gaffney's sworn affidavit, the beast first appeared late afternoon. Its dark-colored head had a white underside and was the size of a four-gallon drum. When fired upon, the creature sank from sight, reappearing one hundred yards away and traveling half a mile per minute. A judge, a physician, and a naturalist collected testimonials from eyewitnesses as daily sightings continued for the next two weeks. Another man described the "strange marine animal" as having a head the size of a horse's with the features of a rattlesnake. It moved in either circles or a straight line.

On August 14, 1819, the creature was again spotted. Its snakelike head at the end of a long neck emerged from the water, and several humps were seen along its back. Two hundred citizens had gathered to observe the sea serpent, but all of them panicked and scattered when it headed toward shore. Sightings continued throughout the summer.

The earliest documented accounts of the black, snakelike serpent come from 1639 when colonists reported seeing it coiled up upon a rock at Cape Ann. In 1779 the crew of the American gunship Protector noticed it lying motionless on the water in sight of their vessel. A crew manned a large boat to get close to the serpent, but as they neared the creature, it raised its head ten feet into the air and then slowly swam off, speeding up when they began to shoot at it. In 1780, frigate captain George Little surprised the beast at sunrise and took off after it in an armed cutter. When he ordered his men to fire on it, the beast disappeared beneath the waves.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009