#I will partly blame severance because I a) had to wait for it to be released from 2019 to 2022 and b) waited again from 2022 to 2025

[alicepao13]

*stares at self in the mirror* You couldn't obsess over Severance like we'd planned instead?

[drabblesandsnippets]

The Bet

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “Louder, let everyone hear you.” | [Screaming/Noisy Sex | Gangbang | Exhibiotionism] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (7k) Bucky’s girlfriend thinks she can stay quiet during sex - Bucky’s more than happy to prove her wrong.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Fluff. Established relationship. Praise. Brief mention of insecurities. Dirty talk. Domination. Oral (f receiving). Fingering. Squirting. (Unprotected) PiV.

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“Wait,” Bucky says, reaching for the remote yet again. “Why does she even care? I thought she hated him.”

Bucky and his girlfriend are cuddling on their king-sized bed, enjoying another quiet night at home - something their friends like to tease them about, but they’ll never change. Home is where all their favorite things are. 

The moment Bucky pauses the show - for what feels like the hundredth time since they started the episode - she buries her face against his chest, her groan slightly muffled by his shirt.

Bucky’s laughter gently shakes her body as he asks, “What? I’m trying to understand!”

She picks her head up to glare at him, only slightly frustrated, a smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. “You’d understand if we started from the beginning instead!”

She’s been trying to get him to watch her favorite show for months now, and when he randomly suggested they watch the latest episode tonight, she wasn’t going to argue.

She’s regretting that now.

For someone as intelligent as Bucky, he’s oblivious to the inner workings of TV drama.

Bucky blinks slowly at her response, his eyes wide like she just said they should’ve gone to Sam’s impromptu karaoke party. And then he lets out an incredulous laugh, quick to point out, “There are ten seasons of this show! By the time we get caught up, there will be at least five more.” 

Her mouth opens in surprise, and she pushes herself up, one hand on his stomach, her other hand moving to her chest like he’s just wounded her.

“First of all, there are six seasons.” Bucky playfully groans in response, the pout on her face telling him exactly where she’s going with this. “And even if there were ten seasons, you wouldn’t want to watch them with me?”

“Okay.” Bucky’s laughter reaches his eyes as he tosses the remote to the side - it’s clear he’s not going to be pressing play anytime soon.

He looks adoringly at his girlfriend as he sits up with her, his gaze never wavering. “Doll. Sweetheart. Love of my life. I’d enjoy watching paint dry with you.” 

Her smile almost breaks through, but she holds back, patiently waiting for him to continue. He’s either about to make too much sense, or he’s about to dig the hole deeper. 

After a soft, dramatic sigh, he gently tells her, ��But, we haven’t even gotten through this episode, and it’s already been over an hour.”

The moment he says it, he has to hold back his laughter, her response exactly what he’s expecting.

Her mouth drops open again, and she laughs at the ridiculous notion that she’s to blame for their time-management issues.

With a quick shake of her head, and resisting the urge to poke him, she quickly points out, “You keep pausing to ask questions!” 

The moment the words are out of her mouth, Bucky seems almost too eager to remind her of several moments that had nothing to do with him. Sure, he’s partly to blame, but most of the interruptions had nothing to do with him.

Like during the first five minutes when she kept getting up because she forgot something. Or when she had to search a familiar looking actor.

“Or,” Bucky continues, his tone gentle, even though he’s clearly enjoying himself. “When you swore you’d heard that one song before-.” 

She cuts Bucky off before he can finish the last thought, shoving one of the pillows in his face, his hands quickly deflecting it.

“I get it!” she says, laughing with him as he pulls the pillow away from her before she can attempt to hit him with it again.

His slightly raised eyebrow tells her he’s waiting to see if she’s going to try to defend herself.

“Fine,” she relents, giving him another exaggerated pout that makes him grin. “I guess no marathons for us then.”

She glances at the TV where the episode is still paused before turning her attention back to Bucky, her own grin growing. “At least,” she starts, her eyebrow raising suggestively. “No marathons of the TV variety.”

Bucky laughs, a surge of arousal rushing over him at the mere suggestion, but has to shake his head, the disappointment clear on his face.

With a pointed look, he reminds her, “Sam’s down the hall.”

Sam materialized on their doorstep a couple of days ago to stake claim to their guestroom once again, this time while in the city for a friend’s birthday. 

There hadn’t been any objections at the time - and there aren’t any now, as far as Bucky’s concerned.

He really doesn’t care if Sam hears them having sex. It’s not like Bucky’s never overheard him before. But Bucky knows his girlfriend. If she thinks Sam might have heard her, it’ll take her weeks before she’ll be able to be in the same room as him without turning red. 

She’s not thinking about any of that, though.

It’s been a few days since there’s even been an opportunity for them to get lost in each other, and she doesn’t want to waste this one.

With a smile and a slight shrug, she simply says, “So? I can be quiet.” 

Bucky’s bark of laughter rings out, and she narrows her eyes at him. Before she can even think about it, he quickly grabs the pillow still sitting between them so she can’t throw it at him and instead flings it to the side, making her laugh. 

“What?” she asks, still feeling confident in her words. “I can be!”

“No,” Bucky says, trying to hold back his laughter as he shakes his head at her. The simple refusal of her statement makes her lips part in a surprised exhale, but before she can make an argument, he adds, “You are entirely incapable of being quiet, doll.”

He can’t help but lean just a bit closer to whisper, “Especially with me.” 

That feels like a challenge to her. And even though she knows Bucky is probably right, she can’t just give in. She’s just as stubborn as he is, and she knows exactly how to play this.

With a quick flick of her tongue to wet her lips, she leans towards him, their mouths almost close enough to touch, and asks, “Wanna bet?”

Her question has the desired effect, causing Bucky’s stomach to flutter with a rush of excitement. She’s a strong, confident, capable woman, and there’s almost nothing she can’t do, especially once she puts her mind to it.

But, there’s not a doubt in his mind that he’ll have her screaming by the end of the night.

Bucky’s hand reaches out to brush a few strands of hair away from her face, his eyes glancing at her mouth as he starts to close the short distance.

Her hope to feel his lips on hers fades quickly, though, Bucky pausing to grin at her, needing to set the terms of their deal first. 

“When you lose, we’re finally getting that swing.” 

For the briefest of moments, she hesitates. The idea of a sex swing excites her, and it’s something they’ve been discussing for months - even going so far as to choose their favorite - but the intimidating feeling of being on display like that has never faded.

Bucky’s only ever made her feel beautiful, and sexy, and desirable, but that doesn’t mean he can completely erase decades' worth of insecurities. 

Bucky doesn’t rush her, not with something like this. He’ll give her all the time in the world to decide if this is a bet she’s willing to take. And if she decides she’s not ready, then he’ll accept that without hesitation, no matter how much he wants her to say yes. 

The anticipation is short lived though, because a smile spreads across her face and before she even says, “deal” he’s already hard, imagining how incredible she’ll look suspended and tied up for him, completely at his mercy.

There are so many possibilities, and the sooner he wins, the sooner he gets to make them all a reality.

Her lashes flutter when Bucky’s hand moves along her scalp, his fingers sliding through her hair to softly grip the strands. She allows him tilt her head back, putting her in the perfect position for him to finally kiss her, and she tries to remain patient. 

It doesn’t matter, though, because after just a soft brush of his lips against hers, he’s pulling away again, the grin on his face causing her to let out a frustrated sigh.

As much as Bucky wants to just jump right into this with her, the faint taste of her on his lips making his cock twitch, he’s taking this bet seriously. 

He meets her gaze, holding her head steady, and says, “We gotta set some ground rules first.”

She breathes heavily but doesn’t move, waiting for him to continue, wanting this just as much as he does.

“No covering your mouth,” he tells her, increasing the hold of her hair, making her gasp softly.

Bucky doesn’t miss the way her thighs tense with arousal, and he groans softly, pulling her closer so his lips brush across the corner of her mouth. “That includes no biting me.” 

She lets out a soft exhale of a laugh, but doesn’t object, no matter how much she enjoys sinking her teeth into him when he’s fucking her hard.

And considering this bet and what’s at stake here, there are no plans to go slow tonight. 

With a slight nod of her head, his fingers limiting her movement, she agrees, but she’s unable to stop herself from still being a bit of a brat. “Is that all?”

Bucky pulls back, narrowing his eyes at her, his breathing slowing down as he fights the urge to smile. He loves when she pushes back - it’s her way of telling him not to go easy on her. 

“No,” he answers her, his vibranium hand suddenly coming up to wrap around her throat.

The brief flash of surprise that crosses her face is quickly replaced by a look of pure desire, her trust in him radiating off of her. It encourages him to keep going, his need for her reaching new heights.

“You’re also not allowed to tell me to stop just because you can’t be quiet.”

Her body tingles with pleasure, just like it always does when he takes charge, and she has to bite back a moan as the ache between her thighs intensifies.

She’s playing with fire, but all it does is excite her, even as she briefly wonders if she has an ounce of a chance of winning this bet. 

The moment he asks if she agrees to the terms, she answers without hesitation, telling him, “Yes.”

With a cheeky grin, she adds, “And I look forward to winning.”

That’s all Bucky needs to hear and he pulls her against him, crashing his mouth against hers, his tongue immediately demanding entrance.

With his hand around her throat and his fingers gripping her hair, he keeps her in place so he can kiss her, leaving her breathless and desperate for more.

As much as Bucky enjoys taking his time with her, he’s on a mission tonight.

There’s a primal urge to claim her, to prove how quickly he can make her lose control. And there’s no doubt that he’s going to win this bet.

Within just a couple minutes, Bucky has her naked and writhing underneath him, her head resting on a pillow.

His lips follow a slow trail from her neck to her breasts, taking a moment to focus on her sensitive nipples, giving them both the attention they deserve, his ears trained on the soft noises of pleasure already leaving her. 

Her hands never leave his body, needing something to hold onto to keep her focus, her fingers gently tugging at his hair while her other hand grabs at his shoulder, pressing against the defined muscle.

She’s already having to force herself to take slow, deep breaths, the occasional shift of hips causing his hard cock to tease along her wetness, making her want to beg for more.

She remains as quiet as possible though, her eyes drifting closed as Bucky’s mouth travels lower, taking his time to place tender kisses all over her soft stomach, reminding her how much he loves every single inch of her.

He doesn’t even care that she’s not looking at him right now. He’s just grateful for the way she gives herself to him, trusting him to treat her like she deserves.

With one last glance up, Bucky eagerly settles between her thighs, the smell of her filling his nostrils, making his mouth water.

The soft groan that leaves him makes her hips twitch, and he pauses for a second to take her in, both hands coming up to keep her spread wide for him.

She’s already so wet, the sight of her swollen clit just begging to be licked, and he can’t wait to hear her come apart for him.

The first slow swipe of his tongue along her slit causes her body to tense, the sudden sensation making her breath hitch, almost making her forget all about the bet.

Bucky learned her body so quickly when they first became intimate, and now, the familiar swirl of his tongue around her clit immediately makes her back arch, a moan getting trapped in her throat.

He loves the taste of her, happy to spend as much time between her thighs as she lets him, and even though that’s not what tonight is about, he still takes a moment to appreciate the delicious meal she’s offering him.

He alternates between long licks, and fucking her with his tongue, grinding his soft beard against her pussy to get as deep as he can, as if starved for more of her. 

Despite Bucky’s own noises of pleasure getting louder, hers remain low, and it’s not long before the desire to hear her scream builds inside of him again.

Without warning, his mouth suddenly closes over her clit, his tongue resuming the perfect rhythm against the bundle of nerves and his hands grips her thighs, holding her in place.

She cuts off the harsh gasp that spills out of her, and her fingers tighten their grip on his hair as her hips move against his mouth, chasing her pleasure.

Despite half her focus on keeping her sounds under control, he’s still able to quickly bring her to the edge, and her other hand grips the bedsheet as the tension suddenly snaps.

As much as it turns Bucky on to watch her and feel her come for him, there’s something wrong about not hearing her as she loses control.

He refuses to pull away though, his mouth working her through her orgasm, his hands holding her, letting her ride out the waves. His own hips grinding against the mattress, his cock hard and heavy, aching for relief.

When she becomes too sensitive, he takes pity on her and quickly kisses back up her body, giving her a moment to catch her breath.

Her need for him is too overwhelming though, and within seconds, she meets him in a kiss, moaning at the taste of herself on his tongue. 

She doesn’t allow herself to get lost in the moment for too long, her body craving more, and she reaches between them, her fingers wrapping around his thick cock, ready to remind him that she still has a chance of winning this bet. 

Bucky welcomes her touch, his hips thrusting forward, groaning against her mouth.

She takes advantage of his pleasure-filled state, rubbing her thumb across the head of his cock, the tip slick with his arousal, and proudly states, “I told you I could be quiet.” 

The laugh he makes in return sends a shiver down her back, and she can barely quiet the soft squeak as he pulls her hand away, his fingers wrapped around her delicate wrist.

He’s always careful not to cause her any real discomfort, but the look he gives her still makes her freeze, wondering what she’s gotten herself into.

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky chuckles, slowly pinning her hands over her head as he starts to grind his cock against her. “We’re barely getting started.”

Her body tenses in anticipation, expecting him to thrust inside of her, but he doesn’t change his pace, his eyes taking in how beautiful she looks, all desperate and needy, her skin flushed.

Even after all this time with him, she’s still not used to all the attention he gives her, and she’s grateful that he allows her to move with him.

Each shift of her hips makes her breath quicken just a bit more, the length of his cock sliding along her clit, and she’s pretty sure she could come just like this. 

The thought of it makes her body pulse with arousal, and she quickly nods her head, breathing quickly. “Please,” she whispers, her fingers flexing under his hold.

He grins down at her, tightening his grip slightly, keeping the same pace, watching her fight between completely giving in and trying to silence her noises.

Bucky wants the noises. He needs them. He needs to hear her whines and moans and cries as he brings her pleasure.

She’s clearly determined to win this, but so is he. And the moment he feels her almost reaching the edge, he suddenly stops, pulling his hips out of reach of her.

She has no idea how, but she manages to keep the whine of “no” down, her voice almost betraying her. Bucky’s soft laughter helps keep her focused, though, and she glares at him, breathing heavily.

Her mouth opens in protest, but before she can even think of how to react, his vibranium hand closes around her throat, pushing her down against the bed. 

“Oh god,” is all she can say, her voice trembling as she tries to mentally prepare herself for whatever Bucky has planned.

He knows her too well though, and the moment he moves, she almost loses the bet.

His right hand slides between her thighs, and in one smooth motion, he fills her with two fingers, curling them inside of her to press against her front wall.

She bites her lip hard enough to almost draw blood, but she’s able to dampen her cry of pleasure as she throws her head back, both hands now gripping the sheet. 

Bucky gives her no time to gather her composure before he starts moving, the heel of his hand rubbing hard against her clit while his fingers stroke over her g-spot.

She may not be speaking, but her body is talking, the sounds of her wetness filling the air. He growls his approval and leans over her, his metal fingers twitching against her throat.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs, watching her as he quickly works her towards another orgasm. “Your pussy’s talking to me, doll. Just begging for more.”

She pulls her lips inward between her teeth, biting down as she breathes heavily through her nose, the pleasure starting to make it harder to focus.

His words aren’t making it any easier, but she’s grateful that he doesn’t make her look at him, her eyes currently shut tight, her head pressing into the pillow underneath her. 

There’s something so intoxicating to Bucky about being in charge of her pleasure, and he knows he’ll never get enough of her.

For just a moment, he forgets about the bet, his eyes taking in the way she writhes underneath his touch, everything about her encouraging him to keep going. Her back arching, her legs spread, hips thrusting in time with his hand as he fucks her deep and hard.

Except, she’s still keeping her noises to a minimum. Even as she starts to breathe quicker, the gasps turning to shuddering sighs, she manages to somehow keep it all under control.

And it’s starting to get under Bucky’s skin. He can’t be a gracious loser when it comes to this.

That primal feeling resurfaces in Bucky, the urge to take her hard and fast igniting inside of him. But, first, he needs to make her come again.

He quickly moves his left hand down her body, pressing hard against her clit, giving him the ability to fuck her harder with his fingers.

Her eyes roll back in her head, and she nearly screams, his fingers deep inside of her, curled and rubbing hard against the spongy tissue.

She can feel the pressure building, and she grabs her legs, her hands wrapping around her ankles to keep her spread wide for Bucky.

“That’s it,” he encourages her, just as breathless as she is, his body humming with pleasure. “Can feel you, sweetheart,” he moans, grinding harder against her clit, knowing exactly what she needs to get over the edge. “Doing so good for me. Gonna come all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

She quickly nods her head, but she can’t trust herself to speak. She can barely breathe anyway as her fingers dig into her ankles, the slight pain giving her something to focus on, reminding her of the stakes here.

She’s so overwhelmed, and he hasn’t even fucked her with his cock yet. She has no idea how she’s going to win this bet.

She can’t think about that right now though, because her entire body suddenly tenses, and she squirts, coating his hand with her juices.

She barely hears Bucky’s groan of approval, but his words of praise quickly flood her brain, and she comes for him, using every bit of energy to not cry out.

“Good girl. Fuck, look at you,” his deep voice adds to the pleasure still washing over her and she lets go of her ankles to reach out for Bucky, needing him.

He quickly joins her, resting some of his weight on top of her, letting her cling to him as her body shudders, her hips riding his fingers. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he murmurs against her neck, his fingers buried deep inside of her, savoring the way her pussy pulses with each wave of pleasure. “I think I should I make you come again, just like this.”

He’s only half-serious, his cock aching to be inside of her.

Her expected whine makes him laugh, and he curls his fingers inside of her again, easily finding that spot that makes her tremble.

She’s still sensitive from her orgasm, but her mind is starting to clear, and she immediately shakes her head. “Absolutely not.” Another breathy moan, and then, “I think you should let me suck your cock.”

Bucky groans, allowing himself to briefly consider it, but kisses her softly and tells her no.

As much as they both enjoy when he fucks her mouth, it’s not going to help him win this bet. Her mouth needs to be free to make all those beautiful noises.

“I think you’re forgetting the point here, doll.” he teases, sitting up between her thighs and slowly sliding his fingers out of her dripping pussy.

She doesn’t even try to stop the soft whine from the loss, and he grins at her, watching her as he lifts his fingers to his mouth, licking the delicious taste off both digits. 

The sight of him clearly enjoying himself makes her want to bring him more pleasure, and she leans up to kiss him again, welcoming the taste of her wetness on his lips and tongue.

When her teeth playfully bite at his bottom lip, his fingers tangle in her hair to pull her head back, meeting her grin with one of his own.

“How about I put my cock somewhere else?” 

The smile on her face grows, despite her slight disappointment at not getting to have him in her mouth. And as Bucky rests back on his knees, she slides her hands down to touch herself, giving him an even better view of her wet pussy. 

The action immediately makes him groan, and his hands move to her ankles, gripping them to steady himself. After all this time, she still has the ability to catch him off guard, and it makes him love her even more.

They both watch as he moves his hips forward to slide his cock along her slick slit, almost slipping inside her before gliding up to tease her exposed clit.

The movement sends a jolt of pleasure through both of them, and she lets out a soft whine, shifting her hips to try to guide him to where he needs to be.

It’s futile, though. Bucky’s doing this on purpose. Trying to make her forget the bet, but she keeps herself under control, breathing heavily through her nose, proving to him she’s just as dedicated as he is.

With a longing look on her face, and another shift of her hips, she pleads, “Fuck me.”

Bucky’s fingers tighten around her ankles, but he stays exactly where he is, continuing to tease her with the head of his cock. “You sure you’re ready?”

His gentle tone makes her laugh softly, but he shakes his head at her, his eyes dark with desire.

“I’m serious, doll.” His breathing is just as heavy as hers, his body tense from trying to control himself. “I’m planning to fuck you until you scream for me.”

She’s far from making objections, her need for him overwhelming. As if he needs any more encouragement, she licks her lips and raises her brow at him, declaring yet again, “I’m going to win this bet.”

His laugh sends another shiver down her spine and a pulse of pleasure straight to her clit. There’s no way she’s winning this bet, but she’s going to have fun losing.

Bucky angles his hips, their bodies fitting together perfectly, and as the tip of his cock pushes against her entrance, he tells her, “Arms over your head.”

She narrows her eyes at him but doesn’t question it, knowing there’s a good reason for it. And she’s excited to find out what it is. 

The moment her hands grip the pillow under her head, he smirks at her and snaps his hips, burying himself inside of her.

A harsh gasp leaves her, but it’s not loud enough to make her lose and she throws her head back, biting her lips to keep her mouth shut as he starts to fuck her hard. 

Bucky pushes her legs back, spreading her wider as he finds a quick rhythm. His own noises of pleasure get louder, but he does nothing to quiet them.

He knows how much she craves the sounds he makes, the pleasure she gives him like nothing he’s ever experienced. 

“Oh fuck,” he groans, trying not to squeeze her ankles too hard, “you feel so good, baby. So wet, oh my god.”

She can’t look at him. She clings to the pillow underneath her, her forearms cradling her head as she does everything in her power not to cry out. His cock feels so good inside of her, reaching all the spots that make her toes curl and her body shudder in pleasure.

Bucky is more than desperate to hear more from her. The soft gasps and whimpers doing nothing to quell the ache to experience her pleasure at its fullest.

He’s used to her cries and moans filling the room, and while everything about her is telling him she’s enjoying herself, it’s not nearly enough. 

“Stay just like that,” he orders her, sliding his hands down, squeezing her thick thighs as keeps moving, his hips never faltering.

She’s in no mood to disobey, willingly letting him fuck her towards yet another orgasm. Bucky can feel her tightening, her walls trying to keep him in place on each outstroke.

“That’s it. You wanna come for me again? Wanna come all over my cock?”

She can’t trust her voice and all she can do is nod her head, finally opening her eyes to look up at him.

He immediately growls and leans forward, letting her thighs spread around him as his hands go to her bouncing tits, making her back arch, allowing him even deeper.

Bucky curses again, her wetness allowing him to bottom out each time, and he can feel his own orgasm building, the sight of her writhing underneath him almost too much.

“Fuck,” he growls, his right hand moving to her stomach, loving the feel of his fingers digging into her soft flesh, his hips never slowing. “You feel so good. Come on, come for me, doll, let me feel you.”

All it takes is one brush of his thumb over clit and she comes again, her fingers sore from her tight grip the pillow. But all she can focus on is the electric current of pleasure rushing through her, the tension causing her to clench her teeth.

She resists the urge to press her face against her arm, and somehow manages to make it through the intense pleasure with only making soft, breathy moans.

It’s at this point that something in Bucky snaps.

He fucks her through the waves of pleasure, waiting until her body finally starts to relax, before he suddenly pulls out.

The whine she makes is louder than all the sounds she’s made tonight, and she opens her mouth in surprise, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“I’m not quite done with you yet,” he promises her, the gruffness of his voice making her hips shift.

Bucky chuckles softly and runs his hands over her body, his fingers dancing over her throat before sliding down between her breasts. 

Before he does anything else, he checks in with her. “You ready to keep going?”

Her words come easy this time. “Yes, please," she smiles, lifting her hips again as if to entice him.

He has other plans though, and instructs her to turn over, the roughness of his voice returning. The excitement on her face is clear as she quickly obeys, getting into position - head down, ass up.

Bucky takes a moment to appreciate the view, the desire to claim her burning him up. He controls his breathing and reaches out, running his palm along her back and down to her ass, relishing the way she immediately spreads her thighs even more.

“Good girl,” he praises her, his voice deep with admiration. And then he slaps her ass, hard enough to make her gasp, and she turns her head to look over her shoulder at him.

They grin at each other, and he does it again, making her groan softly, but she pushes back, welcoming the sting. 

Bucky’s hand rubs across the pinkening skin as his metal hand slips between her thighs, teasing her with his fingertips.

She’s more than ready for him to keep fucking her, but he still asks again, needing to hear her give him permission one final time.

As soon as she utters the soft plea of ‘yes, please’ he’s lining up behind her, his hand wrapped around his thick shaft to guide himself back to her welcoming pussy.

He wastes no time and sinks into her with a soft groan, her hot, slick walls enveloping his hard cock like she was made for him. 

Bucky takes her slowly at first, the feel of her pussy fluttering with each long stroke of his cock making it difficult to focus.

She’s so sensitive, and with each deep thrust, her soft noises start to get just a bit louder, reminding him he’s on the right track.

His tender touches start to become a bit firmer, and as her hips begin to meet his with more force, he suddenly grips her waist.

Bucky plans to do whatever it takes to elicit louder noises from her, and without warning, he starts to piston his hips, making her take all of him, over and over. 

This time she’s expecting it though and has just enough time to grit her teeth, each thrust making her gasp, her breath coming quick and shallow.

It’s taking all of her focus not to give in and let herself lose the bet already; she’s just too stubborn to give in, no matter how good Bucky is making her feel.

The irritation grows in Bucky, her lack of noise starting to feel personal, and his hands move to her hips, grabbing fistfuls of her ass as he starts to fuck her harder.

He watches as her back arches and her fingers grip the bedsheets, each deep thrust causing her legs start to shake again. She’s almost there. He can feel it.

She whines his name, and her hands scramble to grip the edge of the mattress, keeping her head turned, refusing to bury her face in the covers.

“Oh sweetheart,” he murmurs, the tenderness a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking her. “Gonna squirt for me again, aren’t you?”

All she can do is nod her head, her eyes shut tight, trying her best to keep her noises under control. But, with each thrust of his cock, she feels herself slipping, her skin breaking out in a light sheen of sweat. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air to Bucky, watching as she starts to slowly lose control.

Any other time, he might take it easy on her, wanting her to be proud of herself for doing something she didn’t think she could do.

But, he’s way past that point now. 

Now, all he wants is to make her lose control and scream for him. And he has one more trick up his sleeve.

Bucky’s strong hands slide up along her back as he raises himself up, placing his feet flat on the bed in order to crouch over her, keeping his cock buried inside of her.

“Oh god,” she breathes, her eyes rolling back in her head as she tries to prepare herself.

She loves this position, but it’s going to be her downfall. And it’s clear Bucky knows it, because the moment he starts moving his hips, he starts talking to her, the growl in his voice pushing her closer to the edge.

“That’s right. Told you I was gonna fuck you until you scream for me.” 

He fucks her hard, the angle making his cock rub against her g-spot with each stroke, and she can feel the coil in her belly tightening.

She can no longer stop her noises from getting louder, and without thinking, she makes a desperate move to regain some semblance of composure.

With a quick pull of her elbows, she buries her face between her forearms, trying to quiet the cry of pleasure as she reaches a breaking point.

Bucky won’t allow it though, and grabs a fistful of her hair, forcing her head to the side.

“Fucking take it,” he demands, grunting with each hard thrust, “fucking take all of me.”

It’s too much. She can’t hold on anymore and her body tenses, her tightening pussy almost pushing him out.

“That’s it!” he growls. “Come for me, baby! God, I love you so fucking much.”

She sobs as her stomach tenses and she squirts, each hard thrust causing her wetness to run down her thighs and soak the sheets.

He talks her through it, like he always does, telling her how beautiful she is, how good she feels, and how much he loves making her come for him. 

Even as her body pulses from the aftershocks, Bucky keeps going, slowing his pace as he settles back to his knees behind her, trying to help her come down slowly.

She was loud, but not enough to satisfy his need to hear her scream.

“I need you to give me one more,” he murmurs, running his hands along her sweaty back. 

She whispers his name and shakes her head, her trembling limbs trying to give out on her.

Bucky’s quick to guide her onto her back again, this time slipping a pillow underneath to raise her hips.

He’s already fucked her senseless - she’s barely able to keep her eyes open - but he knows she has one more to give him.

Bucky starts slow again, giving her time to come back down, waiting until she can finally look up at him, still clearly cock-drunk.

He murmurs words of praise, telling her once again how beautiful she is, splayed out like this for him, her arms over her head, her thighs spread wide.

“You’re gonna look so good in that swing, sweetheart. All tied up and on display for me.”

Whatever insecurities that usually run through her mind are absent, and she moans at his words, starting to slowly move her hips against him, welcoming his cock back inside of her.

The image of being completely at his mercy makes her body pulse, and Bucky smiles down at her, sliding his hands along the sensitive skin of her thighs, just taking another moment to truly appreciate her. 

At this point, it doesn’t matter how he makes her come. She’s going to scream for him either way, all her inhibitions now gone that the bet is over.

And that frees him up to give her everything she could possibly need. “Tell me how you wanna come this time.” 

She breathes heavily and just slowly shakes her head for a moment, still not sure she has anything left to give.

But, if there’s anyone that can pull it out of her it’s Bucky. 

He waits patiently, fucking her slowly, barely pulling out before sliding back in until he’s completely sheathed. “Do you want me to keep fucking you like this?”

His fingers slowly move to her pussy, watching the way her body takes him so perfectly as his thumb finds her clit.

“Or do you need something else?” 

The shaking of her head turns into nods and she tries to find her voice as her back arches, her body welcoming the intense pleasure.

Her body is so sensitive, like every nerve ending is exposed, and she’s still not sure what she needs. Bucky will give her whatever she asks for, but she’s too lost in the moment to answer him.

As much as he’s enjoying the unfiltered sounds coming out of her, he needs her to talk. He needs to know she’s still with him, that she truly wants him to keep going.

“Sweetheart.”

There’s a slight edge to his tone, and she meets his eyes again, a soft smile forming on her face.

He grins down at her and nods encouragingly, “I need your words.”

She nods again, but as she starts to say “I want-” her words are cut off by a soft whine, Bucky’s cock bottoming out inside of her, finding that spot that makes her legs shake.

They both laugh softly, and she shakes her head at him before she finally finishes her thought, “I want you to come with me.”

A deep moan leaves Bucky at her request, his grip on her thighs tightening as he resists the urge to start moving faster.

“Is that what you need?” he asks, starting to lean forward, peppering kisses along her breasts and collarbone.

Her answer of ‘yes’ comes quickly and he starts to rock against her, grinding his pelvis against her clit.

“Yes,” she repeats, the simple word causing pleasure to race up Bucky’s spine.

He drops to his elbows, caging her in, and they both start moving at the same time, her legs wrapped around him, encouraging his hard thrusts.

“Yes, fuck me, oh my god.” She doesn’t care how loud she is anymore, the cries and moans leaving her without a second thought. 

Bucky’s already close, her pussy practically milking his cock, each flutter making him groan. But, he’s a man of his word and he’s not going to let himself give into the pleasure until she comes one more time.

“You feel so fucking good,” he moans, panting above her, unable to tear his gaze away, committing this moment to memory. “Such a perfect pussy, baby. Just made to take my cock.”

She clings to him, her nails scratching down his back, sure to leave marks. But he welcomes it, the sting adding to his pleasure, watching as she cries out, her body starting to tense, her final orgasm building.

When she whines his name, he hears the apprehension in her voice, as if to warn him that this one’s going to overwhelm her. 

Bucky’s fingers slide through her hair, and he cradles her head, forcing her to keep looking at him.

“It’s okay,” he promises her. “Give it to me. Give me everything.” Her back arches and her pussy tightens, the sounds of her wetness filling the air as she starts to squirt again. “Fuck yes, come for me!”

And she does, her breath hitching as the sudden explosion of pleasure rocks her body.

Bucky doesn’t stop, moving hard and fast against her, forcing his cock to stay inside of her, even as her walls clench around him, almost pushing him out.

She cries out, finally giving him what he’s been working towards all night, her scream of pleasure sure to wake the neighbors. 

Bucky can barely hold back, his own orgasm threatening to consume him, but he fights through it, giving her a few more seconds of his attention.

“That’s it, scream for me. Let everyone fucking hear you.”

But then she’s begging him to come too, her sobs of pleasure pushing him over the edge, and he kisses her hard, his tongue sliding along hers.

All his senses are consumed by her, every single part of him entirely overwhelmed with pleasure, the rhythm of his hips faltering as his cock pulses, filling her up with his cum.

After a few more lazy thrusts, their hips finally come to a stop, and he groans against her mouth, collapsing on top of her. 

They’re both panting, their arms wrapped around each other, Bucky’s weight a welcome feeling as he starts to nuzzle her neck, breathing in her scent.

They take their time coming back down, murmuring words of love and affection, their lips eventually meeting again in a soft, tender kiss. 

She barely registers him rolling them over, but makes a soft noise of protest when he slowly pulls out.

Bucky’s own sigh joins hers, the loss of her warmth making his softening cock twitch. If it wasn’t so late, and she wasn’t clearly spent, he’d happily go another round.

For now, they snuggle quietly, her head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat while his fingers make slow, soothing strokes along her back.

Bucky’s sensitive ears pick up the steady rhythm of her heart as well, the sound a constant comfort to him even on his hardest days. 

Eventually, they finally move, sharing another brief kiss and exchanging words of love yet again, neither of them ever tiring of hearing it - or professing it to each other.

But, they need to clean up, his release still leaking out of her, leaving her slick - and he’s not much better off, their combined fluids matting the hair at the base of his cock.

Bucky’s first to finish in the attached bathroom, and he’s already in bed when she returns, the covers pulled up to his stomach, his phone in his hands.

The silly grin on his face makes her laugh, and she climbs onto the bed, asking him, “What are you up to?”

He gives her a quick glance, his bright smile making her heart flutter as he returns his attention back to his phone.

“I’m purchasing that sex swing.” 

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

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Next part: The Prize

Main Masterlist

[connectionterminated13]

So do you have ideas for what happened to Evan, Mrs Afton, and Mrs Emily in the fallout au?

(Also I hope I’m not spamming you with these questions lol. Just let me know if I am and I’ll put a cork in it 👍 :)

Oh no I'm totally good with this I like talking LOL :) TW death and child death obviously-

When the bombs dropped the Afton were at the park (The park funded by faz ent that will be important later) They had stayed longer than they should have because Michael had scared Evan into refusing to leave the play structure (One of those dangerous metal ones). When the bombs dropped Evan was crushed under the weight of the play structure As It Was flung back by the nuclear blast. They didn't actually ever find his body just his severed head Protruding out of the Fredbear slides mouth...

Mrs. Afton was obviously devastated by the loss of her son (and partly blamed Michael) But she tried her best to get her kids to the vault.. One night when the 3 were camping out in a old gas station Mrs. Afton went to go get some food. She never came back. To this day Mike doesn't know if she just took the chance to run away from him and Elizabeth for some reason or if she died out there. All he knows is that he waited 3 days and then continued on the March to the faults with Lizzie.

Mrs. Emily and Sammy on the other hand we're coming home from A science fair Sammy had been participating in Salt Lake City. They were almost to hurricane when the bomb drop causing them to have a car accident. Mrs. Emily died and Sammy got himself ghould. Fearing that he'd hurt someone or something not really getting what was going on Sam just kind of like got out of there. When he realized people we're building settlements he immediately disguised the fact he was a ghoul and begin working as a trader, Plus using his technical know how to fix up old world machines. He's still doing that though now he works with the NCR a bit to help try to get their representatives and Good is it into Utah (Thanks to the crazy mormons of vault 70 and the killer automaton problem Utah is basically unpenetrated by other factions)

[saiilorstars]

Ch. 33: Back to Triumph

[Story Masterlist] // [Aitana’s Masterlist]

Fandom: Criminal Minds // Pairing: Spencer Reid x OFC

Taglist: @ocappreciationtag​​​​​ @arrthurpendragon​​​​​ @anotherunreadblog​​​​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​​​​ @stareyedplanet​​​​​ @averyhotchner​​​​​​ @foxesandmagic @kmc1989 @midmourn​​​​​​

If you’d like to be a part of Aitana’s taglist, please let me know!

Also available on Fanfic ○ Ao3 ○ Wattpad

As it turned out, Aitana did not have allergies.

It was the ruddy flu. She was bedridden for a whole week. All she did was stay in bed and feel awful. Her body didn't have the energy to do anything else, not even feed her poor fishes or water her plants.

Penelope Garcia immediately volunteered to visit her first and with her she brought necessities. Aitana saw her bedroom surrounded by oddly colored trinkets and new kinds of plants that Penelope swore were for good luck. Her bedroom began to look more like a botanical garden more than anything else.

JJ was more level headed and brought groceries. She even brought over some cooked meals. Aitana reminded JJ that she had no stomach for anything but JJ never left the house without making sure that Aitana had something to eat, whether it was crackers or soup. Emily was a little more busy to visit Aitana as often as Penelope and JJ. She apologized profusely to Aitana because it was all due to her re-certification. The one day that all three women were able to visit together, Emily explained more thoroughly how her training was going.

"Morgan is making it difficult," she muttered. "He's being an ass, basically. He's going to make me redo everything."

"I think that's probably more the FBI than anything else," Aitana said. She laid in bed with several blankets over, half of which were gifts from Penelope. "I mean, I don't think Morgan made the training booklets, right?"

Emily playfully rolled her eyes and reluctantly agreed with her. "It's still just annoying! And it's the reason I can't visit as often too. So blame Morgan."

"And not the cases, right?" Aitana chuckled, her eyes flickering to JJ and Penelope on her other side. "I get it, you guys. Work is work and our work is even more. You do not have to worry about me right now, alright? My mom's been around and Angel helps me a lot. And besides, you've all been alternating. Penelope," she reached for the blonde's arm, giving it a gentle pat, "came two days ago. Emily," she crossed gazes with the dark haired woman, "was here yesterday. JJ's been here all morning. Morgan dropped by yesterday and Spencer came by after. Rossi says he'll come by with a plate of pasta! I even got a small text from Hotch wishing me well. So trust me, I am all too well. Spoiled, actually."

"Well we can't wait for you to come back," JJ said, "Things are a little hectic at work right now. The boys—"

"Spencer and Morgan," Penelope muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"—are annoying the hell out of all of us with their little prank war," JJ said, shaking her head. "Honestly, not even Henry gives me this much trouble."

Aitana smiled lightly. "They're still doing that?"

"Yes," went all three of the women with the same irritation.

"They don't go that high but it's still super annoying," Emily muttered. "They won't stop until someone pulls the best prank."

"Mm, and what's the wager?" Aitana curiously asked. She had vague memories of her "assistance" on their pranks the last time they were on a case together. She wasn't all that mad about it, maybe just the decent annoyed. She was no stranger to being used for petty pranks since her brothers were notorious for doing it multiple times when she was younger and didn't understand what they were doing.

"Whoever wins owes the other one a favor," explained Emily. "Everyone else be damned, I guess."

"Interesting. You know, I guess this is also partly my fault," Aitana said, "My mind was so foggy the last time I was at work. I helped them one-up each other and I didn't even know it."

"Oh, I'm sure," Penelope said disapprovingly. "And trust me, I almost pulled both their ears for it."

"Well," Aitana hummed ever-so-innocently, "If you're interested in helping me get a little payback, I'd be all for it. Now that I've got all my senses back, I'm planning on letting them know they used the wrong gal." Her words made the other three women curious but Aitana elected to hold off on what she had in mind for the time being.

~0~

Spencer wasn't even surprised anymore that his things were going missing at work. There was no mystery; he knew exactly who was behind it. The only thing is he had to go and find them which was more of a pain than anything else.

"I know Morgan has them," he said seriously while Emily just sat at her desk and shook her head. He was ransacking his own desk in search of his missing items. "He took my stapler, my pens, my stapler remover."

Emily had no intention of listening to the lame list of missing items. She looked away and happened to see JJ and Aitana walking into the bullpen. "Oh, Aitana's back!"

Spencer briefly paused his search to confirm with his own eyes. Soon as he saw Aitana, he went back to opening drawers. "Honestly, this isn't even a prank! It's downright theft!"

"Hey, look who I ran into?" JJ brought Aitana up to pair, the latter chuckling with flushed cheeks.

"Gosh, I feel so special the way I'm being welcomed," Aitana remarked. "Even security noticed."

"Welcome back." Emily got up from her seat to hug Aitana. "Don't mind Reid here, he's going through another session of Grand Theft Desk." She shot Spencer a smirk that he didn't really appreciate.

"What?" JJ asked, watching as Spencer slammed shut another of his drawers.

"Morgan took my stuff!" he cried.

JJ groaned and shook her head. "Oh boy, it's too early for this guys. Can we just — can we have one day off?"

"Yeah," Emily said with heavy emphasis as she sat back down.

"It's not a prank if you're just stealing!" Spencer continued to search through his second level drawers. "And Morgan's welcome to back down at any time!"

"Funny, we could say the same thing about you," said JJ purposely.

Aitana watched silently as Spencer went through the other lines of drawers. Finally, she made a suggestion. "Did you check the bottom right drawer?"

Spencer moved for that specific drawer when her words hit him. He stopped altogether and met Aitana's eye. She had the smallest of smiles but a knowing one at that. Slowly, Spencer reached for the drawer she said and pulled it open. He froze again.

Emily tried leaning over her desk to see what was inside. Aitana grabbed JJ's arm as the blonde went to do the same.

"Did you find it?" Aitana asked Spencer, still calmly and with a smile.

Spencer didn't say anything. Instead, he reached inside the drawer and pulled out a big plate out of it. When Emily and JJ saw what it was, they burst into laughter.

Aitana remained absolutely calm.

Stunned, Spencer put down the plate of jello on his desk. He had found his things now. They were located inside the bright green jello.

"The girls mentioned you like jello. Was green okay?" Aitana inquired like she hadn't stuffed office supplies inside a wobbly jello herself. She never thought she would have to but she wasn't upset that she got the chance to do it.

Spencer was absolutely stunned. Not even JJ's and Emily's laughter shook him out at first. And they were laughing pretty loud.

"You...you did this?" He eventually sputtered out a few minutes later.

Aitana giggled and raised a hand in the air. "Guilty as charged! I have always wanted to pull that joke but my mother would have killed me if I used her kitchen for these kinds of things so I couldn't do it when I was younger. I guess I should thank you for the amazing opportunity."

Spencer stared at her, both bewildered and utterly confused. To add onto those two feelings, a loud horn broke through the entire bullpen. It stopped JJ's and Emily's laugh and froze everyone else.

Once again, Aitana was calm. "That would be Morgan."

For a second, Spencer was genuinely afraid. And then Morgan came storming out with a bullhorn still having remnants of duct tape on the bottom.

"REID!" He was coming straight for Spencer.

Spencer's hands shot up in front of him. "It wasn't me!"

"Like hell!" Morgan couldn't come down the steps any faster.

"Actually, it wasn't him. It was me," Aitana waved her hand. "Good morning, Morgan." She smiled sweetly.

Like Spencer, Morgan froze altogether. His head turned in Aitana's direction, eyes narrowing as he decided whether or not she was being honest.

Aitana's smile widened. Her eyes flickered to JJ and Emily, both of them struggling not to laugh again. "Ta-da?" Aitana made a gesture with her arms open.

"You did it?" Morgan finally concluded she was very much guilty.

Aitana nodded. "Aha!"

"Why?"

Aitana raised an eyebrow at him, no longer playful. "Really?" She stepped forwards, putting her hands behind her back. "You're asking me why I did such a thing?"

Morgan nodded expectantly at her. He couldn't understand why she would decide to pull pranks herself.

"You," Aitana pointed at him, "took advantage of my state during a news broadcast," she said, watching Morgan lower his head immediately. "And you," she pointed at Spencer next, "used me to get back at him later. Naughty boys. I had to get back at you for that."

"Well done," JJ clapped her hands for Aitana.

"How'd you pull this?" Spencer curiously asked. He wasn't going to even argue against Aitana's statements. They were true and he should be sorry. He was.

"Oh that was easy," Aitana waved him off. "I came in yesterday night, with Hotch's permission of course."

Morgan's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Hotch let you do this?"

"Aha," Aitana nodded. "He's very tired of your little war as is everyone else."

"Yes," went both JJ and Emily together.

"I love watching the Office and the jello prank that Jim pulled was always so funny to me so I figured why not do that one for you, dear old Spencer," Aitana smiled sweetly at him. "A classic, am I right?" Before Spencer could think of an answer, because right now he had nothing to say, Aitana switched to Morgan. "And the bullhorn was something my brothers pulled on each other. That's right, you guys forgot I grew up with two brothers. I was always caught in their pranks so eventually I had to learn. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I win." Aitana did a curtsy bow for the group.

"Nu-uh," Morgan was quick to wag a finger, "You didn't win anything. You are not a part of this."

"I believe the terms were whoever pulled the best prank wins," Aitana pointed at JJ and Emily for their support. "Right?"

"Right!" Emily was happy to agree.

"Nowhere in those terms did you explicitly say that one of you had to be the winner," Aitana went on, flashing smiles at the pair of men.

"I think she won, fellas," JJ said. "Learned your lessons?"

"You didn't win," Morgan insisted. "You—"

The door to Hotch's office opened to let out a striding Penelope and Hotch. Their grim expressions cut the conversation short, but Morgan vowed it wasn't over.

~0~

"We have a child abduction in St. Louis," Penelope started the meeting urgently as the situation demanded for. "Bobby Smith, 9 years old, vanished 48 hours ago from a residential area, where his mother, Marlene Smith, claims to have dropped him off."

"Forty-eight hours and we're just learning about it now?" Morgan asked, slightly irritated. Half of the group suspected his irritation had nothing to do with the case. He kept shooting Aitana glances, clearly still holding his stance about her winning status.

Penelope didn't know what was going on so she just nodded. "Yeah. That's because mom didn't know her son was gone. She assumed that he was with the grandmother and just left him there."

"So, she's not exactly on the short list for mother of the year," remarked JJ. "What about the father?"

"Uh, he was convicted of embezzling from his workplace 2 years ago. Currently cooling his heels in state prison."

"If it's a stranger abduction, the first 24 hours are critical," Spencer said, not that they didn't already know how high the stakes were.

"This kid's already been missing twice that long," Rossi said, checking the file for the original time the mother had called it in.

"Which is why we shouldn't waste any more time," Hotch said, prompting the team to close their files. The jet was leaving almost immediately.

"Hey Hotch," Morgan called as he hurried to catch up with Hotch before he walked out of the room, "A word?"

Aitana snorted a laugh as they disappeared. "He's going to ask Hotch about the bullhorn."

"That was you?" Rossi gave her a pointed look until Aitana nodded proudly. He smiled. "Good. I was getting tired of it." On his way out, he looked directly at Spencer.

"Seriously, well done," Emily reached over to give Aitana a congratulatory pat on the arm.

"Well done with what?" asked Penelope, head turning between the women fast enough to make her dizzy.

"Aitana put an end to the prank war," JJ said, eyes glued on Spencer. Unlike Morgan, he had yet to give his opinion on the matter. "Isn't that right, Spence?"

"Um," Spencer cleared his throat, hands reaching for his file on the table, "I don't really think we should be discussing that during a child abduction."

"Mhm, you still lost," Emily said, "Women can multitask."

Spencer grabbed his things and left in a hurry. The women high fived Aitana afterwards and they began offering ideas on what Aitana could ask of the pair for winning. Penelope hated that she had missed the whole thing but after Aitana suggested to go through the camera feed, Penelope seemed more inclined to help celebrate the triumph.

~0~

"Who do you think he's talking to?" JJ whispered the question to the others while Rossi entertained some kind of conversation over the phone. It had been going on almost as soon as the jet had taken off.

"Isn't it obvious? A special friend," Emily giggled but immediately stopped when Rossi ended the conversation and turned around to see all of their collective smiling faces.

"What?" He cluelessly asked.

"Nothing…" Emily said, clearly struggling not to say more but in the end she lost. "Just somebody's got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that's all."

"Probably doubled up on his vitamins," remarked JJ.

"Oh, he doubled up on something," Morgan chimed in with a smirk.

"Garcia's back on," Aitana cut in suddenly, unknowingly getting a grateful look from Rossi for her timing. She was pointing to the screen where Penelope's face had come through. "Hey, did you get something on the mother?"

"Oh," Penelope's mouth pulled together in an 'O' shape, "I have so much on the mother, and try as I might, none of it is good. Marlene Smith has a history of erratic behavior, seriously clinically depressed, two suicide attempts in the last 5 years."

"Was she being treated for her depression?" asked Hotch.

"Oh, my gosh, yes. Like more pill-popping than Elvis. Yes!"

"Depression is one of the few things that can overwhelm the maternal instinct," Spencer said. "What about the grandmother?"

"I don't have anything on her yet, but don't reach for your remote. I'll be ba-a-ck!" Penelope exclaimed before the screen went pitch black.

"Two suicide attempts…" Rossi remarked with a shake of his head. "Why hasn't child services intervened?"

"Probably talked her way out of it," Emily said, "Most social service organizations are overworked and underfunded. Things slip through the cracks."

"If this boy's mother tried to commit suicide and he's from a chronically unhappy household, maybe this wasn't an abduction at all," Morgan theorized. "What if Bobby simply ran away?"

"When 9-year-olds run away, they're usually home for supper," Aitana said. She really doubted a nine year old would have the guts and the smarts to formulate a good running away plan.

"JJ, you and I will talk to the mother," Hotch started giving the instructions, "Morgan, Reid, and Serrano, go to the boy's house. Prentiss, you and Dave assess the site where the mother claims to have dropped him off."

From behind her file copy, Aitana flashed a sweet smile at Spencer and Morgan. They had yet to speak to her about the incident.

~0~

The victim's house was closed off for the time being while the mother resided at the precinct for questioning. The first thing Aitana, Spencer and Morgan noted was the clean lawn. However, although the lawn was indeed clean, it was clear that it could still use some attending to. There were patches of yellow all around. Inside, the story was almost the same. The trio lounged about in the living room taking note of the neatness of the furniture. While Morgan and Spencer wandered upstairs, Aitana took the rest of the downstairs.

She was most surprised with the kitchen's state. She only had one nephew close to her but she knew what a kitchen with children would typically look like. Every kitchen she'd been inside of where a young child lived, it was always clear of anything potentially dangerous. No knives, no open outlets, nothing sharp. Everything was up and out of reach for a child.

This kitchen was the complete opposite.

There were no safety locks on the fridge and when Aitana opened it up, it was fully stocked with everything that a child could possibly want. And in multiple pairs. Individual water, orange juice and milk bottles—everything plastic—were filed on the door. Fruits were stocked inside the drawers, along with cut up vegetables. Even the stove was accessible to the child. Aitana remembered a moment in which her nephew had been deeply reprimanded for attempting to move their stove's knob. Bobby was left at ease with the stove and the microwave. The latter was also placed on what would be his level. To top it off, Aitana found the key ring hole set up at the entrance of the kitchen. She was baffled. She would never let her nephew go in and out of the house, even if he was 9 like Bobby.

Later on, Aitana headed upstairs to see what Spencer and Morgan had found so far. It seemed like they were bickering and somehow she walked into it again.

"Hey Serrano," Morgan called as soon as she walked into the mother's bedroom, "How many pairs of shoes do you own?"

Aitana's face scrunched in confusion. "First, you don't talk to me and then you ask me that? You see how it looks, right?"

"I'm making a point here!" Morgan motioned her to answer the question. Beside him, Spencer seemed more or less puzzled as well.

Aitana rolled her eyes. "I don't know, 30?"

"What?" Spencer openly gaped at her. Aitana lifted an eyebrow at him. "Why do you have so many?"

"Because I need them?"

"You can't possibly need 30 pairs of shoes!"

"I most possibly can!"

Morgan cleared his throat, eyes on Spencer and hands gesturing in Aitana's direction.

Aitana stomped her foot on the ground. "Stop using me like that, dammit!"

"I was making a point," Morgan said as he walked out the room, leaving the other two to follow. "No woman has just 4 pairs of shoes in their closet. And the kid's bedroom is fully stocked with everything he'd need."

"She even set up a separate area so he could do his homework," Spencer said, going in full detail about the desk they'd seen in Bobby's room.

"You should see the kitchen then," Aitana said, "That thing's more organized than my entire house."

"Mom has serious financial issues, denies herself even the smallest luxury, and yet…" Morgan had listed off his fingers, "She splurges to take her son to an expensive theme park and then buys a pricey picture frame so he can remember the experience."

"No way, those things are easily $30," Aitana said out of her own experience. Her parents hardly bought those things for that reason.

"He had several," Spencer said for her benefit.

"Well then, I guess we can cross her off the suspect list," Aitana concluded. "Which makes this even harder…"

~0~

When the trio returned to the precinct, they joined JJ, Rossi and Hotch just Hotch were discussing the interview JJ conducted with the victim's mother. They, like Aitana, Spencer and Morgan, were beginning to disregard the mother as a suspect.

"The concern for her son was genuine. Her tone of voice, body language," JJ was saying, "She didn't once ask if she was in trouble, under arrest, 'where's my lawyer?' None of that." The woman behaved like a genuine concerned, scared, mother.

"That's pretty much what we found at home too," Aitana said, glancing back at Spencer and Morgan for their agreement.

Spencer was making his way up to one of their evidence boards. While they were gone, the others had added new details under the mother's name.

"Home environment points in the same direction," Morgan said, "The money's tight, but mom did whatever she could to create a nice world for her son. Whatever cash she had she spent on him. Only 4 pairs of shoes in her closet."

"And she taught her son to be self-sufficient," Aitana said, barely holding the urge to make a comment about the pairs of shoes. "The kitchen was scaled down to a 9-year-old's level so he could microwave his own meals, get food and utensils from the pantry. He even had his own little key ring so he could come and go as he pleased. That's a hell of a lot of liberties for a 9 year old if you asked me."

The others agreed.

Shortly after, Emily and Rossi returned.

"It took a while, but grandma's alibi checked out," Emily announced, "She was with two lady friends in Seneca, on the other side of the state."

"Acquaintances, relatives, teachers. So far they've all checked out," Rossi added.

"This is starting to look more and more like a stranger abduction," Morgan said what many of them were beginning to think.

"Yeah, except the area Bobby disappeared from has a decent amount of foot traffic," Rossi said, having seen the site with Emily. "If he'd put up a struggle, chances are someone would have noticed."

"My guess is Bobby knew his abductor or trusted him," Spencer then theorized, "The trip to grandma's house was a spur-of-the-moment decision. The unsub must have been staking out the mother's house, saw them leaving, and followed. The only thing I don't understand is how the unsub got into Bobby's life in the first place. Self-sufficient kids learn to trust their own judgment."

"Well at the end of the day, he's still only nine," Aitana reminded them. "He's going to fall for something." It was the inevitable and now they were dealing with it.

~ 0 ~

The next morning, the team were informed that Bobby's mother had been found murdered outside a convenience store the previous night. The team gathered in their room to go over the pictures of the new crime scene and their victim. As far as they knew, Bobby had yet to turn up dead.

"There's something strange about the body," mused Spencer as he went over a couple photographs, "She was slaughtered by someone completely out of control, yet on her wrists there are precise wounds on top of where she already cut herself, only deeper. Like he was trying to replicate her suicide attempts but then lost control."

Beside him, JJ grabbed one of the pictures in Spencer's hands. "Maybe this was never about the kid at all, but about the mother. Make her suffer for a few days by taking the child, then kill her?"

"Wouldn't that mean the unsub knew Marlene's personal history?" Aitana inquired. She stood in front of their evidence board, her eyes falling over the details they'd written about Marlene under her picture. "And that would put the unsub somewhere in the medical department?" She turned around to meet the others' gazes.

Morgan could see why she would think that automatically. It was the sensible idea. "Not just medical, it could be friends…"

"Yeah, but as far as we knew, she didn't have any friends," Aitana reminded them then asked JJ, who had conducted the interrogation with Marlene yesterday, if Marlene had said anything about friends.

"None," JJ said.

"So what about the people who walked into the house?" Spencer suggested. "Anyone who walked into the house would immediately know there were problems. That the child had to be independent for most of the day."

Morgan liked the idea and for that, he called Penelope to get further on it. "Hey, baby girl, whatever you're doing, drop it!"

"Oh, yes, and with pleasure," Penelope was sarcastic right off the bat, amusing everyone who was listening in, "Let me tell you something, sweetheart. This is a Lamborghini you are talking to. You have to drive me. You can't just leave me parked in the garage collecting dust or I will wilt."

The others nearly laughed with Penelope's tidbits. She had no idea she was on speaker.

Morgan smiled but nowhere near surprised. He long ago lost the surprise when it came to Penelope. Going along with things made it more fun anyways. "Please forgive my neglect. I need you to rev up that fine-tuned Italian engine of yours, then."

"Where do they come up with this stuff?" Aitana quietly whispered to the others while the pair continued. "I mean, is it in, like, books or something?"

"Not in any books I've read," Spencer remarked, causing a quiet round of snickers.

Their research was cut short when they got word that another child had been taken. It was clear the unsub wasn't going to lengthen gaps between abductions and kills.

Aitana and Spencer were sent to the park where the child's mother was. She was a frantic woman, a natural response given the situation, but it was making her explanations fast paced and incoherent.

"I was sitting on the bench, and he was playing right there," she flapped an arm towards the playground still filled with other children. "I looked away for two seconds."

"And you were you by yourself?" Aitana asked. Mrs. Tanner nodded quickly. "So you told the police you live in McKinley Heights but that's almost an hour away. You drove your son all the way out here just to play?" Aitana took another scan of the park for any outstanding features that would draw parents in but to her it looked like any other park.

"I was doing things, shopping" Mrs. Tanner reasoned. Spencer noted the constant tapping of her fingers against her leg as well as the other hand taking her hair every now and then.

"Mrs. Tanner, please don't take this the wrong way, but exactly what drug are you addicted to?" Spencer abruptly asked, stunning both women with him. Aitana's eyebrows raised at him, unprofessionally bemused with his directiveness. "You're displaying symptoms of withdrawal."

Mrs. Tanner dropped both her arms on her sides. "Are you crazy?"

Spencer disregarded her offended tone. "Ma'am, we saw two deals going down on the other side of the park when we arrived. You were here to buy, weren't you? That's what had you distracted."

Mrs. Tanner was outraged. She glanced at Aitana as if waiting for the female agent to come to her aid.

"He's hardly ever wrong," Aitana said. "So it's best if you just tell us the truth unless you're not interested in finding your son?"

"I can't believe that you actually think I would—"

"And yet we're still talking about this instead of what exactly happened here," Aitana continued, her expression growing flat as the mother insisted on denying things.

"Your child is missing, Ms. Tanner. Every minute, every half-minute counts," Spencer said, "You need to tell us the truth and you need to tell us now."

The mother looked between the two agents helplessly, still holding onto her story for another minute before giving in.

Half an hour later, Spencer was calling Hotch to inform them of the new pattern they were discovering. When Spencer returned to the car, he found Aitana leaning against the hood of the SUV, looking out at the park.

"What is it?" Spencer asked, presuming that he'd learned enough about her to recognize her thinking face.

"I've been watching the kids," Aitana started, eyes combing over the children using the slide again. "And the parents. They're mostly vigilant but of course they would look away for a couple minutes. It's natural."

"Right…" Spencer agreed, patiently waiting for her to reach her point. He leaned against the SUV as well.

"Maybe it's just because I have a nephew, I…" Aitana smiled lightly and glanced at him. "Do you have nephews or nieces? Little ones?"

"Neither, actually," Spencer admitted. "It was always just my mother and I."

"Oh, well, I have several in Mexico but I do have Logan here. Remember him?"

"Hard to forget," Spencer tapped the side of his head, making Aitana laugh.

"Oh right, my bad." That was stupid of her to forget. "My nephew Logan is five and even though he's pretty young, he understands the stranger-danger concept. My brother, being a detective, has drilled that into Logan. We've all taught him that he should never talk to anyone he doesn't know even when that person says they're a friend of his parents, or a friend of his auntie's and uncle and grandparents—the whole shebang."

"Right, children are more intelligent than most adults give them credit for," remarked Spencer. "Their brains are like sponges at this point in their life."

"Yes!" Aitana nodded. "So if somebody walked up to Logan with that crappy excuse that they're his parents' friends and tried to take him with them, Logan would make a fuss. At the very least, he would keep saying 'no' until someone inevitably notices. If that happened in, say, a park," Aitana gestured to the scene before them, "then somebody would have noticed a kid being fussy. Even if it was just a parent handling a fussy child, someone always looks over."

"But that didn't happen here…" Spencer said, studying the various parents still around. They were all focused, perhaps more now since the abduction, on their children.

"Yeah, because Tommy didn't make a fuss," Aitana presumed, "And if he didn't make a fuss then that meant he knew the person who took him. Trust him. That won't be your local plumber or your I.T. guy…"

"No it would not be," Spencer agreed. They were circling back to Aitana's original belief that their unsub was someone in the medical department.

"Question remains...which one makes rounds to the parks and houses?" Aitana leaned off the car and made a clear gesture that she was waiting for Spencer to give her the answer.

"Well—I don't know it on the spot," Spencer made a face, earning another small laugh from her. She shook her head at him and went around the car for the passenger's seat.

"So are you saying that with a little bit more time you would know the answer?" Aitana pulled the car door open.

Spencer made his way to the driver's side. "I mean, maybe? I don't know…?"

"Just like Morgan," Aitana said as she climbed inside. "You can't admit defeat!"

"What—that's not what I meant!" Spencer exclaimed and quickly got into the car.

"Mhm," Aitana crossed her arms. "Drive, Dr. Reid," she instructed, her tone laying down the finality of the conversation.

~ 0 ~

With what the team now had, they were confident they were ready to deliver the profile to the rest of the precinct. Hotch sent Morgan to collect the new victim's mother because, if they were right, the unsub would soon be attacking her. But it all turned into a rather sharp confusion when, only a couple hours after the profile was delivered, the second victim turned up at a random adult party.

Further down the evening, Penelope called the group back with very few findings. Even though Emily and Rossi had figured out that their unsub had to be a 911 dispatcher, they weren't able to single out the unsub.

"I'm literally going as fast as I can," Penelope huffed after Morgan asked her if she was closer. "There are literally hundreds in the great St. Louis area. Can you help me narrow this down?"

"Refine your search to males between 25 and 30 years of age. And our unsub probably has abandonment issues, so look for backgrounds that reflect that," Morgan was more than helpful, at least that was his opinion. "A history of foster care or someone who was farmed out to other relatives by his own parents."

"Can you trace individual 911 dispatchers based on calls they would have received?" Spencer thought to ask and almost shrunk in his chair when Penelope answered sharply.

"Ok, look, let me make this clear. There are a quarter of a billion 911 calls annually. That's like 10 calls every second of every day. And non-emergent calls are disposed of quickly!"

"Okay, well let's look at it this way," JJ tried her shot, shooting a small smile at Spencer in the process, "This operator would have been on duty when both calls came in from the Smith and Tanner families. And he would have been off duty at the times of the two abductions and Marlene Smith's murder."

"Oh, my God. This brings the needle in a haystack to a whole other dimension, but I will go to that dimension and I will cross-reference and I will call you back!" Penelope promptly hung up with her promise.

"I'm actually afraid to answer that call," Aitana mumbled under her breath. She pushed herself out of her seat and announced she was making a coffee run and by that, she meant right in the bullpen.

She was tired, this case was touching home for her. All she saw with these kids were her nephew and she knew that was completely unprofessional. And yet, she had the big urge to call her sister-in-law right now.

"Hey, want some help?" Morgan startled her into nearly dropping the cups in her hands.

"Uh, yeah, thanks," Aitana handed him the cup that was more likely to slip out of her hand first. "Penelope call back yet?"

"She's good but she's not that fast."

"Oh, don't let her hear you say that," Aitana said, causing a laugh between them. Aitana grabbed another of the coffee cups on the table and handed it to Morgan. She would take the last one. "So, you're talking to me again? Did you finally accept that I won?"

Morgan hummed. "More like I'm putting pause on that until we're done with the case."

"Right," Aitana started the way back to the conference room, "But you do know that I won, right?"

"Uuh, no," Morgan looked at her crazily, "You did not."

"I thought my tricks were pretty classic..."

Morgan scoffed. "Classic? You nearly took my ears off!"

Aitana smirked. "A classic."

They returned to the room shortly later, letting the others hear the ending of their conversation.

"Hotch, I cannot believe you allowed this," Morgan said, shooting Hotch a mock glare.

"You and Reid were getting out of hand," Hotch said simply, eyeing a decently guilty Spencer at the end of the table. "And I made Serrano promise me that she wouldn't go overboard and disrupt colleague's work."

"She used a bullhorn on me! How is that not distracting?"

"I wasn't distracted."

Aitana barely covered her mouth before an unladylike snort slipped out. Who said Hotch couldn't be funny?

~0~

Penelope called the them back about an hour later and she was nowhere near happy. "First off, you are on restriction from my inner Lamborghini!"

"Garcia—"

"I mean it! This high-performance engine may purr like a puma on the prowl, but this time, Derek, you have seriously overheated my engines and I will require some cool-down laps upon your return, if you know what I mean by that—"

"Baby girl, you're on speaker," Morgan finally managed to break through Penelope's rampage. The others were very close to laughing.

"...I knew that," came Penelope's voice a moment later. This time, she was able to hear some chuckles on the other end. "Okay, um, so I'm calling to tell you, sir, there are eleven 911 dispatchers in the greater St. Louis area that were on duty when the calls were placed but not working during the murder and abduction. Of those 11, there's one that fits your profile—George Kelling, age 27, 1181 Clay Street, apartment 8. Sending his picture right now."

"Do you know where he is now?" Hotch inquired. Aitana and JJ hurried to collect their tablets and see the photograph that Penelope was sending their way.

"He was scheduled to work today. His supervisor said he showed up for his shift, but then he left early."

"Can you get the log of all the calls he took tonight?" Spencer walked over to the landline.

"Yeah, of course. But there are a lot."

"Skip to the last one!"

"Last one is a domestic disturbance at 788 4th Avenue, number C. Attempted sexual assault of a young girl. Kelling dispatched the police and then he took off."

"Meaning we need to hurry," Emily said to the others.

They divided into two teams, one going to the site of the last 911 incident and the other to Kelling's home. Both groups came to the same empty conclusions. They had to call in Penelope for help again.

"Hey!" JJ found Aitana in what seemed to be the unsub's bedroom. The brunette was shopping around and had been since they realized Kelling was gone. "What are you doing? Hotch has Garcia on the phone tracking other possible sites."

"That's good. I was just looking for some clues," Aitana shrugged as she turned away from a disorderly bookshelf. "With the amount of dust on this furniture, it's safe to say that Kelling hasn't been here in a while."

JJ nodded. The room did seem pretty still in place.

"But check it out," Aitana hurried towards one of the bedside tables. She picked up a portrait of Kelling with an older woman. "Parents?"

JJ hummed. "Maybe." She looked around the room again and found no other portraits except for the one Aitana held. "They're the only people important to him," she assumed.

Aitana put the portrait down and hurried out of the room with JJ. Hotch and Spencer were in the middle of a talk with Penelope outside the house.

"...Kelling entered the foster care system and I don't know why…" Penelope said in a hurried ramble.

"Oh, that must have been the picture we saw then," Aitana cut in, her eyes slightly wider. "Kelling has a photograph of an elderly woman in his bedroom. It's the only picture he has in that entire room."

"Makes sense," Penelope said, "His father abandoned the family when he was a baby. I can't figure out what happened to mom yet."

"All right, we need the address of the foster family he was placed with," Hotch instructed as he led the way back to the SUV."

"I know. He bounced around a lot. Give me a second!" Penelope exclaimed. " I'll call you back!"

"Okay, what I don't understand is why would he keep Bobby but release Timothy?" JJ started once the line was dead. "If he wants to get rid of the parent, why not kill them first and then take the child. It's so much riskier to wait."

"Unless the children are a crucial part of his killing ritual," Aitana said off-handedly.

Hotch turned to her, head tilting.

Spencer followed her idea and tried to develop it as quickly as he could. "He needs something from them before he can murder the parents."

"What could a child possibly give him?" JJ made a face.

"Their approval," Hotch concluded first.

~0~

"Deja vu all over again!" Penelope's voice rang in the SUV. "So, get this. George Kelling's mom committed suicide when he was 10! She jumped off a bridge. Before that, she attempted to kill herself multiple times, cutting her wrists. This sounds really familiar, huh?"

"Did you find the foster home address?" Hotch asked, fingers tapping along the wheel as he waited for the answer.

"The foster family lived on a farm 10 miles northwest of the city on Parkhill Road!"

The engines went on within the second.

"So what happened to the foster parents?" Aitana curiously asks from the backseat. "Kelling didn't have anything else but a picture of those people."

"The father died years ago. The mother just died last month—heart attack!"

"That must have been the trigger," JJ said, "The last person who rescued the unsub was gone. He assumed the mantle."

"And now he suddenly has a house to take these kids to," Aitana shuddered. "Childhood house gone wrong."

"Wait," Spencer leaned forwards from the back seat as well, "Garcia, you said the mother jumped off of a bridge, right?"

"Yeah," Penelope said. "Why?"

JJ recognized the look on Spencer's face. There was something not adding up for him. "What are you thinking?"

"Suicidology is an imperfect science, but it's uncommon for women to kill themselves so violently," Spencer explained, "For lack of a better word, they tend to choose more feminine ways to die. Men shoot themselves, jump off of buildings onto pavement. Women are less messy. They take pills and drown themselves."

"Oh...don't tell me…" Aitana was looking at him in full fledged horror.

~0~

Morgan, Emily and Rossi were already at the secondary location when the others arrived. Once more, they split between the front and the back of the house. As far as they knew, Kelling had at least two of his hostages in the same room.

Hotch led the way into the only room making a noise and sure enough, Kelling was inside holding a woman at gunpoint.

"Put the gun down! Drop the gun!" Hotch gave the first round of orders.

Kelling was nothing if not frantic. "You have to let me finish! Nobody else can do it. Nobody's strong enough!"

"Like you were strong with your mother?" Spencer called.

"Don't talk about her," Kelling snapped. "She was weak. She killed herself and left me alone."

"I don't think so," Hotch said, "Because she tried to kill herself before, nobody would question it. But you did it. You pushed her off the bridge. You killed her."

"No. I helped her!" Kelling made the mistake of moving and was shot along the arm. He dropped to the ground, clutching said arm.

Spencer and JJ rushed to collect him before he would get up.

"The boy's in the closet!" cried one of the hostages.

Hotch ran for the closet and pulled the door open to find Bobby trapped inside. Meanwhile, JJ and Spencer pulled Kelling up, now handcuffed behind his back.

"We'll need medics," Spencer called it in. And perhaps a mouthpiece because Kelling would be yelling for hours to come.

~0~

"How about 10 pairs of shoes? I mean, that has to be enough, right?" Spencer thought as logically as possible despite feeling the topic of shoes was more than redundant. If anything, it was Morgan's fault for bringing up the topic again. In an attempt to make fun of him again for not realizing there was something off about the lack of shoes in Meredith's closet, he told the story to Penelope which then brought on the attention of the others.

"Ten?" JJ made a face. "Ah, Spence, it's different with the ladies. We need them to match our belts, our handbags, our skirts, and the fashions change with the seasons."

"Oh, what are we talking about?" Aitana found the group coming towards the elevator. She'd gone a little ahead to use the restroom first before they left.

"Reid's still trying to guess the right number of shoes women usually have," Morgan said, swinging an arm around Spencer's shoulders and downright ignoring the mini-glare Spencer fixated on him.

"Ah, sweetie, there's no exact number," Aitana mocked a little pout, causing the rest of the women to laugh.

"Yes. Boys are so boring," Penelope groaned sarcastically, "Pants, shoes, out the door."

"Although it's not like men don't have their things," Emily remarked, "I dated a golfer once. He had 12 putters in his closet. But this conversation is reminding me I need new boots."

"They're having a sale at DeMille's on those tall-shaft kitty heels," Penelope was quick to say, "You like those. Do you want to go?"

"Yeah," Emily nodded.

"You getting all this, kid?" Morgan quietly asked Spencer while the others started making shopping plans.

"No," Spencer said with the deepest frown marking his face. Essentially, nobody had answered his question.

"I don't know what you're all smiley about," called Aitana as they began making their way towards the elevator, ""You two still owe me."

The smiles had indeed dropped from Morgan's face. "Oh, not this again!"

"Oh, this time I have backup," Aitana promised, gesturing towards Penelope, JJ and Emily.

"Save it, you didn't win!"

"But technically she did," Emily said with a pointed finger in the air.

"Yes," nodded JJ, "You two said that whoever pulled the best prank would win but you never said it had to be one of you two. Essentially, anyone else could have joined if they wanted to...and I wanted to."

Spencer's eyebrows knitted together as he went over that conversation in his head. "Technically speaking…"

"No," Morgan sharply cut him off, "Don't you start because then she'll really think that she won."

"It's just...that is what we said," Spencer said, still making a face. "And I can't really say that I ever expected to have my stapler inside jello." He knew he couldn't truly forget anything anyways but that had been completely memorable for him.

Aitana grinned. "You can thank Jim Halper for that one. So then," she clapped her hands together, "Ready to admit defeat? And perhaps apologize for using me while I was sick?" Her expression dropped flat.

"Yeah, that was very naughty of you two," Penelope wagged a finger at the two men. "Shame on you!"

"We didn't mean to do it like that," Morgan tried to explain but the way all of them were glaring didn't leave him with a lot to say. "Oh, alight. You win!"

"Thank you," Aitana mocked a curtsy, "And now that it's out of the way, we can get to the good part. You two owe me."

"What do you want?" asked Spencer curiously.

"Oh, I've been thinking about it during the case," Aitana said, glancing at the other women, "And I think I'll be doing you a favor too, Spencer."

"What?" Spencer made a face. "Me?"

"Yea, you're going to find out how many shoes a woman typically has," Aitana chuckled. "You and Morgan can come by to my house this Saturday to clean and rearrange my shoe closet."

JJ, Emily and Penelope nearly lost it on the spot.

"Of course you're all invited too," Aitana told them, "I'll give Hotch and Rossi a call."

"You are one evil woman, sprinkles," Morgan declared.

"Don't mess with me," Aitana winked. Her laughter, combined with JJ's, Emily's and Penelope's, would echo through the floors on their way out.

[danwhobrowses]

One Piece Chapter 1089 - Initial Thoughts

It has been months

We've had awesome side quests and painstaking breaks, but now we return to Egghead for the Egghead Island Arc. Though at this rate we may just need to rename this the 'Incidents Arc' considering it's one incident after the other.

Still, we miss our sillies, so let's not wait any longer

Spoilers for the Chapter, Support the Official Release

Nami is savage for the cover page, 'no thanks I already saw the stars' XD

I didn't even notice Sanji in the window the first time around

To recap though before we get to the chapter; Luffy and Lucci are fighting S-Bear, Bonney is going through Kuma's memory bubble, Shaka and Pythagoras are dead, Usopp and Lilith are stoned by S-Snake, Franky is partly stoned and chasing after S-Snake, Nami, Brook, Edison and Sanji are fighting S-Shark, Jinbe and Stussy are in the weapons area, Robin, Chopper and Atlas are exploring the organ regrowth area, S-Hawk is pursuing weaker targets but is being pursued by Zoro and Kaku, and Vegapunk is in the prison with the kidnapped CP agents next to Shaka's dead body and York. Sentomaru is rounding up Mark IIIs against the remaining CP forces in the main island, while most of the navy are outside with Kizaru and Jay Garcia Saturn. All goods? Let's gooooooo!

Starting at Foosha with the headlines involving Garp

Oda once again repeating our thoughts pointing out that MIA does not equal dead

Even iconic mayor Woop Slap isn't worried

But jail for iconic mayor Woop Slap for accidentally yelling at Makino's baby

Does Makino's baby have a distinct laugh? TCB reads it as kya ha ha but that's mainly women or Dellinger and I doubt either are the daddy. Then again did we ever confirm that Makino's baby was even a boy?

They apparently recognize Luffy from the papers though, I wonder if there's something instinctual *nonchalantly pushes ShanksxMakino agenda*

Also Makino calling Luffy 'Big Bro Luffy' to her child because dammit she raised those boys too!

Final mention because I have to soak in every moment of happy Makino I can because she is lovely and I will not take any slander towards her

Dadan is tearful though, I mean Morgans has painted Luffy as a kidnapper and now Garp's MIA, she has gone through the ringer

Hold up is that Fake Nami?

Earthquakes and Tsunamis across all four blues, these poor civilians

Laboon!

Iceburg, Tilestone and Pepe Lulu too? Oh god Water Seven don't need another Aqua Laguna

Hina and Momonosuke are noticing it too

Oh this is because of Lulusia

Wow...what a hole...kinda feels familiar doesn't it?

Vegapunk's tech is based off of Ancient Kingdom tech, so what if the Mother Frame is the same? What if Enies Lobby was the original Lulusia

Oh and the Sea Level has risen 1m, that's not great

Oda's tackling Global Warming

The World Government just fucked up the entire planet, drowned and displaced several millions people, and wiped out an entire nation just to test a fancy superweapon

Beaches gone, so no Okamas can chase Sanji across it, Top Gun cadets can't play volleyball, the Seychelles gone!

And god damn if you flood Foosha and any harm comes to Makino there will be fisticuffs

Also I fear very much that the World Government will blame the Fish-Men for the flooding

Plus if Wano ever opens its borders that water level is gonna rise even more

The fleet at Egghead notice it too

'More than enough firepower to put a buster call to shame'

1 in five ships are warships (20 out of 100), 30K marines, 9 Vice Admirals and Kizaru

Some of the vice admirals look familiar; Doll of course but I'm pretty sure on her left is Doberman, the bottom right could be Strawberry, wouldn't rule out one of them being a Giant either

The latter still chatting with Sentomaru, feasting on oodles of noodles, despite on different sides, as Sentomaru reprimands attacking the sea beasts and for wanting to kill Vegapunk

Kizaru still is very much an 'orders are orders' guy, in spite of the brief panel of him hanging out with the two

It's true though that everything in this incident is a net loss to the WG, but they also confirm with Sentomaru that CP0 failed

Saturn is still here keeping his presence under wraps

He at least approves of Morgans' headline, while getting the true facts

Oda's back at it with the silly doodle faces and the map levels

The Navy are pretty in the dark though; they still think all the Punks are alive, and that they are using the Seraphim

10 Members so far *sighs longingly at Carrot4Nakama agenda, before sifting to ViviReturns2Nakama agenda*

Even had to do a doodle of Hattori the Pigeon

Concerned with them highlighting that the Dome is at 100% gotta watch the numbers

Saturn is weird though; he hears that the Egghead researchers and citizens are accounted for and he goes 'sink them' but he hears that Bonney is on the island and goes 'ah, we have no use for her, but she's just a little girl so leave her be' like dude what?

Someone's calling Marejois from Egghead

One of the Navy members reminding Kizaru that he can listen in on the call with the Black snail on his wrist that's been there since his debut

York has made the call, and naturally is annoyed why the WG intended to kill her too

I mean the Gorosei do have that loophole: they want Vegapunk dead and York is a Vegapunk, though York does point out that if they had any interest in the Void Century they wouldn't have sold the others out

After citing the Seraphim as the reason for her survival, conversation turns to the massive fleet

Ju Peter however goes into the goods; they wanna know if York can replicate the Mother Frame

Does that mean that it's a one-time thing or are we doing scorched Earth?

York can, it's requested by 'someone' likely Im, their workplace is in Egghead

York introduces the terms of the new deal; no touching the lab, and the celestial dragon deal is still on, but also one more thing: save her from Luffy

Ah the crew are all here!

York has been conversing under threat of blade

Nami's packing heat and gets it, Luffy's packing meat and gets nothing XD

Usopp - looking cool with the anime shades flash - and Franky are quite unstoned as well, plus Vegapunk and Bonney's here, and Lucci seething at the back

Strange though, no Kaku, no Stussy, no Lilith, no Edison, no Atlas, no Seraphim, also no Caribou but we never know where he is...guess the spread's not big enough for them but most egregiously NO ROBIN!?

Oda, sir, we need to talk about your breaks, we just came back from 5 weeks of breaks spread between 2 chapters and now another break? Thought the eye surgery was supposed to alleviate this

Well we got our sillies back: for one whole panel XD

It was a really good chapter still, but it's more one that makes me concerned for the rest of the world; we've got two gaping holes in the ocean that have fucked up the natural world, islands have sank, earthquakes and tsunamis are happening all across the world. I wonder if Aqua Laguna was caused by the hole that made Enies Lobby if this is what happened to it. I think what makes me most sad about it is that it cannot be undone, at least not in a way that won't further fuck something else up, the only caveat is that the quakes probably will affect the Red Line's structural integrity.

This does still feel like the calm before the storm, but it also seems that the game of Among Us has resolved off-screen, so I hope next chapter(s) we track back to that first before continuing with this Siege on Egghead. An important note is that Kizaru's been listening in on the conversation, so he has more context to go by.

Also, forgot to mention on posting, this is the first time the Straw Hats have interaction with the Gorosei, they know their voices now, they know their intentions, that's a big deal.

But yeah, another break kinda sucks given that we just came back from one, plus it means more waiting -_- the only plus side is that this final saga will last longer - though who really believed Oda when he said 5 years back in like 2021-22?

1090 is next though, and Oda likes round numbers so expectations are high.

[merlions]

Im terribly sorry to report that I am having Hamlet Thoughts again :/

It is possible I have said this all before maybe several times. But!

Why is everyone so judgy of Hamlet!!! It feels like when people were all "wait Romeo and Juliet makes sense if you remember they were fuckin TEENS" but the same justice has not been granted my good boy Small Ham??

Well Hamlet:

Was also a teen!

With a recently dead dad!

Found out his mother married his uncle.

Found out his UNCLE MURDERED HIS FATHER.

Noticed no one cared! No one even knew, really? So he couldn't really do anything about it cause now this guy is the king??

Was commanded by the ghost of his dead father to murder that guy!

Does NOT want to commit murder!!! I cannot stress enough how much Hamlet's whole entire arc is him just making up excuses to stall because he can't think of a way around having to kill Claudius but he just! Does! Not! Want! To!

"OK the only real evidence I even have of this is a literal ghost and however much faith I have in my own judgement. So like. Maybe I should fact check that before I murder a possibly innocent guy in cold blood?"

Is a nervous wreck!! "He's pretending he was driven mad by grief, he's not actually mentally unwell" he's literally contemplating suicide, he did a whole long soliloquy about it. Y'know, the one that goes like, "To be or not to be"? It was this whole thing idk, I thought it was pretty memorable but maybe that's just me

"Hey mom maybe we should like not hang around that guy he seems like he's maybe bad news-oh FUCK he's literally spying on me saying this to you, hes gonna kill me SHIT" *stabs randomly at curtain*

ACCIDENTALLY KILLS HIS GIRLFRIEND'S DAD

CAUSES HER THE SAME MADNESS BY GRIEF HE'S [only half] PRETENDING TO BE AFFLICTED BY

NOT GOOD. THE SITUATION IS NOT IDEAL

Does this fuckin play he was stalling on to try to at least get Claudius to say something about it, like truly can we salvage something out of this

NOPE

CLAUDIUS GETS A GUY TO ATTEMPT MURDER ON HAMLET BY POISONING HIS BLADE IN A DUEL

GETS IMPATIENT AND TRIES TO KILL HIM WITH MORE, OTHER POISON

HAMLETS MOM DRINKS THAT POISON TO KEEP HAMLET FROM DRINKING IT

THE GUY COERCED TO KILL HAMLET THEN SUCCESSFULLY POISONS HIM

HAMLET POISONS HIM RIGHT BACK

CLAUDIUS DRINKS MORE POISON ON PURPOSE

EVERYONE IS NOW DEAD

???????

HOW IS THIS ALL HAMLET'S FAULT

"If hamlet had done the murder at the start he wouldn't have cost several other random people their lives including himself, hes so terrible and indecisive" LISTEN

First of all. I wonder if maybe the guy who actually did the murder and stole the crown and then directly caused death to most of those other dead people - I wonder if he might be partly responsible? For a few of those people dying. I wonder if King Claudius of Denmark might share some of the blame for some of those people that got dead directly and accidentally by his hand. (Now thicker than itself with brother's, wife's, son's, son's girlfriend's brother's, and arguably son's girlfriend's father's blood! Starting to doubt there IS rain enough in the sweet heavens to wash it white as snow actually. That's a lot of blood)

Also Hamlet is 17? Why was it HIS responsibility to deal with Claudius?? Oh yeah and

HE DIDNT WANT TO MURDER SOMEONE?????

WOULD YOU???????

[vlad-theimplier]

WIP Wednesday: Custos Custodium

This week... will be the last week of Custos Custodium.

That's right--it's done. Approximately on schedule, even. It won't be a WIP anymore.

Nathaniel Brown is saved, Viktor Marchenko is in custody, and all that's left is the Vote. But first, Faridah Malik meets Aria Argento, because no one can stop me.

With Marchenko and the detonator secured, the remaining ARC fighters laid down their arms. The Gold Masks declined to surrender, even when a Tarvos technical squad wrested back control of the bots and a counterterrorism unit arrived in full armor from Scotland Yard. By the time everyone had been taken away—Brown, Georgopoulos, and a handful of other agents to the hospital; Miller, the murdered Tarvos personnel, and the unluckier conspirators to the morgue; Marchenko and the others to police holding—it was well after midnight.

Jensen had given his verbal report, dodged several journalists, and brushed off Sarif’s effusive praise and awkward sympathy. He’d sent his old boss off to keep Brown company and returned to the Interpol team only to receive similar instructions from MacReady: stop bothering me and make yourself scarce. Now he sat on the roof of the Apex next to Argento, feet propped on the duffel Chikane had dropped off when it became clear the team would be staying late into the night. He wanted a smoke. He wanted a beer, and about forty-eight hours of sleep. And an ice pack for his face.

That reminded him. “Hey,” he said to Argento, his voice dragging behind his sluggish thoughts, “damn good shooting back there.”

“Thanks.” She flashed him a tired smile. “Sorry about the splash. Didn’t think it would reach your face.”

“Had worse sunburns. That was Marchenko’s laser rifle anyway. This is from a plasma lance, but it’s old.” He tapped his right cheek in the vicinity of the angled scars that cut grooves in his beard, wishing he could feel the hair itself.

“Oh! I never knew—I don’t want to pry.” But her eyes burned with curiosity.

“A merc by the name of Jaron Namir. Ran the Tyrants, back before the Incident. You know ’em?”

Argento nodded. “Heard the name. They had some heavy hitters.”

“Went one-on-one with him in, hah, a secret lair of sorts in Singapore. This was a near-miss. He hit me in the leg, too—melted all my plastic. Smelled god-awful, lemme tell you.”

She chuckled in surprise. “Yeah, I believe it. What happened to him?”

“I got an EMP into him, and it turned out there wasn’t enough meat left to keep him going. Stole the lance—he wasn’t using it—and used it to… nah.” He shook his head slowly. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What? You can’t leave me hanging like that. What did you do with it?” Argento grabbed his arm and shook it in entreaty. Or maybe threat.

“Fine, fine. If you promise not to tell anyone. Ever.” He waited until she gave her word. “Okay, the Incident: I was there. At Panchaea. Zhao Yun Ru tried to plug herself into the crap they hid in the lower levels and possess everyone who’d gotten the bad chip. I shot my way through a bunch of bots and melted the security glass she was locked up behind. Had to use those penetrator shells I told you about, too.” He fell silent, remembering.

Argento’s eyes were wide. “And Zhao?”

Jensen took a breath. “She lost control of the system. Partly because I shot her with the lance. She… She burned up. From the inside.”

To his relief, Argento’s eyes were full of sympathy, not horror. “Damn. That’s a bad one. Nightmares, huh?”

“Yeah. Still.” He looked away, knowing he didn’t deserve her understanding. She’d blame him for Miller’s death, if she knew what had provoked it.

“I got some of those—saw white phosphorus used one time in Syria. And I know some other folks who’ve had worse. You ever want to talk about it with people with ghosts of their own, let me know. We meet up sometimes and kind of… spread the weight out, I guess. I dunno why it helps, but it does.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.” He let his shades slide open and blinked against the rooftop breeze. “You care if I smoke?”

“Not if you switch with me. I never got used to it—with all the explosives around, people stuck to vapes in the Corps, or dip if they were old-fashioned.”

He moved downwind of her, cupped his hands, and lit up. They sat on the windy rooftop in silence for several minutes before Jensen twitched with the contact of an incoming call.

“Hey, Spy-boy! How’s it going? Saw there was a dust-up at the Apex and assumed you were involved—you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied heavily. “Saved Brown. Lost Miller.”

Malik’s gasp carried over the link. “Your boss? The Director? Shit, Adam, I’m sorry—God, that’s awful. You… Where are you? What do you need?”

“Up top of the Apex.” A thread of humor wove through the leaden blanked of guilt and fatigue. “Place looks great for wingsuits—you ever try it?”

“Ha. I can be there in ten.”

“Argento’s hanging out up here, too. In case you’re trying to keep the Merlin out of sight.”

“Oh, is she. You trust her?”

He looked at Argento, politely ignoring his vacant expression as she stared out over the city. “Yeah. She won’t talk.”

“Copy that. Hang tight.”

Malik dropped the call. Jensen rolled his neck, feeling the joints crack, and said, “Guess you get to meet my pilot friend, the one who pulled me out of that facility in the Alps. She’ll be here in ten. Do me a favor and say something nice about her VTOL, then make it clear you won’t tell anyone about it.”

“Her VTOL? Like, her own VTOL?”

“The history’s touchy.” Wrong choice of words—he remembered the feel of Malik pressed into him, sharing the bubble of his cloak, her warmth and the smell of her hair. He swallowed. “She prefers people don’t know about it. Flies for a private company. Her bird is… I don’t want to say off the books, but she doesn’t publicize it, either.”

“I get that—no problem. Where’d you guys run into each other?”

“She was David Sarif’s top pilot when I was chief of security. Flew us around a lot.”

“Was?”

“Uh-huh. Couple of strong personalities. They parted on rough terms, I understand. After I joined up with Interpol—I don’t know the whole story.” It was all technically true, and more of a simplification than an outright evasion.

They lapsed into silence again, drinking in the cool night air and the sounds of a city that had not just suffered a devastating terrorist attack. Miller had been right: it was its own reward, even if the price had been too damn high. Jensen stubbed out the cigarette as the Merlin appeared out of the night with a hushed roar to settle on the pad.

Malik left the engines running, but she came down the ramp and shook hands with Argento. Jensen was relieved to see her in a flight suit and no makeup, then ashamed of his relief. She looked Argento over with frank assessment, and Argento returned the look only a hair more circumspectly.

Malik spoke first. “I heard you lost Director Miller. I’m sorry. Never got to meet him, but Jensen told me a little—sanitized, obviously. It sounds like he was a good man.”

“Thank you,” Argento replied, eyes downcast. “He… He was a hell of a leader. Never let himself be a friend, exactly, but we always knew he cared.”

Jensen had to clear his throat. “I didn’t say, earlier—he told me he was glad not to be dying behind a desk. ‘In the field is the way to go,’ is what he said.”

Argento laughed through sudden tears. “Sounds like him.”

They gave Miller’s memory some space, then Jensen said, “Mission would’ve gone even worse without Argento. She shot Marchenko’s monster arm right off me, you know.”

Malik raised an eyebrow. “Keeping him safe despite himself? It’s a full-time job, trust me.”

Argento had collected herself enough for her smile to reach her eyes. “I figure he needs all the help he can get. And he’s mostly bulletproof, so danger close isn’t too dangerous. Oh! I should get a grenade launcher. That’ll keep him on his toes.”

She laughed at his expression, and Malik joined her after a moment. Before Jensen could protest about being ganged up on, Argento added, “That’s a sleek ride you have. Looks like a lot of power. I thought the ones we used were slick, but this is clearly a step up.”

“Oh—thank you! Yeah, she’s a twitchy monster, but she suits me just fine.”

“Well, you do hang out with Jensen…” They laughed at him again as he pointedly closed his shades. “Anyway, I’ll forget she exists. Right?”

“I’d appreciate it. Unless you want to join us for a beer?” Malik’s questioning glance took in Jensen as well, and he shrugged assent.

Argento shook her head, though. “Next time, and they’re on me for yanking this one out of that mountain base. Chikane’s flying most of us back tonight. He’s circling round in twenty or so.”

“Next time, then. Jensen, you coming with me or going with them?”

He checked with MacReady by text. “Coming with you. MacReady wants me to stay local, in case he needs me. And if I see Chikane’s face right now…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Argento said. “Stay safe, Jensen.”

“Watch your back,” he replied, and followed Malik into the welcome confines of the Merlin.

[quoteoftheweekblog]

BELLA MACKIE - 'HOW TO KILL YOUR FAMILY' (FIRST PUBLISHED 2021)

First sentence:

'Limehouse prison is as you might imagine, horrible.' (Mackie, 2022, p.1).

On life:

'Enjoy your life and shuffle off this coil around 70, only the very boring would want to live to be 100 - the only reward an impersonal and brief letter from th Queen.' (Mackie, 2022, p.10).

'I read books, I follow world affairs ... ' (Mackie, 2022, p.17).

'Some peope have fathers who beat them, some have fathers who wear Crocs. We all have our crosses to bear.' (Mackie, 2022, p.45).

On God:

'I don't believe in God, obviously. We live in a time of science and the Kardashians, so I think I'm safely in the sane camp there.' (Mackie, 2022, p.19).

On 'The Count of Monte Cristo':

'I couldn't get on with "The Count of Monte Cristo" ... I did flick to the back though. A terrible habit for sure, but my cheating nature was nevertheless rewarded with this line: "All human wisdom is contained in these two words, 'Wait and Hope'." ' (Mackie, 2022, p.21).

On text:

'I cannot engage with a grown-up who seems not to possess the ability to use basic English, even in text. It's just bad manners, and on top of that, it implies a level of ignorance that you might forgive in a teenager but is appalling in an adult. You can only blame a poor education for so much, My secondary school was hardly Hogwarts but I still took the time to learn the difference between their and there.' (Mackie, 2022, p.23).

On academia:

'God bless these pointless academics who spend years doing some mind-numbing survey that nobody will read but helpfully tack on a footnote which summarizes it all in two minutes.' (Mackie, 2022, p.74).

On prison education:

'The worst thing about prison is that, on occasion, a governor or a politiician will decide that we captives need something to enrich our souls, to better ourselves, to stop being quite so rough and terrifying. From that sudden thought, a plan will emerge. This usually involves some lefty sap (you never get a Tory wanting to show us how ceramics can quash our rage problems) volunteering to run a class (which is always compulsory) where we're encouraged to paint our feelings or some such nonsense.' (Mackie, 2022, p.87).

On the authorial voice:

'I have a few hours before the ghastly talk so I shall get back to writing.' (Mackie, 2022, p.97).

'I know that the final death is normally the icing on the cake in novels, the biggest and most dramatic. That's partly why I've been putting off writing it all down. Because this is not a novel.' (Mackie, 2022, p.297).

On Eton:

'There's a theory about Eton, that it doesn't produce the cleverest boys, but it does produce the most confident.' (Mackie, 2022, p.256).

On swearing:

'She appeared to be a total cunt. A great word, it can be enunciated in several different ways to convey varying ferocity and it perfectly encapsulates so many people. I can't dance around the truth calling people disagreeable or unbecoming. Jane Austen could conjure up a putdown without resorting to profanity but then, she didn't end up in Limehouse. If she had, I imagine Wickham might have been called worse then merely "idle and frivolous".' (Mackie, 2022, p.257).

REFERENCE

Mackie, B. (2022 [2021] ) 'How to kill your family'. London: The Borough Press.

[gaycelebtea]

I don’t want to start anything but I’m almost certain Martin doesn’t even like Juanjo. In an interview, he was asked what’s good and bad about Ruslana and he talked about her for like a minute and said there’s nothing bad about her. When asked the same question about Juanjo & Chiara, he had good AND BAD things about them. He even said it was hard to keep a conversation with Chiara going which I thought was a little rude considering she has adhd. He always comments on Ruslanas post very quickly and doesn’t for others. He didn’t even watch Juanjos live he did yesterday

I missed Juanjo's live, but sometimes this is also my impression, I mean Martin not liking Juanjo. I can't really explain it, but he seems annoyed with Juanjo sometimes? Like he doesn't like him? Which is odd because he was the one chasing Juanjo, not the other way around. Right now though Juanjo seems more into the relationship than Martin. Like... he surprised him for his birthday. They were several days apart. Meanwhile Martin commented on Juanjo's bad side in an interview. Why even do that?! And as if Ruslana doesn't have any bad sides?

I don't know enough about Chiara to make a comment, but I cannot stand Ruslana. She is so annoying. I must be the only one because all the Majas (Juantin fans) love her. She inserts herself EVERYWHERE and ALL THE TIME. She has never heard about boundaries. She doesn't know what that is. I remember she used to follow Martin in the house. Like she was his fan or something. It wad odd. I don't think their relationship is healthy at all. I personally don't think anything happened between them, or if something did, Ruslana was definitely the one to make a move. I could also see a scenario where Ruslana made a move on Martin but he turned her down. I have no idea what happened, or if somethng did, but she's like obsessed with him. It's creepy. They remind me of Will & Grace, if you have ever heard of that show (like I said: I'm old, I'm a Millennial). They have a bond, but it's too strong at times, if that makes sense? To the point where it becomes toxic. I also partly blame Martin because he hardly ever tells her to fuck off. I remember one time on OT she was following him everywhere. It was very obvious to everyone watching that he wanted to be alone with Juanjo, but she didn't let him. It was her need and what she wanted that came first. She seems like an extremely selfish and also insecure person. I was shocked when he basically said "wait" and then went to Juanjo. They got to be alone for hours, they even got to take a lengthy shower without her bothering them. It was very refreshing. I was happy he had the courage to let her know. It should have happened more often imo.

As for the new Javis project: I'm so happy for Martin. Proud of him too. But what is Ruslana doing there? She is not part of the cast, is she? She was not in the official cast pic. If she is, my bad. But if she isn't: why is she inserting herself into Martin's life and his projects? Martin is too nice, I swear. I understand they are friends, but this is too much. They are like siamese twins where they can't do anything without the other. It's not healthy. Heck, even Juanjo and Martin spent a few days apart recently, and they are dating. Also, did you see Alvaro's (Martin's acting partner) face? He was literally cringing from Ruslana being too much in that 20 second long clip. I was cringing too. As I said: I cannot stand her. She seems very selfish. I'm amazed Martin can't see it. It's like he's blind or something. I'd love to know what Juanjo thinks about their weird friendship.

Sorry this got so long, lol. I just have a lot of opinions about Ruslana.

[kammartinez]

Illustrations by Daniele Castellano

Sunday mornings, for wedding planners, are reserved for prayer. Not because it’s a particularly pious profession but because that’s the day when clients who were married on Saturday figure out if they’re happy or not. Should they choose unhappiness, Sunday is when they decide whom to blame. And Monday is when the emails come.

I say “decide” because weddings are funny affairs—tense, expensive, fraught with emotion. They are revisited—by the couple, by the family, by the person paying the bills—time and again. They mark the beginning of a couple’s new life but sometimes of other things too: family feuds, broken friendships, a long hangover of fiscal regret. So even if the party went great, on Sunday the wedding planner prays.

The work of a luxury-wedding planner is only partly about the planning. Yes, you help the couple plan what you hope will be a stunning event—but your main job is to be a professional wedding friend. You’re the person who cares if the bow on the favor has swallow or inverse tails, or if the maid of honor is being a passive-aggressive bitch when none of the bride’s other friends wants to talk about it anymore. The family is paying you to care as much as they do.

When I became a wedding planner, no one in my own family could comprehend my utility. My grandparents, who raised me, had what was called a “football wedding.” They rented the Veterans of Foreign Wars hall in Red Hook, Brooklyn, and piled tinfoil-wrapped heroes on a table. People would shout out what sandwich they wanted, and another guest would toss it across the room. “How complicated could a wedding be?” they wondered. Had I chosen to be a professional mud wrestler, I do not think it could have confounded them more.

Unfortunately, this only added to the confusion. “Don’t they realize they could have bought a house with all of this money?”

I would have to explain that my clients didn’t need a house. They already had one. They probably had several.

A few years after the recession, I did a lavish wedding on Long Island. The bride was stressing about putting a custom lining on her invitations that would add another couple thousand to the already large stationery bill. She and the groom had been given a seven-figure sum to spend both on their wedding and on buying and decorating their new home, and the bride had a thing for mid-century-modern furniture. Was the liner worth more than a Wassily chair? She went back and forth, back and forth. I couldn’t say a thing, but finally her mother reached her limit: “We’re rich!” she cried out in exasperation. “Get the liners!”

I once got a call from a woman in a panic: Her daughter was getting married in a few weeks and she needed my partner and me to save this wedding. She offered no further details over the phone, insisting that we come uptown to her apartment so she could properly convey the scale of the conundrum. Right before she hung up the phone she whispered, “By the way, I’m very, very rich.”

And she was! She lived in one of those opulent places with an elevator that opened up into the apartment itself, because that’s how sprawling it was. A maid in a uniform greeted us and escorted us down a long, art-lined hallway and into the library, where the mother of the bride was waiting.

She explained the dilemma. Her daughter was embarrassed by her family’s wealth, and had been living as a closeted rich person for years—her friends had no idea. The bride had refused to let her mother have anything to do with the wedding, because if her mom got involved, the jig would be up. Everyone would see she’d just been cosplaying poverty. And so, armed with information from the internet and her mother’s checkbook, the young woman had gone off and planned what she imagined was an “average wedding.”

With the event just weeks away, the mother had started poking around and realized, This is terrible! Her daughter didn’t just have conflicted ideas about her own privilege. She also had bad taste—or at least unfortunate notions of what the “average” bride wants at her wedding: things like jam jars for wineglasses, picnic tables for seating, a limited bar.

Her daughter could pretend all she wanted, the mother said, but their friends and family knew that they were rich and were expecting a nice affair. After much argument, they compromised: They would hire a wedding planner. And the only wedding planner in all of New York they could agree on was me, probably because while many of my competitors were specializing in opulence, I had cornered the market in “understated luxury.”

I was amazed by how well the strategy worked. “You could serve these baby lamb chops,” I would say, to which the bride would reply, “But is that going to be more expensive than pigs in a blanket?,” and I would assure her, as I had been hired to do, that everything was in the contract.

But then one day the bride proclaimed her desire to reduce the carbon footprint of the wedding by having edible escort cards. The escort card is the folded-over piece of card stock that tells a guest where to sit. The bride had the idea to stick toothpicks with little tags showing the names and table numbers into bacon-wrapped dates, combining appetizer and escort card and thus saving the environment.

I nodded yes, and then emailed the mother in a panic, something to the effect of: “It’s going to look like a table full of floating turds! What are we going to do?”

“For Christ’s sake, why can’t you be my daughter?” she wrote back.

The mother said she’d grown up poor like me but, unlike me, had married well. “Marry rich!” she would tell me. “It’s so fun!” I still haven’t had a chance to give this a try, but I suspect that she’s right. We agreed: When you have more money than God, what better way to spend some of it than to throw other people a luxuriously good time?

When my business partner and I began planning weddings, in 2003, America was in a wedding craze, nurtured by an abundance of magazines: Bride’s, Modern Bride, Elegant Bride, Town & Country Weddings, Inside Weddings, InStyle Weddings. The Wedding Planner had hit theaters in 2001. Then we had Bridezillas and Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? Soon you could scour wedding blogs all night: Style Me Pretty and Weddingbee and The Bridal Bar (and my very own blog at the time, Always a Blogsmaid). On the Fridays before weddings, I used to binge-watch Say Yes to the Dress to calm my nerves—at least these weren’t my clients.

Someone with a name like JuneJerseyBride334 would post photos of, say, her bedazzled escort and menu cards.

“Are we supposed to have menu cards?” SomethingBlue305 might ask. “I don’t have menu cards.”

“If I can get DH to splurge, I’m gonna get some!” FallForTedForever might add. “Printing these pics and stealing all your cute ideas!”

The Knot offered brides-to-be advice about budgets and listings of potential vendors, but it was the chat rooms—and the camaraderie and friendly one-upmanship found there—that kept users coming back. The Knot created a community; it made being a bride an identity. And it transformed weddings into a competitive sport.

An especially beautiful wedding might be featured on the site, or picked up by The Knot’s magazine. Soon more and more people began planning weddings not just around their guests’ experience of one special day, but around how the images of that day would look to strangers online. By 2010, I had clients walking in asking about our publicity strategy: Where do you plan on sending the photos once the wedding is done?

That was the year Instagram was founded, making it far easier for couples to share their content themselves. Thirteen years later, couples can hire a professional wedding social-media adviser, a service that can cost up to $3,000. A company such as Maid of Social will develop a “strategy” for your wedding, attend and photograph it, and post the shots to your Snapchat and Instagram accounts, hashtags included—“because the day you just spent 14 months planning should be seen by the world.”

The average wedding in America costs about $30,000. Historically, money for weddings was cobbled together through savings and gifts from parents, but today many of the celebrations are debt-financed affairs. Surveys have found that roughly 30 to 45 percent of couples report taking on credit-card or other debt to pay for them. Wedding loans—personal loans marketed to engaged couples—can carry interest rates as high as 30 percent.

At one of Marcy Blum’s recent weddings, on a private estate in Palm Beach, Florida, she built her clients a miniature golf course. A video of guests put-putting around in their black-tie finery is available on Instagram, where Blum has more than 100,000 followers. Blum has been planning weddings for more than 30 years and has worked for moguls including George Soros and LeBron James. Like a lot of people in this industry, she wasn’t born rich; she was raised in the Bronx by a salesman and a schoolteacher. But she’s rarely intimidated. Say you’re talking to Bill Gates, she told me: “He may be the smartest person in the world, but what does he know about lighting or a table setting?” Blum was my mentor—I’ve spent more nights than I can count crying on her sofa—and is still a close friend.

The golf course wasn’t just some holes and a putting green: She and her design partners also created a concession stand, provided custom pencils and scorecards (inscribed with Talk Birdie to Me), and had staff dressed up as caddies offering putting tips.

Blum declined to tell me how much the mini golf added to the budget. But some of her clients spend $2 million or $3 million on their wedding—about $8,000 a head. Some spend more, but she didn’t want to elaborate—“I don’t want people to think I’m that expensive before they call me,” she said with a laugh.

What does all this money go to? Primarily: infrastructure. The least sexy things are the most expensive—landscaping to clear a field; electrical lines to get power to said field; tent companies to erect a clearspan or sailcloth structure for 300 people and then to heat or cool it; lighting to illuminate it; driftwood flooring; restroom trailers; decorations to make the trailers look like elegant powder rooms; another tent for the caterer; refrigerated trucks to keep the food cold; propane stoves to get it hot; even more landscaping to level another field far away where the vendors’ vehicles can be parked.

For all of this you need many, many, many workers. Blum’s weddings might employ up to 40 vendors, each with its own staff—hundreds and hundreds of bodies, mostly blue-collar laborers, many of them immigrants. All of these people can be there for upwards of a week working around the clock. It’s sort of like being in the circus.

The day of the wedding, her clients will fly in professional dressers like the ones who work for the stylist Julie Sabatino’s company, The Stylish Bride. Sabatino’s website refers to her dressers as “ladies in waiting” and shows them wearing white gloves and little aprons. The starting rate for just one is $2,450; a luxury wedding sometimes has 10. They sew and they press and they “do the bow ties,” Blum told me; they’ll pin garments into place and follow the bride around with a water bottle with a straw in it so she can drink without ruining her lipstick.

Throughout this time, Blum usually employs security guards and a cybersecurity firm to keep hackers out of the guest list. There’s a caterer to provide staff meals, and an on-site calligrapher to accommodate any last-minute changes to the seating chart. She even employs a “concierge event meteorologist”—Andrew Leavitt of Ironic Reports—to help prepare for the possibility of a “rain call”: the dreaded moment when the planner needs to inform the bride that the outdoor celebration she dreamed of needs to move inside. Leavitt will call “every, like, 15 minutes” to update her on a possible storm front: “It’s moving this way; it’s moving that way.”

Early in my wedding-planning days, I signed on to do the reality-TV show Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? I didn’t care about the fame, but I wanted more clients. If there were an Emmy for reality-TV performance, I could’ve won it. Enthusiastic, romantic, anxious that everything go exactly as planned, I had clipboards and checklists and said things like “This is what I live for” when my clients gushed over their reception room. I could do 20 takes of me entering a bakery to see a cake, looking both ecstatic and urgently concerned, and each was like the first time.

For my first reality-TV wedding, there I was—at a catering hall deep in New Jersey wearing a very unfortunate blue-velvet blazer—trying hard to seem calm while frantically calling the florist, who had gone missing. After many hours and excuses, he did eventually show up—but with at least one fewer centerpiece than promised. Naturally, the producers wanted us back.

We did Whose Wedding Is It Anyway? a couple more times, but as I got better at my job, I had a harder time pretending to be overwhelmed or anxious about things I could do in my sleep. Our last foray into television came in 2014. It was a chance to star in a new show whose concept was extreme weddings. We were assigned a ceremony for 70 guests at the base of a dormant volcano in Hawaii. The shoot involved the bride entering by helicopter and six hours of setup and taping under the hot sun on black lava with no restroom. The entire thing went off smoothly. But reality TV doesn’t appreciate expertise—we knew they’d never pick up the show.

In any case, my off-screen weddings were providing plenty of drama.

I once worked with a bride who had all of her wedding gifts sent to our office. I was confused until I realized that it gave her an excuse to keep stopping by. She knew that her fiancé was cheating on her, and she needed someone to talk with about it. They still got married, though, and had a resplendent wedding brunch. (I love a wedding brunch.)

Another bride could not settle on a design scheme, and was growing intensely frustrated. She said something like “I just don’t like pink. Never show me anything pink!” She had sent me a dozen images of things she loved, all of which involved the color pink. She was wearing head-to-toe pink. Even her phone was pink. “I think you love pink,” I said, as I looked her dead in the eye. “You actually love pink.” She ended up having a pink wedding.

At my final meeting with one couple, they kept talking about how they wanted to put “edibles” on the bar. I had designed a gorgeous wedding for them, with a custom chuppah and matching chandelier hand-built by an artist in Brooklyn, and a bunch of Edible Arrangements on the bar would completely destroy the vibe. I tried very hard to be polite about it. “People have strong opinions about edibles,” I said. This was true about chocolate-covered pineapple slices, and it was also true about weed gummies.

Another couple was getting married on an enormous estate, and the father of the bride decided, against his better judgment, to go all in on making it the wedding of his daughter’s dreams. He would use this occasion to give her every outrageous thing she’d ever asked for in her life. We hid that pony for days.

The term the wedding-industrial complex entered the vernacular in 2007, around when Rebecca Mead published her takedown of the wedding industry, One Perfect Day.

Mead was a cynic about the entire endeavor. She seemed to think that levelheaded couples should just take themselves to a courthouse and get on with their life while other, flightier fiancés were seduced by wedding professionals eager to swindle them out of their hard-earned cash. “These people think of themselves as providing a service that is needed,” Mead told Salon. “But they’re also creating that need and generating the desire, and they’re certainly aware of it; the best ones are very clever marketers.”

But this was the era of the McMansion, the big-screen TV, the luxury handbag—insatiable consumer desire was hardly limited to weddings, or created by wedding planners. As Jodi Kantor pointed out in her review, “We’re all nouveau riche now.” When the recession hit shortly thereafter—disproving that assumption—Mead’s take solidified in the popular imagination. Years later, articles still warn couples about wedding “taxes” and “premiums” and ways to avoid being “scammed by the wedding industry.”

It’s not the wedding professionals’ fault that weddings are expensive. The fact is that weddings are luxuries, not necessities. It costs a lot to make something look nice; it costs even more to make it feel nice—to make sure all your guests are comfortable, and well fed, and entertained. A wedding is not a photograph of a wedding. A wedding—a good wedding—is immersive theater, a living, breathing work of art.

But Mead wasn’t wrong that wedding professionals are clever marketers. A handful of people dominate the luxury end of the market, and the trends they pioneered have taken widespread hold. Julie Sabatino basically invented wedding styling in the early aughts. Back then, when she told people what she did, they assumed she was a hairstylist, she told me. Today wedding stylists have cropped up all across the country, most charging a fraction of what she does.

Allan Zepeda immigrated to Brooklyn when he was 3 and started taking photos for the youth group at his Pentecostal church—he’s entirely self-taught. “Thanks for calling the Latin kid,” he said when I reached out. He photographed the weddings of Sheryl Sandberg and Serena Williams. His destination-wedding rates now begin at $50,000. Beautiful images are only part of his success; couples love him because he treats them all like Vogue models.

The mother of the fake poor bride, it turned out, couldn’t bring herself to fire me. We’d had a blast together upgrading the bride’s budget-conscious, twee affair into a jewel box of an event, and we weren’t ready to quit. Instead, we came up with a ruse—even more elaborate than the first—to get us through the wedding day.

I had one of my employees pretend to work for the caterer, and—I’m not particularly proud of this—we introduced the bride and this woman, assuring her that I was no longer involved. Except that I absolutely was. And nothing the bride and this woman talked about held any water, because the only thing that mattered was what happened between me and her mother. And what was happening was a lot. We ordered custom furniture to maximize the space in the room. We brought in an enhanced cooling system. We had the floor refinished so no one would trip.

On the day of the event, after straightening every fork and folding every hemstitched linen napkin, I made myself invisible. I left everything in the trusted hands of a few of my staff members, who were disguised as waiters. I posted myself in a restaurant a few blocks away and fielded the mother’s hysterical texts: “She’s going to find out! She’s going to find out what we’ve been doing!”

I assured her that this charade would soon be behind us. But I didn’t realize the reason she was certain her daughter would find out was that she was going to get drunk and tell her. Halfway through the reception, she pulled the bride aside and confessed the entire scheme. The bride saw red. She was surrounded by traitors on her wedding day! Her own mother was sneaking behind her back, carrying on an adulterous mother-daughter affair with the wedding planner!

“We are always gonna be the help,” Michael Waiser told me. “I’m probably the most expensive help there is. But I’m the help, right? And I think that you have to remember that.”

By 2015, I was burned out. Not so much by the weddings themselves as by the role I had to play. Shortly after Donald Trump declared his presidential candidacy in a statement full of anti-Mexican sentiment, this half-Chicana wedding planner found herself at a Friday-night tasting listening to how excited the bride’s and groom’s families were about the venue and the band and the food and … future President Donald Trump. Real friends could have said what they thought. But wedding friends—hired friends—had to go on with the show.

Some of my most abusive clients were the ones who were stretching themselves, going into debt to have the wedding that they wanted the world to see them have. But unlike bags or jewelry, you can’t really knock off a nice wedding. Things would get more and more tense, and finally we would call a meeting. This should be a joyous experience, and it was clear they weren’t happy. We should just part ways and refer them to—and the bride’s lip would start quivering. We’re sorry. Please don’t leave us.

I was used to my wealthy clients thinking they could bend reality to their will, but I got truly taken advantage of only once. The bride called us to say that she and her younger sister were both getting married in the same year at the same venue. For what seemed like obvious reasons, she did not want to work with the same planner as her baby sibling. I quoted her our rates and there was silence.

Her sister’s planner, she said then, was cheaper—something like $12,000 less.

To which I replied: Good for your sister!

We nevertheless agreed to meet, and by the end of our coffee date, I could see by the needy look in her eyes that she wanted me to be her wedding best friend—the one person who didn’t care about what her sister was doing with her wedding; the one person who didn’t care that her sister was getting married, period.

Her mother called: They loved me, but the issue was that the other planner cost less. Again I said: Good for you; they were welcome to use that planner for both events. But they wanted me. Eventually, they signed the contract and sent in the first of several deposits.

Two weeks before the wedding, we called to remind them that the final payment of $10,000 hadn’t come in yet. They said the check was in the mail. Two days before we left to begin setting up, we tried to charge their card on file, but it was no longer valid. When we rang, they told us they would give us a check when we arrived. Three days into the tent installation, when we would ask for payment, the mother or father would say they would go to the house right away and get it. Each time, they would get distracted. On the day of the wedding, we still hadn’t been paid, and debated what to do. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the money. Obviously we would show up. When we asked the father for the check, he barked at us: How dare we harass him on his daughter’s wedding day?

But the day after, when we arrived to break down the party, the family was nowhere to be found. No check, no credit-card number. We made the trip back to New York bathed in shame. Thirteen years in the business, and we’d been played by multimillionaires.

That Sunday we prayed extra hard, but on Monday the bride’s father reached out. He had made an itemized list of minor infractions that he believed entitled him to withhold our last payment. I’ve blocked out exactly what they were, but they were absurd—napkins not up to snuff, lights flickering in the restroom trailer. I called him and said this was simply not right. We had done what we were hired to do. But he had decided, it seemed clear to me, that if the little sister’s wedding planner was taking less, I would have to take less as well, contract be damned.

The biggest wedding in the news lately, between Brooklyn Beckham, the son of a Spice Girl and a soccer star, and Nicola Peltz, the daughter of a billionaire, cost $3 million to $5 million, the tabloids say, and ended in lawsuits and scandal—the bride’s father is suing two wedding planners who briefly worked for him; the planners have countersued. But every time I read about it, I find myself thinking of the hundreds of people whose labor made it all happen.

Critics who roll their eyes at wedding excess seem to forget that this excess creates a lot of jobs. So much of the work behind a wedding is invisible, but it’s done by real people, people who suffer when the wedding industry goes downhill. Wedding planners and designers and florists and caterers ate a lot of soup during the recession. They did the same during the pandemic. Both times, it was the rich who came back first, like a spring thaw.

Rishi Patel was the designer on the Peltz wedding. He told me that after large projects, he often gives his clients a book with sketches of everything he made for their wedding—the chuppah, the table settings, the stage where they took their vows—and a note at the front that says something like I hope you are as proud as I am that you were able to employ 200 people for these two weeks. He and Marcy Blum are among the many luxury-wedding professionals who have started posting behind-the-scenes videos of their events on Instagram, to humanize the amount of work that goes into them.

Blum does this, she told me, in part because critics are always saying things like “There are all these hungry people in the world, all the homeless people. You could have fed 8 million people with that wedding.” Her clients already give millions to charity, she said. For someone like that, she asked, “what are they supposed to do—have a picnic? What is a quote-unquote appropriate amount to spend on your child’s wedding?”

You might not be surprised to hear that after the mother of my fake poor bride told me it was farewell forever, it wasn’t quite. I got some emails, the occasional text. The strange part about it is, although I believed the bride had every right to be upset, I never felt guilty for what we did. And I suspect that her mother didn’t either. Our bond had nothing to do with how she felt about her daughter, and everything to do with how she felt about her money: just fine. She not only didn’t mind having it; she didn’t mind spending it.

[clatterbane]

Well, it seems the fun just doesn't want to stop around here!

The next actual procedure has been scheduled for Tuesday.

So, now it turns out that they didn't like some of my bloodwork that they drew at that surprise appointment, apparently thanks to the slightly low sodium and potassium levels which have come up every time anybody has tested that within the past couple of years. I am also on a medication which is known to cause low sodium levels (and which they actually prescribed for the GI garbage, and really think I need pretty high doses of).

So, now I've got a last minute appointment for an EKG through a different department on Monday, because slightly fucked-up electrolytes. Which have apparently been like that the whole time they've been working on me. The EKG people apparently tried to work me for today at 11 a.m. when Mr. C was kindly running interface this morning, but yeahno. He knew that wasn't going to work on such short notice, even if I had been awake. So, they worked me in for Monday instead.

Oh yeah, I also already had another appointment to get other blood drawn for endocrinology set up for Monday at the local GP clinic, before any of the rest of these complications came up. (Partly because they wanted to retest the sodium/potassium too! Pretty sure I just had everything endo was wanting sampled the other day.) You need advance scheduling for blood draws, and the appointment they gave me for that was several weeks ahead.

I already wasn't too happy about having that blood draw scheduled for Monday, and then the gastroscopy procedure for Tuesday. But,now there's a direct time collision with the last-minute EKG on Monday. And of course it's now Friday evening, so no rescheduling until Monday morning.

Wouldn't be surprised if they do try and charge me for a missed appointment, though (a) it is an unexpected time collision with a last-minute more urgent appointment, and (b) we had absolutely no way of notifying them over 24 hours in advance. Not nearly as bothered by the relatively small fee, as just on principle. I feel bad about his needing to run interference so much lately, but hopefully Mr. C talking to them Monday (in Swedish mode) will help.

I am trying not to worry too much about endoscopy maybe deciding just not to work on me now, especially since this exact same thing came up before that eye surgery under a full general. They did a pre-op EKG as standard, and they did seem satisfied enough to go ahead and knock me out then.

Same with the white coat blood pressure factor at the clinic. The anesthesia people were apparently not too happy with that this time either, so apparently they want me to get a couple of home readings over the weekend to get back to them on Monday. Mr. C is apparently expecting a call back then. Presumably before the damned EKG. 🥴

So yeah, not exactly what anybody around here needs at the moment. And I still have no freaking clue why endoscopy suddenly decided to complicate things now with the intubation and all, with no indication that things have been going anything other than fine over the past 2+ years up to this point.

I am definitely not less of a nervous wreck at this point, not least because I do know that there's fuck all I can do about any of it. Besides take some blood pressure readings, hopefully while I am not having anxiety problems nearly on par with every fucking time I am anywhere near a medical facility. 😬 Worrying about this whole electrolyte business really isn't going to get me anywhere, when there's nothing I can do about that--very likely short of going off that medication, which would probably take a while to bring them back to normal anyway.

Of course it doesn't help that I also keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, in terms of professionals trying to blame me for any of this mess. Thankfully, nobody here so far has even tried pulling that crap on me over anything so far, but yeah experience. I may know that I have no direct control over my freaking potassium levels (and yeah trying to eat more of both sodium and potassium has not seemed to help), but that unfortunately doesn't mean that medical personnel won't decide that's the easiest explanation.

On a very related note, I am glad that they are actually doing things like ordering basic labwork and trying to be thorough following up on it here. (Which, I would not be having most of the issues that are going on now, if anybody had been taking the same approach over the previous nearly 20 years back in London. Including this damage to my esophagus from the DKA crash, which I am trying to get treated for this round of shit even to come up.) It's nice to actually have medical professionals showing some due diligence. But, it sure can turn annoying and overwhelming sometimes.

I'm trying not to worry too much, but that's been going about as well as you might expect.

Tomorrow I've got an intake appointment set up for endoscopy, because they apparently decided to pass me over to a different team. No communication or anything, I just didn't hear anything about the next regular appointment--and then I got this new patient appointment letter for a week after my usual appointment schedule has been running.

That was confusing as hell, but Mr. C called to see if there had been some kind of mixup. Nope, evidently somebody just decided to send me to another team there after around 2 years with absolutely no communication about it. And I am apparently supposed to do a full new intake, with forms and blood tests and all.

There was also a procedure set for the 19th, or two weeks longer than they have been leaving between procedures lately. Thankfully, I am still eating fine right now, and here's hoping that will hold out for another week. At least they are evidently not planning to immediately stop doing treatments entirely, since they did give me that appointment date already.

But yeah, I have no idea wtf is even happening here until hopefully finding out something tomorrow, and it's making me nervous. I am actually at the point where I pretty much trust the team I've been working with so far here, after horrible and generally traumatic experiences dealing with the NHS before. And this is kind of a life-threatening issue they've been treating.

I do of course worry that they're basically just trying to dump me as a patient, since it hasn't been completely solved after 2+ years of them treating it (largely thanks to the delays and assorted fuckups when the damaged esophagus was still more easily fixable). I am also concerned that whatever new people I end up with won't actually try to keep me able to swallow as non-traumatically as possible, and I'll basically end up back in an NHS-level mess. The team I've been dealing with did actually seem to gaf if I could eat--and tried to keep me out of severe pain while they were reaming my throat out on a schedule informed by it staying open or not!--but yeah who knows.

We'll have to see what they have to say tomorrow. And I'm glad I do have some kind of backup, going in to who the hell knows what.

[greenishghostey]

the commonly referenced 'messy bun' eddie puts his hair into isn't actually a bun, it's just a ponytail he didn't pull all the way through

His pretty pretty curls tied back all messy because it’s summer and he’s got to clean out his van

That’s the plot synopsis of this. Also, goofy fluff for fluff's sake

///

July in Hawkins was usually a similar temperature to the surface of the sun. Eddie would lovingly grumble about how it “feels like Satan’s moist armpit”; he had such an eloquent way with words.

The summer sun was particularly punishing as it bounced around the trailer park. You were almost tempted to try and cook some eggs for breakfast on the steps of Eddie's trailer - the resulting bacteria would have been a bitch to deal with though.

Eddie always used hot, sticky summer days to clean his van. The body and windows desperately needed to be blasted with a hose. A whole lot of random crap had accumulated in the back of the van - fast food wrappers, busted guitar cables, Corroded Coffin poster samples. The brown shag rug lining the back needed to be vacuumed very, very badly, too.

You were always happy to help out with the van cleaning. Partly because it was just nice to spend time on a nice day with your boyfriend. But mainly because you got to look at him while he cleaned.

Eddie didn't own any shirts that were breezy enough for the July heat, so he ditched the shirt altogether. His tattoos and freckled skin were on full display in the golden sunshine. He was glowing. One, because he was a pretty guy, and two, because you had rubbed a lot of sunblock on him - much to his protests.

In addition to going half-naked, "showing off the goods," as he put it. Eddie also tied his curls up. The hair tie he used, which was probably months old, given how overstretched it was, only held his hair back loosely. The ponytail sat against the back of his neck, and several wild strands fell around his sweaty face.

You were taking a break from vacuuming the car seats, lounging back on a low, green deck chair and observing. Secretly, you were happy that you had the privilege of seeing Eddie being all effortlessly hot. The guy was a solid 10, and no one else in the entire town got to see him the way you did.

Admittedly, you felt a little iffy watching him while knocking back a beer from the cooler at your feet, objectifying him while he was hosing down the van. But you also knew that he was far too aware of what he was doing.

"You missed a spot on the windscreen." You pointed out, gesturing to the dried bird shit near the window wipers. Eddie turned to you and peered over his sunglasses. Letting him buy aviators was an awful idea. Especially since you'd seen Top Gun with your friends a few months back.

"I'm doing the wipers separately. There's more bird shit and dead bugs on 'em than what you can see," Eddie explained. He still moved the spray of the hose over the area you had pointed out. You were just trying to be helpful, and he appreciated it. "Oh, there's a huge spider in here too! Come see!"

You had to peel yourself off the plastic of the deck chair - the heat was just a joke now. Eddie had started poking at the wipers, inspecting the area for any live creepy crawlers that he could save before causing a tsunami for them.

"I swear if there's hair on this spider, I'll-" You were abruptly cut off by a fast spray of water hitting you in the chest. Eddie was a dead man. Regardless of his summer look.

"Been waiting all day to do that." Eddie cackled, doubling over at the sight of the death glare you were giving him. "Love ya, though. Hey, no bra, how nice of you." he preened, quickly stealing a kiss on your damp cheek.

The t-shirt you were wearing was now like a second skin. The red cotton clung to your torso, and you quickly realised the reason for Eddie's aim. As Eddie moved away from you, you made fast work of disarming him of the hose. The second it was in your hand, his face dropped, and he bolted around the van.

"Can you blame me for the wet t-shirt?! Like really?" Eddie pleaded as you stalked after him, hose in a vice grip. You knew your boyfriend was a perv, sure, but you could still get a bit of revenge in exchange for it.

"It is chaffing my armpits, Edward." You hissed, aiming a hose blast at his head, but he quickly ducked behind one of the open back doors.

"Well, I'm sorry about that. But you've been ogling me all day! Can't a guy see some wet t-shirt action!" This time he luckily dodged your line of fire.

"I've been ogling you for twenty minutes AT MOST!"

"HA! So, you admit-" Eddie cut himself off with an "oof" as you had managed to catch him and shove him lightly into the side of the van - the clean side. He immediately raised his hands in defeat, pushing his sunglasses into his hair so he could try to win you over with the puppy dog eyes. Damn, the guy was good; you had to give him some credit. "C'mon, babe, you don't really wanna do this. How 'bout I make it up to you later? I'll do that thing-" The offer was tempting, but you only pinned Eddie more firmly to the metal.

The spray blasted directly on the top of his head, soaking his face, hair and shoulders in an instant. "You will be doing that thing later, dumbass." You grumbled, releasing the now water-logged man and marching off with the hose.

You took maybe five steps away from Eddie before he ran up, grabbed you from behind and started shaking his sodden hair in your face like a big dog. His barking laugh at your struggling to run away warmed your heart and made you forgive him. Only a little bit, though.

[daddy-suguru]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ▸ Suguru and You had talked about your shared attracted towards Satoru many times before. So one night while the two of you are waiting on Suguru to get back from a late business meeting, you make a move on Satoru.

𝐰𝐜 ▸ 1k

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ▸ nsfw, established relationship between suguru and you, touch sensitive!satoru, tattooed!suguru, implied threesome, grinding, suguru spits on satoru’s cock, talking dirty, blow job

“Don’t text him. In less than half an hour, Suguru will be home. He will walk in on the two of us and you can let his reaction speak for itself.” Satoru sets his phone on the coffee table. If you want Suguru to walk in until you were trying to throw away a three-year relationship rather dramatically, which he doubted.

Going onto tell Satoru, “The two of us have talked about this before." Taking him staring at you with his dark sunglasses on as he leans back into the sofa to get comfortable, a sign that he is at least curious about the rest of what you have to say, "The first time it was while we were drunk a year ago. We blamed it on that, but by the third time of entertaining ourselves with the thought, we couldn’t blame it on the drink anymore.”

A year ago is when Suguru sent a short video of you riding him, his cock bulging in your belly and a clearly intoxicated look on your face. Your moans were loud and your grin lopsided as you leaned back to give the camera a better view of you fucking yourself on Suguru's cock. And now Satoru is figuring it's because of that first conversation, meaning for the last year the two of you have been talking about including him in the bedroom.

Satoru asks, “What thoughts?"

Leaning into the side of him, pressing your chest up against his arm as you put your thighs over his and place on his chest. Playing with the third button of his shirt. You say, “That you would look pretty crying. And that we both want to share with you, we know you don’t want to settle down. So what’s a little harmless fun with your friends every once in a while? The two of us can fuck you, and the two of you can fuck me. And maybe if we are good we might get Suguru to sub for us and we can fuck him." Dragging your nails down his bare chest after unbuttoning his shirt, making him shiver as you go onto add,

"Don't you want Suguru's fat cock hitting that sweet g spot inside you while he tells you how pretty you are, every thrust from the back making you fuck your cock into my pussy as I lay underneath you? You seem so attention needy to both of us so many you won't whine if you're in the middle.

Satoru had ditched his tie and loosen his shirt on the way over to Suguru's apartment. Since the three of you planned to hang out together. And after Satoru's meeting wrapped up early, he went to Suguru's a little early, knowing that you lived there now and you are always fun for him to bother. The sight of him with his shirt partly undone drove you wild, making your pussy drip the way she did at the sight of Suguru you undress him after he comes home from work.

Slipping your hand underneath Satoru's shirt partly, with your hand on his shoulder, you are squeezing him to you in a cuddle with no other purpose than to touch up on him. Satoru tells you, “That’s several thoughts right there, alongside a question. Which I already know where your bedroom is. And if you want to sit on my lap, do it fully." You softly squeal as Satoru roughly pulls you onto his lap, his fingers digging into your hips out of pure frustration as he places your clothed pussy over his cock.

Undoing more of his shirt buttons, as you say, "You seem to like them. Sometimes I wondered if you were hard most of the time because of the slight bulge. But now I know your cock is just big soft too. And you're a grower. Tell me, did you ever save any of the pictures and videos Suguru sent of us fucking?” Pushing Satoru's shirt off his shoulders, he lets go of you so you can slip his shirt off fully and throw it to the side.

You grab his glass, bitting into your bottom lip as you see the pretty blue of his eyes. As Satoru grabs your hips, then helps himself to pulling your tight dress you up, that he has been wanting to rip off you since you greeted him at the door.

He doesn't want to give you the answer you're looking for. You should already know it by the way you smirking at him, as you shift your hips lightly, rocking yourself on top of him. It's the smallest of actions, with clothes separating you in between, but it's almost too much. He groans,

“I knew I caught you looking at my cock, told Suguru about it too." Back then, Suguru didn't get upset, just shrugged it off. Didn't matter to Suguru, either way you were going home with him. And his feelings for you didn't waver but get stronger since he asked you to move in with him soon after.

You remind Satoru, “You also have seen my getting spilt wide open and have those videos on your phone of me whining for more because I’m so cock drunk. All I can do is think is what he tells me to. How is that fair?” Satoru swallows the lump building in his throat.

Satoru says, "Who said anything has to be fair? You steal my best friend from me all the time." He knows the two of you can't include in everything that happens when the two of you are becoming a more serious couple. But your response has Satoru questioning what previously believed.

"The best friend who fucks his cock into me at night talking about how he wants to feel your cock inside my pussy alongside his? The best friend who comes home frustrated and hard because he just got done working out with you. That best friend." Satoru hooks his fingers under the lace band of your panties.

You lean back as he tightens his hold on your hips, setting his glasses on the coffee table. Satoru waits for you to lean back to him and start rocking your hips before he asks, "He does?"

The soft grinding tension of his thick cock against your clothed clit is becoming too little. You want Satoru in the room and naked before Suguru gets here.

You pull away from Satoru, fixing your dress as you say, "Blows my back out almost every time, and sending it to you. I think it's only fair you have some fun with us and let your cute ass take some of Suguru's cock up it to find out for yourself what you do to him." Crossing your arms and looking at him while finding it unfair that he is sitting down while you are standing up, but you still have to look up. As you say, "But you said nothing has to be fair. In that case, when Suguru gets here you can watch me suck him off until he cums, then the three of us can relax. How is that for fair?"

You sit on the sofa, and Satoru stands up to stretch out his arms. Which gives you a beautiful view of his backside, as his shoulder muscles tense up. And his back pops as he lets out a groan before turning to face you.

HIs bulging cock so close to your face is all you can stare at as you bite your bottom lip. And Satoru places his hand on the top of your head as he unbuttons his button of his dress pants and pushes them down along with his underwear.

You softly moan, "Your cock has the prettiest pink color at the tip, and you're already dripping so much pre-cum for me." As you grab the base of Satoru's long cock. The softness of your hands making Satoru groan as you hold his cock up, his tip so close to your lips.

Wrapping your lips around his cock and taking it into his mouth. He groans, "Fuck I needed this." Satoru is pushing on your head as he pumps his hips forward, thrusting his cock into the back of your throat. As he asks you, "Is this why he had you move in, because you like taking care of him with your wet mouth when he gets home?"

Satoru shoves his cock too deep, and your body clenches as you gag around his cock. He can't believe he has his best friend's girlfriend's cute mouth taking his cock. And the sight of his wet cock gliding past your puffy lips as him groaning out, "God damn your mouth feels so fucking good." Thrusting his cock deep into your throat and holding your head down with one large hand. He lets out a gentle chuckle that turns into a moan.

Satoru is smiling as he runs his other hand through his hair, as he says, "The look on your face says you like gagging around me cock like that. Do you like my balls hitting your face, want to suck on my balls too? They are so fat and full of cum. I need you to help my aching balls feel better." Satoru pulls his hips back, your lips wrap around his tip.

Breathing in through your nose as you suckle on his head, thick sweet pre-cum coats your tongue. And after you caught your breath in your mouth as you put the tip of your tongue to his slit. Before swirling your tongue around his head.

Reaching between your legs to rub your clit through your panties. You pour away and softly kiss his cock head as you lightly massage his balls. His head falls back and the adam's apple pushes out more. And when you gently blow on the wet tip, a shiver runs down from his shoulders to his hips. Which jerk forward in your hand.

"You sensitive? When was the last time you were with someone?" You always figured someone pretty and flirty like him would have various one-night stands but he says, "A few years, been busy."

Kissing along the side of his cock as Satoru watches you. And when you reach the base of his cock you say, "So you're almost a virgin. That's cute." His hand moves from your hair to your cheek, this thumb gently moving from side to side. As he whines,

"Don't call me cute."

You give him a faux pout as you tilt your head to the side and teasingly ask him, "Don't call the way your blushing cheeks match you pre-cum dripping cute cock." Coming up the stairs from the first level of the level-top floor penthouse is Suguru. Who doesn't bat an eye at you, stroking Satoru's cock while messaging his balls.

Judging by the glass of whiskey in his hand, he went to the in home bar/lounge downstairs before coming up. His dark red tie is loose around his neck, and he undid the top three buttons showing some of Medusa's snakes reaching towards his sharp collar bone.

Motioning for Suguru to come closer, and softly cooing, "Happy early birthday love." Suguru walks over and grabs Satoru by his fluffy white hair. Suguru admires the way Satoru's eyes flutter shut, while his gloss lips part and a whiney moan passes. The feeling of Suguru's nails on his scalp making him shiver.

Suguru then leans down slightly to spit onto Satoru's cock. Who lets out a breathy chuckle before he asks, "What? Am I the gift?

▸m.list

[emyluwinter]

A few of my suggestions about what we can expect in episode 6 of the main story.

You know, I have a lot of thoughts, both logical and consistently justified, to some absurd, and there are a couple of our favorite "glass"

Although who I'm telling here, you know the master of Toboso! Those who have read the Dark Butler, are aware that there are handkerchiefs and sedatives should be thrown at some moments, like a ticktack.

For those who haven't read it, there will be some spoilers. But just a little bit, and they don't really affect the story much.

So let's get started.

After Yuu's injury, I think Kalim and Wil may well want to repair Onboro to the end.

Perhaps Vil, our peerless Beauty Queen, might feel very guilty that he didn't foresee that the Yuus might get hurt.

There are several prerequisites for this.

1. Blame for the Overblot.

Can you imagine how terrifying it is for a teenager without any magic to plunge into a battle against an Overblot with poison that will kill them with terrible agony in the end?

All things considered, there was a hell of a lot of poison in there.

Fight against the overblot for the 5th fucking time?!?

If it wasn't for Deuce's unique magic( who else thought his magic was related to cauldrons? I'm with you), I'm afraid to imagine what a tough ending the boys were waiting for.

Everyone was greatly weakened by the battle with the overblot.

I swear they all needed medical attention after that!!

See what the Prefect and manager are doing for the duration of the camp VDC they were wounded. And maybe it's partly their fault.

Considering that there were a lot of people at the event and there were probably haters or" crazy " Vil fans among them.

We can assume that one of these people attacked the Prefect because Vil lost VDC ?

Some fans can be terrifyingly intimidating in their actions, and imagine that their idol didn't win a big competition, but they wouldn't dare touch the contestants. Vil himself had trained them.

Why not take out all the anger and aggression on the Prefect Manager?

After all, no one knows who did it. What guarantee is there that no one has cast a spell on a non-magical student to wound them like that afterward?

I'm sure Yuu won't tell anyone that Grimm did it.

It may seem that their relationship is not very advanced, but this is a mistake.

Let's take a couple of examples.

Grimm could have left on his own during the" captivity " in Scarabia. It would have been easier for him to escape seriously than with the Prefect.

But he stayed. Grimm didn't leave or run away alone.

Everyone knows that he was very unfriendly towards Yuu in the beginning.

But we were shown that Grimm was becoming more and more attached to the Prefect.

Grimm woke Yuu up when Ace and Grimm, part Deuce, wanted to eat at night during camp VDC.

After all, they could safely not call them.

There are probably more points, but I may have forgotten about them. Excuse me.

We'll allow it.Vil could repay Yu for providing Onboro for the duration of the camp, and their entire efforts by repairing to the end of Onboro.

And perhaps Kalim will help here as a kind rich sun.

Honestly guys, I'm afraid what will happen when the boys find out that Yuu was injured. It breaks my heart.

Vil uses all his knowledge of beauty and style and design. And a couple with Kalim will pay for it complete renovation of Onboro.

Just imagine, a teenager who went through 5 overblots.

In a completely unfamiliar world.

Living not in the most luxurious apartments with ghosts and a monster that can burn them.

Definitely with a modest allowance.

Survivor of a serious injury. I'm pretty sure Yuu's injuries are serious. Because it's a magical attack, do you have any idea what monstrous power a Grimm with a mind clouded by stones must have?

He definitely wasn't holding back. And he attacked with full force.

The one you trust the most and the one who has spent every day with you for more than a few months.

With anticipations of events already in reality! The dreams that haunted the Prefect no longer appear only at night.

And no one can explain what and why all this is happening.

No matter how strong the Yuus are, I think such events will break them. Or they'll break it like a doll.

And if the Yuu are returning to a completely renovated beautiful and cozy Onboro. That's where they'd like to live from the very beginning ... but…

Completely broken…

Their eyes are blank and expressionless. They become quieter and more withdrawn.

Their vision before that most terrible night does not let them go. They know. They know what's going to happen.

Because all their dreams came true in one way or another, and no matter what they did. No matter how hard you try to prevent them.But now it wasn't a dream with a visual "hint" of what was going to happen. It was a vision. A CLEAR F*CKING VISION OF THE FUTURE.

And now Yuu knows that Grimm is becoming an uncontrollable monster that injured them. And there's nothing they can do about it.

Yuu will be like a broken doll in a beautiful dollhouse.

Vil describes to them in all its beauty the work and techniques that he used in the renovation of Onborough. He tries to show all the beauty that he has put into this place, as the best option of all who could help in this.

Yuu looks around in disbelief and looks around to see Onboro in all its glory. The place that had become their home was finally done properly.

There is no mold, cobwebs and many centimeter layers of dust. This place is no longer abandoned, not dilapidated. It really wasn't all a dream.

But...does it really matter now?

They were tired. They're broken.

They are haunted by nightmares from their very first day in this world. After each overblot, their percentage of getting PTSD increased each time.

They were on the verge of death and were saved by pure chance.

Their wounds still hurt with every move.

They didn't want to deal with all this, it wasn't their place at all.

Now they're like a bird with broken wings that's been put in a golden cage.

Let's have a moment of glass.

***

Vil paused when he saw that Yuu hadn't been listening to them for several minutes, which was very unusual for them.

Yuu may not seem very smart, but they are good at strategy. And very attentive.

Vil himself was very demanding, and the Prefect always tried to do everything that was required of him during the camp.

And now ... why is the first year so distracted in his attention? After all he had worked so hard and put so much effort into making this place look luxurious and cozy!

But the answer came faster than the Beautiful Queen could understand.

A single tear rolled down the Prefect's cheeks. Lonely and fleeting. The first crack in their power.

Headman Pomfiore couldn't believe what he was seeing

....Prefect of Onboro....

Cried...?

They usually didn't express their emotions very strongly, especially not in this way.

Tears streamed down their pale cheeks, leaving wet trails that didn't have time to dry. There were more and more of them. The Great Seven what happened to their skin and natural complexion on their return?!

Their dry, chapped lips trembled and clenched into a single thin line, as if trying to stifle all the screams that were trapped inside.

Their shoulders were shaking, and now they looked so frail, powerless, and broken.

Their eyes were so empty and lifeless that Vil thought he was looking at the living dead.

They weren't tears of joy or admiration, not even gratitude.

It was grief and despair.

This kid had been through too much and now looked like this....

It was the first time Vil was so puzzled, he was an actor and he had to play a lot of roles.

But the worst thing is when such emotions are not for the "frame", but occur in front of you and you can not help anything.

Nothing.

Of course, Vil quickly regained his composure and tried to calm the first-year down. Carefully and delicately. Because they weren't tears from the pain of powerlessness and rejection like Epel's. These were not tears of sadness and sorrow.

It was much stronger than his own overblot. Yuu didn't throw a tantrum, they just quietly broke down more and more by the second. Quietly and unnoticed from prying eyes.

- Prefect ... hush..hush...do your wounds hurt? After all, you were told the medicine that you need to take if this happens.

Vil, of course, couldn't imagine what a first-year would go through to get to this state. But their injury was definitely a control shot for all the events that had taken place earlier.

Yuu could only briefly answer yes or no. Unable to control his emotions.

On that day, the prefect received a small set of aromatic oils from lavender, juniper and mint.

Rook also gave them a modest bouquet of Freesia flowers.

The hunter said that these flowers are a symbol that the Prefect can trust him with all his heart and soul...

*** Now let's get back to thinking.

Maybe Ortho will notice Yuu's depressed state and suggest that they play board games together?

Aaaaaaaaand

This is how we'll get to know Idia!

This poor guy is going to be wildly uncomfortable with a new person. Suppose that Azul couldn't come to the club because of business at his restaurant.

But seeing that the Yuu are mostly quiet, almost silent, and only occasionally asking if they're making the right move in the game, Idia gradually relaxes.

Seeing that their condition is even worse than theirs.

And maybe Idia and Yuu will have a very deep and heartfelt conversation about their fears and past, knowing that neither side will tell anyone.

Perhaps Idia will see Yuu as Ortho before he became a robot. (There are too many theories,but I will focus on the fact that Ortho's soul is attached by a magic contract to the robot's body)

Still remember that Hades was a fan of deals?

Maybe Ortho is like Alphonse Elric from the Fullmetal Alchemist.

It has a human soul, but a robotic body.

If it turns out to be true. Then starting from Chapter 6, we need to stock up on sedatives. Because TWST literally trying to kill us with his drama and tragedy.

The Yuus are weak and exhausted, look sickly, and can barely hold on to the threads of their thoughts.

They need more time to recover psychologically from their experiences.

Ortho will probably offer to watch some of his favorite movies with his brother.

And oh shit…

Just think about the idea that Yuu will treat Ortho like a living child. With tenderness and delicacy and gently asking about everything that Ortho likes so much.

And Idia appreciates it because I don't think the robot has many friends.

My heart is breaking as I write this text.

Oh, yeah. I mentioned the Dark Butler at the beginning.

You know, I have a theory about Crowley. You can watch it, I hope you will be interested.

And there was one character, the Undertaker, who hid his face for quite a long time. A muddy guy who messed up so much that his hair stands on end.

Guess who the feathered ass is that doesn't show us her face, either? "Director Crowley."

One part of the fandom loves him, the other part hates him.

I'm on the neutral side because I don't know much about him in particular.

But I don't trust him with every cell in my heart.

I know who you're signed off on Crowley. I know what you can do without anyone watching. I know what you can do to Yuu at the very end.

And that's what scares me the most.

This was a large text of my thoughts. Not very coherent, but I'd like to share it with you.

Thank you for reading this!!

And if you want to write to me, or ask a question. I will be happy to discuss it with you!!

[radkindoffeminist]

And what am I supposed to do if the GP is closed because they’re only opened Monday to Friday?

Or the fact that I can’t get in to see my GP because many have the most idiotic booking systems and get full quickly? (Heard so many stories of how people can only get an appointment when it opens that day or worst still are only able to book for the week on Monday morning.)

What about the cases where there is a genuine concern which leads to someone coming to A+E but nothing comes of it? Seriously had a mate who went for chest pains which went away and showed nothing on testing but the symptom was severe enough that the NHS site advised them to go to A+E.

How should I know the difference between a sprain and break? If it hurts and I can’t walk on it (or walk with a lot of pain) then I’m probably going to get it checked out anyway.

I’m happy to recognise that people abuse the NHS and use the wrong services and even use services unnecessarily, but maybe stop blaming people and blame the whole fucking system being broken, partly due to years of underfunding under the Tories. Sure, some people jump straight to going to A+E when they don’t need to but others go because they have genuine reason to be concerned even if nothing comes of it; they cannot get in to see a GP within a reasonable timeframe; or their GP is closed for the weekend. Many people in the comments were saying that they even called 111 for help and then they were directed to A+E!

And stuff like this just feeds into the rhetoric of wait times being long because people are going to A+E for basically no reason or for something their doctor could fix. Most people aren’t waiting around A+E for hours on end without some reason for being there. Fix the systematic issues before you go after individuals.

[mariacallous]

The Russian president, Vladimir Putin, has appeared to concede the severity of the Kremlin’s recent military reversals in Ukraine, insisting Russia would “stabilise” the situation in four Ukrainian regions it illegally claimed as its own territory last week.

Russia has suffered significant losses in two of the four regions since Friday, when Putin signed treaties to incorporate them into Russia by force, with Russian officials saying their forces were “regrouping”.

“We are working on the assumption that the situation in the new territories will stabilise,” Putin told Russian teachers during a televised video call.

With Ukraine pushing its advance in the east and south, Russian troops have been retreating under pressure on both fronts, confronted by fast moving and agile Ukrainian forces supplied with advanced western-supplied artillery systems.

As Russian troops have retreated, they have left behind smashed towns once under occupation and, in places, mass burial sites and evidence of torture chambers.

In the town of Lyman, which was retaken by Ukrainian forces on Sunday, more than 50 graves have been found, some marked with names, others with numbers, the Kyiv-based outlet Hromadske reported on Wednesday.

Putin’s comments comes amid increasingly gloomy commentary from Russian war correspondents and military bloggers over the severity of the situation that has seen a large-scale withdrawal from the Kharkiv region, the loss of the strategic town of Lyman on Friday and Ukrainian advances in the Kherson region.

The scale of the recent defeats was underlined by a report by the BBC’s Russian service that said an elite Russian military intelligence unit may have lost up to three-quarters of its reconnaissance manpower in Ukraine.

On Wednesday, Ukraine’s southern command said it had extended its area of control by six to 12 miles in the Kherson region and the president, Volodymyr Zelenskiy, confirmed the recapture of a series of villages.

The territory recaptured is to the south of the city of Kryvyi Rih in the direction of Nova Kakhovka as well as west along the north bank of the Dnipro river towards Kherson.

“The Ukrainian army is making quite fast and powerful progress in the south of our country,” said Zelenskiy in his nightly address on Tuesday. “Dozens of settlements have already been exempted from the Russian pseudo-referendum this week alone … and this is far from a complete list.” He named eight villages in the Kherson region.

Some Russian propagandists and officials blamed the losses on Nato.

“We are regrouping [our forces] along the front, which means that we can gather strength and strike back,” Kirill Stremousov, the Moscow-appointed deputy head of Kherson region, told the RIA Novosti news agency. Stremousov said it was “impossible” for them to enter Kherson city.

A Russian war reporter for state TV, Roman Saponkov, wrote to his Telegram followers that Russia was losing in Kherson. “Friends, I know you’re waiting for me to comment on the situation. But I really don’t know what to say to you. The retreat from the north on the right bank is a disaster.”

The losses came as Putin ordered on Wednesday his government to take control of the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant, Europe’s largest, but was met with the head of Ukraine’s state nuclear energy company saying he was taking charge and urging workers not to sign any documents with Russia.

Military experts say Russia is at its weakest point, partly because of its decision not to mobilise earlier and partly because of massive losses of troops and equipment.

About 15,000 of Russia’s best-trained troops are struggling to fight off Ukrainians on the western bank of occupied Kherson, despite movements of Russian troops from the eastern front to the south, which has thinned Russian forces elsewhere.

According to Jack Watling, a senior analyst at the Royal United Services Institute, Russian troops around Kherson have retreated to their second line of defence to shorten their frontline.

“There’s no evidence of surrender or collapse [of Russian forces] … like we saw in Kharkiv region,” said Watling, noting the political importance for Russia of holding on to Kherson city, the only regional centre it has managed to acquire since February.

But if Ukraine’s forces manage to break through Russia’s second line of defence, they will be able to cut the Russian supply lines with a wider range of cheaper artillery and trap them on the western bank of Kherson, he added.

“At the moment, the bridges are being hit by Himars [rockets], which are scarce and very expensive … [if they advance further] they can afford to open up against more incidental targets,” said Watling of the bridges supplying Russian forces on Kherson’s west bank.

Phillips O’Brien, a professor of strategic studies at St Andrews University, added that Ukraine’s recent progress had been a product of a process, not a turning point.

“For months now, Russia has been getting weaker, it has been bleeding its army on the field, it’s been losing a huge amount of equipment. On the other hand, the Ukrainians have been getting stronger; they have better-trained forces and better military equipment.” He added: “This hasn’t happened overnight, this has been the way the war has been trending but now we can say it reached the tipping point in September.”

In the short term there is nothing Russia can do because they waited too long to mobilise, O’Brien said.

Russia, meanwhile, has continued to attack behind Ukraine’s frontlines, a mixture of military and civilian targets. On Wednesday morning, it launched a significant drone attack on Bila Tserkva in Kyiv region and fired rockets into Zaporizhzhia and Dnipro region.

But O’Brien doubted Russia had enough quality missiles to alter the situation behind the frontlines to affect the battlefield.

“It’s more of a question of, can they just hold on and hope that they can get a trained and re-equipped force back in the spring, but even then there’s a question about whether they can do that,” said O’Brien. He said Russia would need to produce more equipment and properly train troops but its system of mobilisation appeared “chaotic”.

Konrad Muzyka, an independent military analyst, said he had initially thought the war may last for years, but after the Kharkiv region, it could be much less.

“It does not look good for [Russia] … They are not able to defend properly, let alone conduct any offensives,” said Muzyka. “This Russian leadership thinks with [new] reservists they will be able to stop Ukrainian advances, but I���m not sure. The truth is, we don’t know how big an impact it will [have] on the frontline.”