#(which means 1 she is *exhausted* at *all* times and struggling to even meet her own needs)

[kirby-the-gorb]

[adventuringblind]

Entitled To You (3.6K words)

Norstaptri x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: An incident with Lance sends the boys into a frenzy. She just wants to do what she loves.

Warnings: Explicit depictions of r@pe, injury descriptions, panic attacks, Oscar plots a murder, Lando throws hands, Car crashes, Author doesn't know legal stuff, Head trauma and blood.

Notes: This one is a request from @Lily234566 I know this wasn't the original pairing but I was struggling to fit the Ferrari boys in there so I had to scale it back... I'm sorry and I hope you still like it! T_T

Side Note: Sorry to the Lance girlies reading this. AND obligatory message of I don't know these people and this is purely FICTION! HEAD THE TAGS! DONT LIKE THEN DONT READ!

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

“Max!” She peeks her head into his driver's room. The bright beaming smile she receives in return after their 1-2 nearly kills her. “They want me for a media thing, apparently.” HIs smile drops into a pout. The sad puppy eyes might convince her to stay. 

“Again? Don’t they know we have plans!

“No, and why would they care anyway?” She looks him up and down and whines because he’s standing in front of her with no shirt on. “Just - I’ll meet you guys back at the room. It’s something to do with being a female in F1… again.”

“I’m starting to think they have nothing else to talk about.” 

She shrugs as she walks out of the hospitality, waving to Christian on her way by. The goal is to get past the Mclaren garage without seeing Lando because otherwise she is not going to the interview. His pout is worse (better?) than Max’s. 

To her pleasant surprise, Laura is the one conducting the interview. “I’m sorry about this being last minute! They said they wanted you to do it with someone else next week and I offered to do it now.” 

The interview passes with ease and thankfully doesn’t take long at all. The banter in-between is also entertaining. 

She’s exhausted when they finish. Ready to go back to the hotel and fall into bed with her boys. Hopefully They’ve ordered food - and dessert. 

The paddock is nearly empty as she makes her way through. Maybe, had she been paying more attention and not focussed on her aching body, she would’ve caught on to the footsteps behind her. 

They are heavy, she assumes possibly a mechanic still packing up to continue on their way to the next circuit. That’s what she still thinks when the hand on her bicep yanks her around the corner. 

If she weren’t as exhausted, then fighting would’ve been a possibility. However, that seems out of the cards as he pins her against the nearest wall. Her forehead hitting the surface hard enough to make her dizzy. 

“Not so confident now, huh?” 

The fuck- “Lance? What are you?-” He slams her head again and cages her body against his own. She flails, only to be slammed again. “Would you stop doing that please?” 

“Not after that stupid stunt you pulled today on track.”

“You mean the one where you showed you don’t know what brakes are?-” Again, her head is sent into the hard surface. She can feel her nose starting to bleed. “Must you?!” She decided to shut up when he does it again and everything starts to go fuzzy. 

His fingers dip beneath the waistband of her fireproofs. The cold evening air hits her bare skin and she panics more than before. Her head is too cloudy to fully comprehend what’s happening. 

“I feel like I'm entitled to a bit of compensation after that stunt.” 

“You’re entitled to nothing. You took yourself out!” She hisses through gritted teeth. Still, Lance continues to get her clothes lower. And slams her head again harder - you know - because she wasn’t disoriented enough already.

“Would you shut up?” She doesn’t say anything this time. Her mouth feels numb and her ears are ringing. Her exposed lower half is met with the bare hands of someone she doesn't want touching her. 

It's - well - it hurts. He's groping at her thighs, ass, even her tits which she isn't sure how he's managing. His hands are everywhere they shouldn't be. 

And then nothing. 

A vague awareness of what's happening seeps through her veins and invades her senses. She tries to scream. Attempts despite the sheer pain of the snap of hips she didn't ask for. 

His finger beat her to it. A hand encloses around her throat and cuts off her oxygen. The black spots dance around her vision. She wants them to stop moving; they are making her dizzy. Or was she already dizzy? 

“See, it's not so bad. Don't you feel less guilty for ruining my race now?” No, she doesn't. She wasn't guilty before. 

She blacks out. 

~~~♡~~~

Waking up with sore limbs and a killer headache is not how she pictured this night going. She tries to yell for help, but a mere creaky rasp escapes. 

When did she lose her voice? The thought makes her panic more. The sob she lets out hurts more than there is sound. 

Her face and hair is sticky. At least Lance had done her the courtesy of not finishing inside of her. 

Still - what the fuck even happened? The fragmented memory is trying to come back to her slowly. Each small piece remembered is another broken cry. 

She can't move. 

It's dark again. 

~~~♡~~~

The anxiety between the three boys is certainly not something they are used to. Oscar can pinpoint the exact moment Lando started overthinking and Max had to bear hug him so he didn't pace a hole into the cement of the parking lot. 

The fourth seat in their car remains empty and their messages have gone unanswered. It's getting more concerning with each passing minute. 

“Max, she always responds.” 

“I know Lando.” 

“She always calls if she's going to be longer.” 

“Lando?”

“Yes?”

“Would you feel better if we went and looked around for her?” 

The Brit nods his head in a fashion that might give him whiplash. It's better seeing him feel helpful then sit helplessly. Though Oscar can't help but agree with Max's original point. that they should wait there at the car just in case since that's where they were supposed to meet. 

Granted, it's only been twenty minutes. It's still long enough to be murdered. 

They Methodically peer around corners and wave at the mechanics who give them skeptical looks. They were supposed to be out for post race celebrations by now. 

Oscar freezes when he sees it. The human shaped lump lying on the ground. He rushes over with long strides. The closer he gets, the more familiar the person on the ground becomes. 

“Max! Lando! I found her!” The other two boys come sprinting in his direction. He's on the ground trying to clear her hair from her face only for it to get stuck in the sticky substance coating her features. 

“What the fuck?” 

Her fireproofs are still on, but it's obvious what happened. The handprints on her neck, the blood trickling down the sides of her face. “We need to bring her to a hospital.” 

Max hoists her up in his arms. Mainly because Lando is on the brink of tears and struggling to breathe through his panic. He loves deeply and with his heart on his sleeve. Oscar just hopes he can keep the Brit calm until they find more help. 

“Can we at least clean her up?” Lando pleads with him. Big Hazel eyes brimming with tears. 

It's always a struggle to tell him no. “We can't, not if it can help us figure out who did it.” The tears start right after that. 

“So that’s what happened then? Someone really-” Oscar has to maneuver the puddle of tears that is his boyfriend into the passenger seat of their rental car. Max tosses him the keys, opting to be with her in the back and keep her comfortable. 

The tricky drive to emergency is more because Oscar is too far in his own thoughts to pay attention to the traffic lights. He can hear Max moving her around, attempting to put pressure where blood still flows freely. 

Oscar doesn’t bother with parking. He pulls off into some empty area and helps Max shoulder her weight inside the doors while Lando runs ahead to find help. 

It’s fast after that. They take her away and start patching her up while the three of them are forced to sit in the waiting room. Oscar and Lando are left to their own devices while Max paces about on the phone with Christian. 

He feels like a knife is being driven through his chest each time his mind tries to come up with what could’ve happened. Who would do something like this? Unfortunately, a lot of people. The question is more of who could’ve done it and gotten away. Someone with access to the paddock this late. Security, perhaps? Maybe even a sleazy mechanic? A driver wouldn’t make any sense… right?

“When will they let us see her?”

“When she wakes up, most likely.”

He’s not sure when he falls asleep. The exhaustion finally hit him like a truck despite his persistence. He’s awoken by Max’s constant shaking and aggressive whispering of his name. 

“-She’s asking for us.” 

He’s up faster than Lando when Jon threatens an ice bath. They follow the nurse down the halls with an uneasy anticipation. They creep inside the sterile room and find her staring at the wall. 

Lando doesn’t hesitate to move further into the room. Always having been more in touch with his emotions then the other two boys. “Hey love, can I come closer?” 

She looks at him. The bandages plastered over the sides of her head and around her face now visible to them. She returns Lando’s gaze with glassy eyes. It’s damn near shocking when she tries to pull things off her body in a desperate attempt to reach for Lando. 

Lando gets to her before she can get everything off, specifically the IV, and catch her arms. Oscar and Max finally pull themselves together and manage to get her to lay back down with some coaxing. 

She’s shaking violently. Her grip on Lando’s arm is sure to leave bruises. “Who - who f-found me?”  

“We did, schat. We got worried when you didn’t respond.” Max drags the two chairs in the room closer and pulls Oscar down into one.  Lando, against all odds, manages to wriggle his way into bed with her. 

“I know who it was. I - well - does anyone else know?” 

“Just Christian and us.” Oscar can feel the fight Max is putting up to not ask her more questions. The way he’s grounding himself with a hand on Oscars knee instead. 

“You don’t have to tell us.” He attempts to reassure. Maybe calm her mind by giving her an option. “Just know we’re here, alright?” 

“I don’t want it to be a big story. It’s already going to be since I can’t be in the car for the next four weeks. Oh fuck - everyone is gonna know-” Lando hushes her; gets her to somehow hold him tighter.

“Christian said it’s up to you, whatever happens.” Max nods at her encouragingly. “We go at your pace.” 

“They did a rape kit. They’ll know who it is. It was all over so it couldn’t have been hard to get DNA - oh fuck” 

Her heart rate picks up. The nurses rush in. They send her back to sleep. 

~~~♡~~~

Max wants to know who it was who touched her. The rage simmering underneath her skin is almost too much to keep contained. 

On the more fortunate side, they were allowed to stay since she wouldn’t let go of Lando. Then when he did have to get up, they rotated. 

The doctors and nurses learned to approach her like she’s a scared animal. The heavy footsteps seem to set her off and there is now a sticky note on the door saying to tiptoe when entering. It’s endearing to see her doctors and nurses trying so hard not to startle her. But seeing as they’ve now had several incidents where she’s panicked, they are taking more caution. 

Oscar and Lando have meandered away in search of food. Max opted to stay put and made the promise to bring him back cheat foods. He’s too stressed to not eat something of comfort. 

Her physio is supposed to come by today with the stuff she left at the track and get an update from the doctors themselves instead of Max’s botched attempts at repeating back. It will also be nice to see her comfortable, as the one blanket that travels with her everywhere will also be dropped off. 

“Max?” He tightens his hold to show he’s listening. “It’s not fair… You, Lando, and Oscar make a mistake on track and nobody does that to you. I - It wasn’t my fault.” 

The thing is, Max is smarter than people give him credit for. The only incident on track was with Lance. An incident that was his own fault. “He’s at fault, not you. None of this is your fault.”

“They are going to say I was asking for it or something.” 

“In those fireproofs? The only ones asking for it are me and Oscar… for obvious reasons.” He chuckles proudly at his little self compliment. 

It also manages to get her to crack something of a half smile. “Are you complimenting your own ass?” 

“And what if I am?” 

She doesn’t eat anything despite it being sat in front of her. Soft foods are the only thing she’ll be eating. Her throat, albeit not as bad as it could've been (thank you F1), is still damaged and needs to rest as much as possible. 

They had to keep her for observation due to where the head wounds had been. It’s been a rough thirty-six hours, but they are managing.

Despite the hectic situation, Max has come to learn that the female lying in the hospital bed is a better person then the rest of them. Oscar was detailing a full proof murder plan while she was telling him not to make it a bigger deal then it is. To which Oscar politely put his ten step plan with four contingencies down and told her that it’s ‘what he had coming to him’. 

Max has not had to stop someone from assassinating a rival before, but Oscar seems like a reasonable guy. “Death is too good for him.” 

“Mm, you’re right, I’ll just make sure he doesn’t die then and can’t see my face.” 

“Or, we make his life a series of inconveniences! I feel like daddy’s money could get him good therapy. It can’t solve every minor problem.” Lando has a gleam in his eyes. 

Him and Oscar start pouring over ideas once more. The girl simply shakes her head and goes back to eyeing her pudding like it’s assaulted her. “I don’t want to leave here, Max.”

“Why not? I’d assume you want to go home? Sleep in a comfortable bed?”

“Out there, they can get to us. Here is safe.” 

He considers how to reassure her. Only, there is nothing he can think of. The truth is that outside of this hospital room, there is no guarantee they won’t run into trouble. 

“I can’t promise that we'll never have something bad happen again. But-” He looks to the McLaren duo brainstorming ways to make the Aston Martin garage regret existing. “We’ll be there for each other. We’re here for you. When you want us and when you need us, yes?” 

“Pinky swear?” She extends her pink to him. 

Max accepts and curls his pinks around hers. “Pinky swear.” 

~~~♡~~~

It’s not fair really, that they had to leave to go do things. Lando would prefer he at least stayed with her so she isn’t alone. Alas, they are preparing for her discharge and he had to run around getting things together for their trip back to Monaco.

He comes back to a partially opened door and smiles at the other two boys being able to get back before him. Then again, as he gets closer he can hear the angry tone. One that Max uses when he’s pissed off about something. 

Lando panics and rushes inside. Only to be met with the sight of the last person he wants around right now. 

Now - he wouldn’t say he’s prone to violence. Lando prefers to keep the peace when it comes to conflict unless he’s trying to piss someone off on purpose to get a reaction. This is not one of those times. 

Lando’s knuckles collide with the Canadian’s jaw faster than he can fully become aware of what he’s doing. Lance stumbles backward and holds his jaw, glaring at Lando like he’s the one in the wrong here. 

“Get out!” 

“We were just talking-” 

“I said. Get. Out.” He’s seething. The thudding in his chest becoming louder with each second Lance remains in this room. 

He’s not prone to violence. 

Really, he’s not. 

Yet the second crack of knuckles into Lance's chin gives him some sick satisfaction. Isn’t there something about equilibrium? Can he pin this on restoring the balance or something? Regardless, he isn’t going to dent the fact that it feels good. 

The nurses come running and start asking questions. Max and Oscar have to drag Lando away kicking and screaming. 

Worse is when they try to tell him that there are pictures out on social media. Christian has been calling Max non-stop. Oscar has been dealing with Zak. Their relationship isn’t a secret and neither is their current location.  

“They're sending us a different car to see if we can’t get out discreetly.” 

“What happened with Lance, Lan? Are you alright?”

Everyone is panting. Their eyes trained on the door. “I punched him. I restored the equal-brey-um… thing.” 

“Equilibrium.” 

“Yeah that!” 

He’s not sure how they get on the plane. He’s still amped up about the whole punching thing and running purely off adrenaline. 

They’ve been sitting in silence, mulling over their options. Creating statements they can put out. It’s hectic and they keep trashing them because nothing fits. 

The female has been apathetic. The last thing she wanted was for this to get out and now it has. Seemingly everything is flashing before her eyes. Her career will be gone soon enough, so what’s even the point? 

“Don’t post anything. We don’t have an obligation to confirm or deny the rumors. If anything, we can say that you were just driving me to the hospital and being good friends or whatever.” She won’t look at them. Still - Lando can hear how upset she is, the waiver in her voice. “I’m going to be kicked out anyway.” 

“Christian said-”

“Damn what Christian said! He knows this isn’t going to get any better and if I say who it was then Daddy’s Money is just going to pay his way through.” She's hyperventilating now. Her body collapses against her seat and Oscar makes an effort to get her to lean against him. “It’s not fair!”

lando Can’t help but share her feelings.

~~~♡~~~

She stays holed up in the Redbull garage the next weekend. The appearance is hard, people want to ask her questions. Her boys had been caught in the middle of the riptide and haven’t come back to shore yet. 

At least she’s here. She’s trying her hardest to look stronger than she is. On the inside things are falling apart. 

The team knows to give her space and not ask about the ordeal. She takes refuge in Max’s room when things are too much and the other drivers keep their distance. 

They know it was one of them. She’d been adamant on not saying who it was, but it’s obvious there are sixteen who it could have been, given her partners insistence that none of them go near her garage for the time being.  

She just wants this whole thing to blow over. She wants to lay in bed with her lovers and not flinch when they go to touch her. 

She knows, however, that until she deals with things that healing can’t happen like it should. Or at least, that’s what her therapist says. The one she is now required to see. 

Things get worse when she’s back in the car. Her media duties are limited so she can focus on driving and ‘listening to her body’ as her physio likes to say. 

She can’t hear her body over the sound of her mind going staticy as Lance closes in on her. The catalyst for everything. She panics and ends up in the wall. Not the worst crash ever, but certainly hurts her pride more than it has already.

The thing is, it keeps happening. Even as she’s able to let her boys back in. As her podium finishes start to come back. Her fireproofs (which they’d gotten her all new ones) start to feel comfortable again and she doesn’t feel the need to be out of them the second the race is done. Still, Lance is using this to his advantage. 

Finally, after he almost killed her on track (again), she’s had enough.

The trial goes better than she thought it would. Despite the money differences, Lance won’t be able to race anymore. It’s not some grand spectacle either, just an announcement like usual. It’s more the closure she needed versus the publicized drama it could have been. 

She wins the next race. 

“If I ever see him again, it will be too soon.” 

“It’s been over a year now, Lan. I’m getting better.” There is a genuine smile on her face. The car awaits to take them back to the hotel. It was here that it happened. She almost considered not racing because of it.

“Lando got a taste of blood and now he’s feinding for it.” Max has a comforting hand around her waist. A grounding presence. 

“I mean, I never threw away my murder plot…” 

“You’re a genius Oscar!”

She shakes her head. It’s not like any of this has been easy. It never is. Still - her boys are here and they’ve been so patient. 

“There’s her smile.” They all beam at her. 

She smiles back.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Top 5 meals/food-related moments?

have a good day :)

oh ho ho ho so I see you have decided on a nuclear option. Well, do I have just the thing for you

Kayoko telling Kenji that Shiro Talks About Him in What Did You Eat Yesterday? Season 2, Ep. 11

Shiro has a really hard time verbally expressing love, especially about Kenji to Kenji. Which is why you, me, Kenji, everybody has to understand Food As Love is Shiro's entire shtick. In season 1, Shiro outed himself to Kayoko because she thought he might attack her and she calmed down about Shiro immediately after she found out he was a lawyer. And we see Kayoko ask Shiro about Kenji from time to time. BUT in Season 2, Kayoko sees Kenji in the supermarket and instantly recognizes him off of Shiro's description of him alone. And she treats him like a celebrity because of how much Shiro talks about Kenji. So you can imagine that I was absolutely bawling my fucking eyes out when Kayoko said this to Kenji at dinner:

"But you know, I already knew your preferences so well. When I go shopping with Kakei-san, he talks about you all the time...He says it with a smile"

Complete with flashbacks of Shiro talking about Kenji, what food he likes, why it's okay to get something a little more expensive. Kenji is a loud, proud, more femme gay man who is not able to hide his queerness the way that Shiro has. Kenji is also an incredibly patient and understanding man who knows Shiro is grappling with a lot of internalized homophobia, the weight of knowing he can't give his parents the grandchildren they want, parents who struggle with his sexuality. Kenji knows that Shiro loves him, but we know he can be hurt by it sometimes. So Kenji hearing from Kayoko how much Shiro talks about him was something that was so fucking needed. Not necessary, but needed. And I could not hold back my tears to see Shiro smiling away talking to Kayoko about his boyfriend, because he has so few people he can and will do that with.

Making "Magic", Our Dining Table (Bokura No Shoutaku), Ep. 5

gif by @bubblegeon

gif by @troubled-mind

Absolutely one of my favorite moments in the entire series is Tane appearing with this instant ramen package in his hand asking if Minoru wants to make "magic". I love it for so many reasons. I love it because Minoru has sacrificed so much in his life to help take care of Tane and because of that, because of who Minoru is, because of who his father is, because of who his mother is Tane is an extremely extremely emotionally aware kid. My sweet, sweet, beautiful baby boy can tell something is up with Yutaka after they run in to his older brother at the grocery store, and he can tell something is up with Minoru after they meet with his ex-girlfriend at the restaurant. And Tane repays all the care he is giving by these two by trying to find a solution he thinks will help make them feel better. Which is of course to make ramen fried rice.

Now. There is even more to this than Tane just picking up this meal his mother used to make a lot. Because Tane's mother died when he was two. He would have little to no memories of his mother, but Minoru would. Which means Minoru would have had to teach him this, carrying on her memories, her stories, her comfort to his baby brother. Minoru teaches Tane how to smash the ramen the same way their mother taught Minoru to do it. AND there is even more to this that is not really addressed but is something I (and I'm sure others) realized a bit later. Because I have made this meal multiple times and it is...so easy. I mean, 20 minutes rice in the rice cooker the day before, smash the noodles, I microwave them for 3 minutes, drain the water, and then five minutes later I've got a complete dish. It takes almost zero energy and it is great for my high pain days or my super low days. Minoru talks about his mother being sick, and how she really didn't let on to it. But the ramen fried rice is a good indication to me that she was hiding her exhaustion, her illness, her pain with fun, easy meals like this that require minimal effort and energy.

Amane having dinner with Ryuji's family, If It's With You (Kimi to Nara Koi Wo Shite Mite Mo), Ep. 3

gif by @jimmysea

I will never not love characters who are deeply deeply sad and hide the pain they've suffered and the melancholy they carry with them behind kindness and smiles and light. Amane brightens up every room he walks in to...well, every room that has anyone else but Ryuji in it. Ryuji is incredibly incredibly good at seeing straight through to Amane's core and calling him out on trying to hide himself and his feelings away. But here, in Ryuji's home Amane is well and truly feeling happy. He is understanding what family can look like, what family can feel like. Something he has never known because his parents worked so much he always ate alone. Amane deserves to experience these things, and I am so glad that he was able to have this moment because if and when Ryuji gets comfortable with dating Amane and brings him home again, it's good to know that Ryuji's family is kind and that they already know him, love him, and are comfortable enough to tease him immediately so Amane won't have to worry about their reaction.

Charn eating with Tinn's family, Laws of Attraction, Ep. 5

The fucking!!!!!!! GAHHH!! As much as we have all obsessed over the chemistry between Jam and Film, how hot Maya and Rose are, how unhinged Charn are Nawin are, how fucking awesome the grandmother is, we really do not talk enough about the fact that Laws of Attraction is first and foremost a tragedy. In the short time we had with her we knew Tonkhao was happy, and funny, and loved and she was just trying to help ease the burden her uncle had by going shopping for him and died as a result. That's Tinn's baby girl, he's raised her since infancy, and he lost her in such a horrific way. I reblogged something about grief the other day that talked about how grief in fiction and grief in reality are so different because grief in reality is so mundane, your world may be turning on it's axis but you still have to go grocery shopping. Stories like this one do more to bridge that gap, Tonkhao is dead, but you still have to find a lawyer, Tonkhao is dead but you still have to run your restaurant, Tonkhao is dead...Tonkhao is dead. And her memory and the love her family had for her is being tarnished in the news, this familly's grief is on full display, is questioned, is attacked. And I really loved this moment and the conversation that Charn has with Tinn immediately afterwards where Tinn talks about Tonkhao and how he wants her to be remembered, and I love this so deeply for what it shows about grief. That you can't just turn it on and off, here they are: grandma, Tinn, and Charn in a good mood, chatting away and then all of a sudden watching Charn eat and enjoy the soup just triggers a memory of Tonkhao that brings a ton of pain bubbling to the surface out of nowhere. Tonkhao haunts the narrative, even after justice has been served, she is still there with them, her little doll sitting in a chair at Tinn and Charn's wedding.

Jim shares a beer with Li Ming, Moonlight Chicken, Ep. 7

There is something about the death of a community pillar rocks the community at large, and how the tragedy and grief of losing someone that important to so many people can finally spur people in to action. Jim has been watching Li Ming grow up before his very eyes, but he's like many other parent/guardians and has spent so much of the show having difficulty coming to terms with the fact that Li Ming is growing up. Jim spends so much of his time stressing out about Li Ming, his financial situation changed dramatically probably right around the time he took Li Ming in, Jim is worried about how much Li Ming has struggled and may continue to struggle and is having a hard time not blaming himself for that. And finally we get the release of the all the stress and tension with Jim acknowledging Li Ming is stepping in to adulthood. I love everything about this scene, I love the acknowledgement, I love the apology, I love Jim teasing Li Ming about Heart, and I especially love the conversation about Jam because I think it shows Jim that Li Ming is capable of complex, nuanced, adult thoughts and feelings. He helped with the funeral, he stood up in support of Heart, he talked back against injustice, Li Ming spent so much of this show coming in to his own, and this is the moment all that work, misery, stress, anger bears fruit for the single most important relationship in Li Ming's life.

ASK ME MY TOP 5 OF ANYTHING BL 2023

[kallie-den]

Lifestyle Journalism Ch. 2

Emma is a journalist investigating abuses of mind control, but when  she encounters Amara, a personal trainer with ties to the elite, she  finds her intelligence and her career slipping away. Will her friend  Mel’s warnings reach her in time? And who is really behind Amara?

Chapter 1

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---

A little over a week after Emma’s first encounter with Amara Rodriguez, she once again found herself stepping into the personal trainer’s apartment. Amara greeted her, as ever, with a warm, friendly, encouraging smile.

“Hey, Emma!” she said brightly. “Ready to work up a sweat?”

“You know it!” Emma replied, just as brightly. She followed Amara into her home gym and immediately started changing into the bright pink workout outfit Amara had lent her.

This was the fourth time she’d come to see Amara, and already, it was all becoming a habit. She showed up, got changed, asked Amara a few questions, worked out, and left. Emma wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It wasn’t supposed to be a habit, after all. Her interview with Amara should have been a one-time thing. But somehow, every time, she ended up exhausted and disoriented, struggling to remember what she had been meaning to ask. She barely remembered the second half of any of their sessions. It was getting frustrating.

But it wasn’t all bad. Amara seemed happy to keep meeting up with her - just as long as Emma kept up their bargain. Exercise in exchange for questions. Even that was starting to feel like a win-win. The day after her first session with Amara, Emma’s body had ached like hell, but after a week, the benefits of regular exercise had already started to appear. She felt more energetic, less sore, and more confident. Mel’s home-cooked dinners were helping with that too, probably. As it turned out, a healthy lifestyle felt pretty great!

Emma didn’t even mind that she was struggling so much with her investigation into abuses of mind control and hypnosis in the city’s fitness scene. Somehow, whenever she sat down and tried to focus on her work, she ended up feeling far too light-headed and distracted to make any real progress. Muckraking was starting to feel boring, somehow, and whenever she reviewed her notes at the end of the day, they were always riddled with typos and mistakes.

That should have been eating at her, but… it wasn’t. Emma just felt good. It was irrepressible. Perhaps it was the power of exercise. Perhaps she was simply warming to the idea of taking a break from her work, as Mel had proposed. Either way, Emma wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“OK, Emma.” Amara clapped her hands; Emma knew that meant they were ready to get started. “How are you feeling?”

“Good!” Emma replied, truthfully. “I think I’m getting the hang of this whole exercise thing. I actually went out for a morning jog yesterday.”

“That’s great! I’m proud of you.” Amara smiled. “We’ll make a regular gym bunny out of you in no time. Although, it would be remiss of me not to mention that, if you truly want to level up your exercise game, there’s one thing that really does the trick: hypnosis.”

A shiver ran down Emma’s spine. “Yeah?”

“It’s what most people pay me for,” Amara told her, smiling. “And it’s part of my regular service. Hypnosis is great for self-improvement. It makes it easier to focus. Easier to push yourself. If you wanted to, I’d love to start incorporating it into your workouts.”

“I… I dunno.”

Emma found herself a lot more indecisive than she would have been a week earlier. She was a lot more alert than the average person to the dangers of being hypnotized by a stranger, but Amara didn’t feel like a stranger. Emma trusted her. In particular, she trusted her exercise advice. Maybe hypnosis would be a big help. It wasn’t like every single hypnotist in the world was some rich asshole trying to turn people into helpless drones, after all.

But there was something else. Another factor, putting its finger on the scales: Emma had started finding hypnosis incredibly, incredibly hot.

Hypnosis wasn’t exactly an uncommon kink. Far from it. Given how the rich and elite wielded it as a tool of power, it was an easy thing for people of a certain persuasion to end up fetishizing. That was new to Emma, though. Somehow, recently, whenever she was blowing off some steam in private, she found her thoughts turning in that direction.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how it would feel to slip under someone’s hypnotic spell. The particular fantasy that kept haunting Emma was all about having the smarts and quick-thinking she was so proud of stripped out of her head, and being turned into one of those dim-witted, brainwashed bimbos that sometimes clung to the arms of powerful hypnotists. She fantasized about being stared at, posed, and put through the motions of dancing, or exercising, or performing, always while she was naked, or else wearing something pink and skintight.

It was embarrassing. But it also made her cum like nothing else, and a tiny little part of her was shivering in anticipation at the thought of finding out what hypnosis actually felt like.

“It’s OK if you don’t want to,” Amara added. “I know you’re wary, and that’s totally understandable. I won’t push it on you. It’s just that I think it could really help, especially with the concentration problems you keep having with our interview.”

Emma blinked and looked at her. “It could help with that?”

“Of course,” Amara assured her. “There’s nothing like hypnosis for giving you a little clarity of mind.”

That was all the excuse Emma needed to succumb to temptation. She remained a little skeptical but, deep down, part of her wanted to give hypnosis a shot. She wanted to indulge this new desire of hers. If it did help with her work too, that was just a silver lining.

She’d just have to make sure Amara didn’t notice how aroused hypnosis was making her.

“OK,” Emma said, a touch breathlessly. “OK. Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.”

Amara reached over and clapped her on her shoulder. “Atta girl.”

Emma blushed.

“So, um, what do you need me to do?” she asked, hoping to hide her embarrassment. “Do you have a pocket watch I should be staring at? A metronome? Do I look deep into your eyes?”

Amara laughed. “Only if you think they’re pretty. I like to do things a little differently. Have you heard of kinesthetic inductions?”

“Hypnosis with movement.” Emma nodded.

“That’s right,” Amara said. “Let me show you. Close your eyes.”

Emma was a little unprepared for how quickly things were moving, but nonetheless she obediently closed her eyes. A moment later, she felt Amara take her hand and lead her a few paces away, to stand on one of her exercise mats.

“Good,” Amara told her. “Now, focus on your body. Just like when you work out.”

Emma nodded. That was easy. Amara was even talking to her like she did when she was working out, in that voice that was so confident, so soothing, so easy to obey.

“Good,” Amara repeated. “I want you to visualize where you are right now. The room around you. The way you’re standing. The way I’m standing. Picture it all, in your mind’s eye. Can you do that?”

Emma nodded again. “In your apartment,” she murmured. “In your gym. You’re holding my hand.”

“Very good,” Amara said. “Keep your eyes close. I want you to notice the way that, already, your mental image is starting to fade. We forget things so quickly with our eyes shut. Where exactly are you standing? What’s right in front of you? Which exercise machine is that, over there in the corner? Maybe you remember. Maybe not.”

As soon as Amara mentioned it, Emma’s mind’s eye was starting to blur. Where was she standing? Amara had guided her to walk a short distance with her eyes closed. How many steps? How far had she moved? She wasn’t quite sure.

Emma started to feel a little dizzy. She squeezed down tighter on Amara’s hand.

“I’m here,” Amara said soothingly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

She reached out and rested a hand on Emma’s side, steadying her. An immediate wave of calm washed over Emma. Amara’s touch was familiar. She was used to Amara touching her and guiding her when the personal trainer was showing her how to exercise properly.

This was no different. She just had to let Amara guide her.

Amara tugged gently at her hand, and Emma took careful, tentative steps after her, moving where she was guided. With each step, it became more difficult to picture exactly where she was standing, and, with that reference point gone, everything else started to dissolve into mist.

“It’s getting harder to picture, isn’t it?” Amara seemed like she could read Emma’s mind. “That’s OK. I want you to simply let that happen, Emma. Take some deep breaths, and let your mental image of this room fade away.”

Emma did her best to obey. Once she accepted what was going to happen, it all started to fade away much, much faster. Soon, Amara’s touch was her only lifeline.

“It’s only natural,” Amara continued. “Images fade. Memory fades, and it’s OK to forget. Forgetting means less distractions. Less distractions means it’s easier to stay focused. And we want you nice and focused, don’t we Emma?”

“Yeah.”

Emma nodded too. That was a mistake. Nodding triggered a wave of dizziness. She felt like she was about to lose her balance and stumble, but Amara steadied her - this time, by placing her hand firmly on the top of Emma’s head.

“Focus, Emma,” Amara encouraged. “It’s OK. You’re not going to fall over. I’ve got you. Nice, deep, calming breaths.”

“OK.”

Amara’s words were already having a deep effect on Emma. As soon as Amara told her to be calm, she was calm. Emma realized she was rapidly slipping under hypnosis. That thought excited her, making her heart race even as her breathing slowed.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Amara repeated. “Look around, in your mind’s eye. What do you see?”

Emma made one last attempt to reconstruct the room around her. She failed. It was gone. She simply didn’t know where she was, where Amara was, where anything was - and without those reference points, it felt like the walls around her had all receded into infinity, leaving her standing in a void.

“Nothing,” Emma replied. Her voice sounded like it was coming from very far away.

“That’s right,” Amara said. “There’s nothing. Where are you? Where are you, that there’s nothing?”

It took Emma a long time to answer that question. “I’m… nowhere?”

That didn’t seem right, but it felt right.

“You’re nowhere,” Amara confirmed for her. Amara’s voice seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, and unlike Emma’s, it was intimate and close. “And all this nowhere? All this nothing? It’s all inside your head.”

“Yeah…” Emma breathed. She felt so much more empty.

“There’s nothing inside your head.”

“Nothing… inside my head…” Emma echoed dreamily.

“And when you’re nothing and nowhere,” Amara continued, “there’s no up.”

She used her hand to tilt Emma’s head upwards. The sensation of her orientation changing was disorienting, but strangely, Emma didn’t feel dizzy. She had Amara. Amara was her anchor.

“There’s no down.” Amara tilted her head down. “There’s no left. There’s no right.”

As Amara moved Emma’s head around, Emma was haunted by the phantom sensation that she was spinning, even though she knew she wasn’t. She was standing still, in place. But the spinning wouldn’t stop.

“And if there’s nothing,” Amara went on, “if you’re nowhere, then there’s nothing beneath your feet at all, is there?”

“N-no,” Emma whispered.

The void was deepening. Maybe she was spinning after all. She didn’t know. She couldn’t tell. There was nothing.

“And that means,” Amara concluded, “there’s nothing to stop your fall.”

Before Emma could comprehend the meaning of her words, she felt Amara rest a hand on her chest and push. Hard.

Emma fell backward, far too disoriented to catch herself. She was nowhere and nothing. She was spinning, and there was nothing beneath her feet. Nothing to catch her fall. Even as her brain screamed at her that she was falling, Emma turned as limp as a rag doll. To her, she was simply falling into a void, and the void went on forever and ever.

She never hit the ground. Amara was right there to catch her, wrapping up the journalist in her powerful arms and supporting her entire weight. But for Emma, the sensation of falling never stopped. It went on and on. There was no end to it. Nothing. She simply kept sinking.

Carefully, Amara tipped her back upright. Emma found her footing again, but only by instinct. Her head was blank.

“Open your eyes,” Amara instructed.

Emma obeyed, blinking a few times as she was dazzled by the sudden brightness. Having her eyes open did nothing to stop the sensation of infinite falling. Her vision was strangely distorted; it was like she was looking at Amara from down a very long telescope. Everything besides the personal trainer was indistinct; out of focus.

“You know that you’re completely hypnotized now,” Amara told her. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Emma answered. An electric shiver raced down her spine.

“Good.” Amara was smiling. “This is what falling feels like, Emma. Falling into trance. I want you to memorize it for me. And whenever I tell you to ‘fall’, it’ll all come rushing back. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.” Amara clapped her hands together sharply. “OK, Emma. Time for our interview.”

Emma blinked again, the loud noise helping to shock her back to awareness. But the sensation of falling was still there in the pit of her stomach, and the void that had been all around her was now inside her head. It was all so strange. Could she really interview someone like this?

Amara had said it would help, though. Emma couldn’t muster enough willpower to disagree.

“O-OK.” Emma set her hypnotized mind to the task of trying to come up with a question. “Um…”

“Why not start with something nice and casual?” Amara suggested. “Just to get warmed up.”

“Right.” Emma was grateful for the advice, but she still found herself drawing a blank. Her thoughts were unbelievably sluggish, and the simple knowledge that she was hypnotized right now was a thrilling distraction. “Like… uh…”

Amara laughed gently. “Why don’t you ask me my favorite color?”

As soon as Amara suggested it, it clicked into Emma’s head as the perfect question. “What’s your favorite color?”

Amara tilted her head to one side, amused. “Pink.”

Emma blinked. She’d never seen Amara wear pink; her workout clothes were always black. “Really? I’m surprised.”

“Pink is just such a lovely, bright color,” Amara explained. “I love looking at it. Don’t you? Doesn’t it just make you feel happy? Bubbly? Full of energy? It’s perfect for working out.”

Emma nodded, eagerly absorbing Amara’s words. Clearly, she had been right about hypnosis. Concentrating on what Amara told her was proving effortless.

“Just look at you, in those pink clothes,” Amara added. “You seem a lot happier whenever you put those on. It puts a smile on your face. Maybe even makes you a little giggly. Pink is great.”

Again, Emma nodded. She felt like she knew exactly what Amara was talking about.

“How about you?” Amara asked. “Got a favorite color?”

Emma was surprised by the question. She’d never really thought about it before. But one obvious answer came immediately to mind.

“Pink,” Emma replied, still in that distant, vacant tone of voice.

Pink made her happy. Pink made her bubbly. Pink made her full of energy. It made her smile and giggle.

“Oh?” Amara cocked an eyebrow. “Guess I nailed it with your workout gear. Looks like we won’t need to find you anything else after all.”

“Right,” Emma agreed. Pink was perfect. Why would she need an outfit that wasn’t pink?

“Next question?” Amara prompted.

“Yeah.” This time, Emma tried her hardest to come up with something. She couldn’t let Amara give her all the questions. That would be embarrassing. “Um… what… what do you like so much about exercise?”

It was lame, she knew. Another softball. But better than nothing.

“That’s easy,” Amara answered. “There’s so much to love about it. It’s good for you, right? Exercise is very healthy, and I love feeling healthy. Who wouldn’t? Who doesn’t love knowing that they’re giving their body the best? Not just exercise - diet, too.”

That made perfect sense. Emma nodded.

“Just look at you, for example,” Amara went on. “I can tell how much better you feel, now that you’ve been living a healthier lifestyle. I’m sure you can too, deep down. Regular exercise, better meals… it’s honestly a little bit addictive.”

Her words struck a chord with Emma. It was like she couldn’t even imagine Amara being wrong. She could feel it too. Addictive.

“And the raw sensation of exercise? That’s definitely addictive,” Amara added. “It’s physiological. All those endorphins, bubbling up in your brain while you work out. I just can’t get enough of it.”

Emma nodded eagerly. She’d noticed that as well.

“It makes it so easy not to think. Overthinking is such a problem, isn’t it?” Emma nodded emphatically at that. “It’s so hard to ever truly shut our brains off. Thinking too much causes so much anxiety. So many problems. Sometimes, it’s nice to make ourselves dumb instead.”

Emma shivered. Something about the word ‘dumb’ echoed deliciously through her body.

“I can imagine it’s the same for you,” Amara suggested. “It must be nice for a brainy journalist like you to stop thinking for a change.”

“Oh yeah,” Emma replied, with genuine enthusiasm. “It’s… it’s nice to be dumb.”

“Yeah?” Amara’s smile curled. “You like getting dumber?”

“Getting dumber feels good.” The words came to Emma’s lips effortlessly, like a mantra. And there it was again - that delicious shiver.

She was starting to love being hypnotized. After all, hypnosis made her dumber.

“Good.” Amara laughed gently. “But that’s not all, you know. I also love the attention.”

Emma’s ears perked up. “The attention?”

Amara nodded. “Absolutely. Working out gets you a lot of attention. Who doesn’t love a girl who’s in good shape?”

She flexed slightly, demonstrating. Emma’s eyes widened.

“But,” Amara added, like it was an afterthought, “you must already know all about that.”

Emma was sure she didn’t. “What do you mean?”

“You love attention, don’t you?” Amara said. “After all, you’re a journalist. Journalism is all about being in the public eye, right? Getting readers? Making big headlines?”

“I… guess.” Emma had never thought about it that way before, but she supposed Amara had a point. It did always feel good when one of her stories broke big. It was rewarding. “Yeah.”

“It’s natural,” Amara affirmed. “Attention feels good.”

“Yeah.” Emma was quickly growing more comfortable with that.

“You love attention.”

“Y-yeah,” Emma conceded. “I love attention.”

That brought forth another shiver of excitement. She was discovering so many new things to love recently.

“And exercising is a great way to get it.” Amara shrugged. “Well, there you have it, Emma. That’s why I love working out. Health, attention, and getting to dumb down a little.” She grinned. “I’m sensing you get what I’m talking about.”

Emma did. She really did. She understood Amara perfectly.

“Anyway, that’s probably enough warm-up,” Amara said. “How about you ask me one of your real questions, Emma?”

“O-oh! Um. Right.”

Emma frowned. Despite how focused she felt, she was still having trouble remembering what she was supposed to be asking Amara. Her head was swimming with fantasies and thoughts - about exercise, attention, hypnosis, and so much more. Her investigation was starting to feel like a distant priority.

Her investigation. It came back to her in a rush. Emma decided to go for the big question, now that she had hypnosis helping to sharpen her mind.

“I… I think that some personal trainers are exploiting people using hypnosis,” Emma said slowly. She needed to get this right - even if she still felt like she was falling. “Using the pretext of exercise to turn them into perfect, brainwashed slaves for whoever is truly controlling them. Amara, have you ever mind-controlled someone against their will like that?”

She wasn’t expecting Amara to admit to anything, just hoping that she might volunteer some information, or give something away in how she reacted. The last thing Emma had expected was for Amara to answer:

“Yes. I’m doing it to you, right now.”

Emma twitched, alarmed. “E… excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Amara sounded deadly serious.

“That’s… that’s funny.” Emma giggled nervously.

“I’m not joking,” Amara insisted. “I’m brainwashing you against your will, right now.”

A shiver of danger raced down Emma’s spine. The sensation of falling that she was still feeling in the pit of her stomach turned much worse, and her head was throbbing with sudden vertigo.

“But…” Emma said, frowning. “You asked. I… I let you.”

“Yes,” Amara replied calmly. “That’s what you think. Because I made sure you’d think that way.”

“B… but…”

Emma felt like the floor was once again collapsing beneath her feet. She wanted to argue, but her thoughts kept turning back to one, deeply troubling question:

If Amara was telling the truth, how would she even know?

And the worst part was, she couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t assert control.

She was hypnotized.

She was so deeply focused that all she could do was stare at Amara, dumbfounded, as Amara continued to reshape her reality.

“Fortunately,” Amara continued, “you don’t need to worry about it. Because you don’t really care.”

Emma frowned. How could Amara say that? Of course she cared! This was exactly the kind of thing her work was devoted to.

Amara noticed the way Emma was starting to twitch and shiver. “Calm down,” the personal trainer said soothingly. “Remember, Emma. This is just an interview.”

Somehow, that made perfect sense to Emma, and she was instantly calm. The obvious, glaring contradiction in her circumstances and her reactions didn’t even register with her.

“Right.” She replied dumbly. “Just an interview.”

Of course. She’d carried out hundreds of interviews. What was there to be so worked up about?

“Just an interview,” Amara repeated. “You know how interviews work, right? You ask the questions. I give you the answers.”

“Right,” Emma said again. It was obvious, when Amara explained it to her like that.

“I just gave you an answer,” Amara explained slowly. “Would you like to ask me a question about it?”

“Uh…” It took Emma a long moment to think of something. Even the events of a minute or two ago were becoming foggy. “Yeah. Yes. Um… why… why don’t I care?”

It felt like a very strange question. But it was the only one that seemed to fit, given the answer Amara had supplied her with.

“Well, let’s see,” Amara replied, smirking. “You told me that you came here for your investigation, but that was a week ago, and you keep coming back. You don’t seem to do a whole lot of journalism with me. You just spend most of your time here working out. Isn’t that right?”

Emma mentally reviewed their last few sessions. It was. “Yeah.”

“That’s where all your time and effort is going.” Amara nodded. “Working out. So, isn’t that what you’re really here for?”

Emma’s brow twitched, but Amara’s logic was undeniable. Or at least, she couldn’t make herself think quickly enough to find fault with it. “Yeah…”

“You’re really here to work out,” Amara affirmed, cementing that thought into Emma’s mind. “Not for your investigation.”

“Y-yeah…” Emma agreed, with only slight reluctance.

“So,” Amara concluded. “You care about working out. Not about your investigation. Not about your journalism.”

“I…” That was a harder pill to swallow. Emma’s head started to turn from side to side in instinctive denial. “I… don’t…”

“Relax, Emma,” Amara chided. “Remember. It’s just an interview. Relax, and fall.”

Emma fell. Emma was always falling, and once again, she was still.

“If you cared so much,” Amara told her, “wouldn’t you spend all your time interviewing me, instead of working out?”

“Yeah…” Emma agreed dreamily. It was so easy to accept what Amara told her. Much easier than thinking for herself. Hypnosis made her too dumb to think, and she was so deeply hypnotized.

“So,” Amara pressed. “You don’t care.”

“I… don’t… care.”

Hairs raised on the back of Emma’s neck as she finally agreed, warning her of the danger. But moments later, she felt amazingly free. It was like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn’t care.

“You don’t care about your investigation,” Amara repeated. “Not compared to working out, anyway.”

Emma nodded. It was getting easier to accept with each passing moment.

“And that’s why you don’t need to worry about being hypnotized,” Amara concluded. “About being brainwashed. It doesn’t matter to your investigation. You care about working out. And hypnosis is very, very good for helping you to work out.”

“Right,” Emma agreed. It all seemed so much simpler now, and she was grateful to Amara for explaining it to her. She was learning so much from this interview.

“Speaking of which,” Amara said, grinning. “I think it’s about time we get to the real reason you’re here.”

She reached up and clapped her hands together in front of Emma’s face. To the hypnotized journalist, the sharp, loud sound was like a thunderbolt, jolting her back to awareness. Immediately, the details of the conversation she and Amara had been having started to recede from memory - but that bubbly new lightness remained.

Emma didn’t care. She was just here to work out! It was such a relief.

“So how was hypnosis?” Amara asked.

“Great!” Emma replied brightly. She didn’t remember much of their interview, but that wasn’t very important.

Hypnosis was good for working out. And hypnosis made her dumber. And getting dumber felt good.

“Glad to hear it,” Amara said. “Ready to get down to business?”

Emma nodded. This was what she was here for. Her pretty, pink outfit was filling her with energy, and the knowledge of how healthy she was being put an extra spring in her step. She loved working out.

Especially because each exercise left her just a little bit dumber.

“Well, before we get started, I have an idea,” Amara said. “You’ve got your phone, right?”

“Sure.” Emma slipped her phone out of one of her pockets, before giggling absently. “I… don’t know why.”

She had a strange feeling that she’d brought her phone here to take notes on her interview with Amara, but that seemed silly. The interview wasn’t important. She was here to work out.

“Fortunately, I do,” Amara laughed. “Do you have an Instagram account?”

Emma nodded. She’d started it for her work, although it had more or less fallen into disuse. Which made sense, since she didn’t really care about her work very much.

“Time to put it to good use!” Amara mimed holding up a phone to take a high-angle selfie. “You love attention, right? Show your fans a nice peace sign!”

***

A couple of weeks later, Emma was in Mel’s apartment, working out. That was nothing unusual. Emma had ended up practically moving in with her best friend. It seemed to make sense - Mel had the space, enjoyed her company, and Emma was already obligated to be there every evening for dinner. Why bother heading back to her own place each night?

The exercise was normal too, now. Emma’s thrice-weekly sessions with Amara were no longer enough. Not even close. Working out had become an obsession for Emma, and accordingly, she had taken up jogging, bought an exercise mat and a set of home dumbbells, and had a whole series of exercise routines she kept to diligently, morning and night.

Working out was her calling. Emma understood that now. It felt good, on so many levels. Better than her old work ever had. These days, she barely even thought about journalism.

“Emma!” Mel called out, from the kitchen. “Food’s ready, babe!”

Emma quickly finished up her set and headed over to the dining table, where Mel was serving up a meal of grilled chicken breasts, lentils, and some green vegetables. Fortunately for her, Mel seemed more than happy to cater to her newfound love of health foods.

As Emma sat down, she whipped out her phone and took a couple of quick pics of her meal. They’d go down great on her Instagram. Emma’s socials had really been blowing up, ever since she started posting about her fitness journey. Making connections with other, similarly-minded girls was so much more fun than all the boring, serious stuff she’d been using social media for before.

“Um… hey, Emma?” Mel called out. “Earth to Emma? Your food’s gonna get cold.”

“Oops!” Emma giggled, putting down her phone.

She’d been distracted, checking on the comments and views on the pre-workout selfie she’d posted earlier. It was funny; Emma had never really used Instagram much before, but now, she constantly caught herself scrolling for hours and hours, hopelessly lost in the thrill of all that attention.

Emma loved attention.

“Emma, are you doing OK?” Mel asked. Emma realized her friend was staring at her with concern in her eyes.

“Sure!” she replied brightly. “Don’t I look like I’m doing good?”

Mel nodded. Emma knew there was no disputing that. She was in the best shape of her life. Thanks to all that exercise, her body had become sleek and toned, shedding all the puppy fat she’d been carrying around before. She was starting to look like a model.

“I just…” Mel pressed hesitantly. “You seem a little… distracted lately.”

Emma giggled again. “I guess.”

It was hard to deny, but Emma wasn’t troubled by it. She felt great.

Mel wasn’t to be dissuaded by Emma’s upbeat mood. “Hey so, how’s your investigation going?”

“Uh…” Emma blinked. “My… investigation?”

“You know, that fitness piece,” Mel prompted. “Abuses of hypnosis. Stuff like that.”

“Oh!” Emma giggled. She hadn’t so much as thought about it in days. “I guess it’s… like… what do you call it? On the back burner!”

“I see.” Mel tilted her head, staring at Emma intently. “I’m surprised. You seemed so passionate about it!”

“I guess.” In truth, Emma barely even remembered. “But, like, priorities change. I figured you’d be totally pleased! You were telling me to take a break.”

“True,” Mel conceded. “I’m glad you’re taking some time off, babe.”

“Uh-huh!” Emma agreed. “Anyway, I think I was kinda wrong about some stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“I was soooo worried about hypnosis.” Emma giggled. “But now I, like, know better! Hypnosis is great.”

Hypnosis made her dumber, and getting dumber felt good.

“Right…” Mel said pensively. There was an odd look on her face. “I… you’ll still be careful, right? People still know you as a serious journalist. I really wouldn’t want someone, um, taking advantage. Say, when you’re out jogging, or on your way to Amara’s.”

Emma just giggled yet again. “You worry so much!”

“I guess I do, babe, when it’s about you.” Mel’s face relaxed into a smile. “Anyway, I’m glad to have you around more often. It’s nice. And I sure don’t mind the view.”

Mel winked, and Emma dissolved into yet more giggling. She knew what Mel was alluding to. Her dress sense had certainly taken a turn. She was currently wearing a pink sports bra, and a pair of pink and white dolphin shorts - and that was it. Nothing else.

All the better to get the kind of attention Emma craved. It was the same reason she’d started getting serious about makeup. Whatever made her Instagram selfies blow up harder.

And of course, attention from Mel was nice too. Very nice.

“O-K!” Emma chanted as she finished her meal, before bouncing up out of her seat. “I’m gonna get ready to take another jog around the block. I’ve still got, like, a little more energy to burn off.”

“Sure thing, babe,” Mel replied. “Just… remember what I said, alright? Be careful.”

Emma giggled. “You got it, bestie!”

She could tell Mel was worried, but she wasn’t really sure why. As far as she was concerned, it was all very simple.

Exercise felt good. Exercise got her attention. And exercise made her dumber.

Getting dumber felt good.

It was as simple as that.

What was there to worry about?

***

“Four!” Emma chanted, counting her sit-ups as sweat dripped from her brow to stain the pink exercise mat underneath her. “Five! Six! S… s… um…”

“Seven,” Amara reminded her, smirking.

“Right.” Emma giggled. She was turning into such an airhead. “Seven! Eight! Nine! Ten!”

“Alright!” Amara reached down to help haul Emma to her feet. “Great session today. Good job.”

“Yay!” Emma bounced in celebration, before reaching for her water bottle and taking a nice, big mouthful. As she did, she looked at herself in one of the mirrors lining the walls of Amara’s home gym - and liked what she saw.

After weeks of healthy living, she’d decided it was time for a small makeover. Emma had gone blonde, and she loved it. She’d been buying lots of new clothes, too. All pink, of course. Nice, bright colors like pink and blonde were perfect for her new mindset. And accessories like her pink water bottle and pink hairband really helped with her Instagram engagement.

Emma was rapidly becoming a social media diva. She just couldn’t help it. She loved the attention.

For that matter, she could see Amara checking her out in the mirror too. That made Emma giggle and preen. She loved all kinds of attention, and she knew lots of girls who loved her new, athletic body.

It was kind of a shame that Amara seemed reluctant to put the moves on her. The tall, buff personal trainer was incredibly hot, and Emma’s sex drive had been through the roof lately.

“OK!” Amara announced. “Let’s do a quick breathing exercise to cool down.”

“Sure!” Emma replied brightly. She was up for anything, and she knew what breathing exercises meant.

Hypnosis.

“Emma,” Amara said slowly. “Fall.”

Emma’s eyes fluttered as she let the bliss of trance take her. It was such a thrill, knowing that one little word from Amara was all it took nowadays.

Emma loved hypnosis. Hypnosis made her dumber.

“I want you to take some deep breaths for me, Emma,” Amara began. “And as you do, feel your heartbeat gradually returning to its steady, normal rhythm.”

Emma nodded sleepily. She was already so deep. All of this was completely familiar; they did it at the end of every workout session now.

“Now,” Amara continued, after a few moments, “I want you to take an extra-deep breath for me. And as you do, I want you to think about all the things that have been distracting you from your work-out goals over the past few days. Whatever those might be - stray thoughts, random pieces of information, unhelpful memories - I want you to feel them all gathering up in your chest as you inhale.”

Emma nodded again. This, too, was a familiar exercise. At the end of all their workouts, Amara helped her to forget things. This time, a whole bunch of old memories came to mind; for some reason, Emma kept catching herself reminiscing about high-school English class. She’d read so many books back then! Books with big, long words she didn’t understand anymore. She gathered up a bunch of thoughts about politics, too. It was annoying how they buzzed around in her mind whenever she caught the news.

“And now, breathe out,” Amara instructed. “And as you do, imagine all of those thoughts that you’ve been gathering up being pushed out of your body. Imagine them blowing out of your lips, and feel them slip out of your mind at the same time.”

Emma breathed out, and all those thoughts and memories left her, turning into nothing more than thin air.

She sighed happily and giggled a few times. She loved getting dumber like that. It made it so much easier to focus on working out! Plus, the way Amara used hypnosis for it was so hot. It was like one of her naughty little fantasies come to life.

Emma felt like, maybe, a long time ago, something about that might have bothered her. But at this point, she really couldn’t remember.

And she liked it that way.

Amara clapped her hands to wake Emma out of trance. “Perfect,” the personal trainer said. “I think we’re done for the day. Unless you want to ask me any more questions, that is.”

Emma tilted her head to one side, curious. “Um… questions?”

“You know,” Amara prompted, “for your investigation.”

Dumbfounded, Emma simply blinked. “What investigation?”

A grin slowly crept across Amara’s face. “Actually, don’t worry about it.”

“OK!” Emma accepted that at once. She loved not worrying about things.

As Amara watched the former journalist gather up her stuff, she reached for her phone. It was time. Emma was absolutely perfect. Amara sent one, simple, fateful message to her employer.

She’s ready.

---

I would like to express my gratitude for the generosity of  all those who  support me on Patreon, and to give a special thanks to  the following  patrons in particular for their exceptional support:

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Finally, special thanks to ntad for commissioning this story!

[raitrolling]

(Previous parts: part 1, part 2)

“That is P6, Sharle. P6.”

Prozit’s usual calm tone was somehow even more devoid of emotion as Sharle crossed the finish line.

He knew. They all knew. The team had let their driver down.

Just one mistake - one wheel nut that had been fastened incorrectly at the start of the race, which then caused difficulties removing the tyre during the pit stop - was all it took for Sharle to lose a win that otherwise would have been guaranteed. 

The blueblood had tried everything he could to climb back up to his rightful position, but there was simply nothing doing. Fifth place was much too far ahead for him to ever get a chance to catch up, and he’d built up enough for a gap from seventh place that he didn’t have to worry about defending his position.

An entire hour, stuck in no man’s land, driving in circles around the track waiting for it to finally end. He’d vented out all his anger over the radio communications the lap after the blunder had occurred. He didn’t feel angry anymore. He just felt hollow.

Sharle did not respond to his engineer. 

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

“Sharle! Is everything okay?”

Ropikk raced down the pit lane as fast as her legs could carry her to meet the blueblood as he exited the weighing station.

Sharle stared in surprise while Ropikk paused to catch her breath, and then nodded in response.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he replied, plainly.

The jadeblood squinted, not believing him for a second.

“No, it’s not fine. I can see it on your face. I’m- The team is really sorry about what happened. I know nothing is going to make up for it, and you deserved that win, but- Hey!” Her sympathetic tone was interrupted by an indignant squeak as Sharle started to walk away. “The media pen is the other way, you know you have to do those or we’ll get fined!”

The blueblood stopped, then briefly turned back to look at her. She could see the weariness of his dead-eyed gaze, as if hundreds of laps worth of races over the sweeps had finally caught up to him and the utter exhaustion had hit him all at once. 

He grit his teeth, and turned away again.

“I can’t. I’m going home.” He shook his head, voice strained from barely holding back what remained of his emotions.

Ropikk grimaced and clutched the clipboard in her hands tightly. She felt torn between the professionalism of being his manager and demanding he fulfil his media duties, and the sympathy of seeing someone she cherished so deeply look so utterly wrecked.

The jadeblood bit her lip, then nodded.

“I’ll let Mansel know.” 

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

“Yeah, I mean twelfth place ain’t the best, but given that we started fourteenth I think that’s the best result I was gonna get. Overtaking on this track is real hard, especially when you have all us backmarkers bunched up in a DRS train, so not much I could have done.” 

Tira shrugged, leaning casually on the barrier of the media pen as reporters shoved microphones in his face and asked the same questions over and over again. 

Usually these were much more exciting when he had finished in a point-scoring position, but those… Had not been happening as often as he’d liked this season. Now every single interviewer only wanted to hear about how much he’s struggling and if he feels like his time in Formula One is coming to an end, given that his contract expires at the end of the sweep. 

But, despite his frustrations at getting constantly reminded of his shortcomings, the tealblood had to smile and laugh his way through it all, as he was trained to do.

“Alright, next question,” the journalist said, now looking a little more concerned. “We’ve heard that your teammate Sharle Casini has refused to attend the post-race interviews. We’re sure he’s disappointed about the outcome, what do you think is going through his mind right now?”

The tealblood’s face fell, stunned.

“Huh? Nah, nah, you must be mistaken, Sharlie- sorry, Casini never misses these things,” Tira responded with a PR-friendly grin, then turned to look at the rest of the drivers in the pen.

Sure enough, the falcon troll was absent.

“Huh, damn. Shit must be real serious.” The tealblood was bewildered, but then sighed and shook his head. He knew that by the time the allotted hour for media interviews was over, Sharle would be long gone.

“But really though, can you blame him?”

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

Sharle had managed to keep it together as he walked away from the circuit, side-stepping media crews and security, not acknowledging a single person.

He supposed it was fortunate that this was his home race, meaning he could walk straight to his apartment without any obstacles in his way.

And as soon as he closed the front door behind him, he slumped against it before slowly sliding to the floor, and sobbed.

[mickimomo]

Attoye-Week Snippets (Part 3)

Okay, so here's a snippet from Chapter 1 one of my Attoye-Week Spider-Verse AU fic. @attoye-week

edit: I accidentally copied and pasted my notes into this post lol. Funny part is, I haven't followed it. But I think I'll tweak it and make it my summary on AO3.

Seek & Destroy (Canon Divergence Prompt)

Chapter 1

Okoye clicked her tongue as she walked down a long corridor.

Another day had brought forth another anomaly that required her out on the field, getting her hands dirty and body battered.

Fortunately, most of the Spider Society was sleeping or back in their home-verse, instead of crowding the halls.

Her exhaustion would increase tenfold if she had to fake a smile, carry on unwanted conversations, and pretend she wasn’t limping or trying to heal a broken rib cage.

She had a debrief meeting in an hour with Miguel and all she wanted was to be alone and to go to sleep.

She was beyond exhausted from all the missions she had been getting sent on back-to-back.

“That’s what happens when you show someone how trustworthy and dependable you are.”

Peter B. Parker’s words haunted her.

It was good to be dependable and trustworthy, but it also meant that you were the first one called when shit hit the fan.

Which meant you never got any breaks.

You never got time to rest or depend on anyone else to pick up the slack.

You always had to be strong and ready for any and everything when you were called in for a mission.

Who wouldn’t want to be called by Miguel so frequently?

To be a part of Miguel’s top picks.

She hadn’t been around as long as Peter B. or Jess, and yet, she had worked her ass off to climb the ranks and stand with them.

She was honored that Miguel thought so highly of her but was also terrified to fuck up.

No one wanted to be on Miguel’s bad side.

She took a deep breath and retreated to the cafeteria in hopes of reviving herself with some coffee.

She just needed enough to stay awake for another four to five hours.

She slouched against the coffee bar to inspect today’s remaining options before rubbing her eyes through her mask to hopefully clear up her drowsy vision.

She looked at her options again.

Decaf.

No.

Blonde Roast.

No.

Dark Roast.

Meh.

Colombian.

Maybe.

Cuban.

Maaayybeee.

Her eyes scanned over a variety of different country brews before settling on a disgusting coffee pot that looked like it was boiling oil and squid ink.

That’s what the guys called “Jet Fuel”.

The kind of putrid semi-liquid gunk that could make even the sand man sandless.

“Jet Fuel it is.” She smiled before letting out a yawn. “Ugh.” She groaned as her fingers began to spread over her masked face.

“Struggling to pick out a type of coffee?”

“AH!”

The masked man blocked his masked face as she shot a web at him. “You must be really tired if you didn’t realize I was standing next to you.” He chuckled. “Which means none of these drinks are going to keep you up.”

She took a deep breath and sighed as she started pouring the ‘Jet Fuel’ coffee, an assortment of flavorings, and sweeteners in a paper cup. “I do not have time for you right now, Attuma.”

“Really? Jet Fuel? You must be taping your eyes open to stay awake.”

“You have no idea.”

“What happened out there?”

“Three against one.” She groaned. “Half of the Sinister Six from different universes had somehow slipped into another world.”

“Oh? Let me guess.” He held up an index finger. “Doctor Oc.” He held up another. “Electro.” He held up a third. “Andddd Sandman.”

“Not Sandman. Vulture.”

“I was close. Two out of three is what…?”

“67% is not passing, Attuma.”

“Well if you round it to 70% I would.”

“That’s still a C.”

“Fine. Fine. Better luck next time.” He grinned behind his mask. “Either way, it sounds like you had a lot of cardio going on.”

“And aerobics.” She snorted.

“Did you win?” He hummed.

“I’d like to think so.”

“Any casualties?”

“None.”

“What was the damage like?”

“Nothing serious. I managed to take the fight to an abandoned garage. It put me at a huge disadvantage but kept the residents of that universe safe.”

“Mm. Clever.” He looked her over. “Any injuries?”

“Always.”

“Broken ribs?”

“Yep.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t care to know because I don’t want my body to register it.”

He chuckled. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

“I’m alive. That should be enough.” She examined the cup of diluted sludge skeptically.

He plucked the cup from her gloved fingers. “Instead of drowning your exhaustion with energy gunk, why don’t you take a quick nap?”

She snatched the cup back. “If I close my eyes, they’re staying closed until I’ve caught up on the sleep I’ve lost.”

He took the cup back. “I’ll wake you up.”

“As if I’d let you see me asleep.” She took it back again.

“Okoye, let me help you.” He sighed as he took it back.

“Attuma, stop-” She growled as he held the cup out of her reach.

He hissed as she shot a web and yanked it, spilling it all over him in the process. “You have a coffee problem.”

“I have a blue spider problem.” She smacked his chest with a handful of napkins before redirecting her focus to making another piping hot cup of sweet sludge.

Read the rest on AO3 here: this is the link

[nathank77]

11/15/24

1:32 p.m Added to Significantly 1:53 p.m

I'm home, I'm about to throw a chicken in the oven and take a shower.. tomorrow is a much needed red bull day I cannot fucking wait but idk what I want to play.

I tried a lot of new workouts today.. tricep kickbacks fucking hurt like a bitch. My left shoulder blade is sore for some reason. I def did more dumbbell exercises and the stretchy things for my pecs. I couldn't do the shoulder machines.... I just couldn't... i knew if I did id fuck myself up. Some of the 5 pound workouts are getting too easy. 30 reps and such. So I upped some of them to 7.5 pounds.

One exercise I really like is the seated Arnold press. It hurts like a bitch. I mean I found a few that really challenge me even with 5 pounds. I did some back workout machines too. Idk how to proceed... I like to start with the dumbbells but by the time I get to the machines I'm exhausted... and there is a part of my brain that even at the beginning is like stop, you're going to hurt yourself. And it says it all the time. It was saying it the whole time last time and I didn't even really get sore at all. I know it's psychosis and anxiety...

This time by the time I got to the fucking machines i was beat but I had to do chest presses bc the stretchy things I was on are only moving like 3 to 7 pounds. And I had to learn how to do them. I'm really excited. I can't lie. I'm going to be fucking ripped. Eventually I'll get to my abs. I didn't run or do any cardio..

The dumbbell hammer curls fucking kill. I love it. It's a complexed dumbbell workout.

The thing that sucks about starting with dumbbells is my weight is really low but I can fucking go wild with different exercises... but the machines I can lift heavier weights that helps build my muscles everywhere versus the dumbbells which generally target one muscle group.

The machines are important bc When I get cut I have muscles to show off... I'm afraid if I was to start on machines I wouldn't be capable of pushing myself on the dumbbells.

The dumbbells don't have great chest workouts to be honest which is why I got to incorporate the stretchy things and the machines. The dumbbells are great for shoulders, biceps and triceps. The lateral dumbbell raise hurts like a bitch and I can see my shoulders in the mirror.

I'm fucking really into working out. I've turned into a gym rat. I hope i didn't hurt myself bc I def incorporated many new dumbbells exercises and I love them all.

I can't wait to see what i look like in 6 months and once I get my arms and chest and back to look how I want, imma have fucking abs. People say dad bods are in but ain't no girls like me... so imma hit my fitness prime and love myself even more.

That girl with schizophrenia is good morning handsoming me... this is why I shouldn't have hugged her. I just knew she needed one. I only have feelings for one girl and until I find her or i meet someone who meets me on my level and let's that awkward friendship be a thing, I'm only going to be in love with her. I'd still need that awkward friendship with the girl I'm in love with... but I mean that's besides the point bc she will never be my girl. But the girl with schizophrenia is really zero to 100 and I don't operate like that. I can talk about how much I am in love with that one person but if she talked to me we would start at zero. By 2 months we might be at 30.... and by a year it may be 100 cause I don't let people in bc they fucking hurt you and disappear.

I slept well but I took two Hydroxyzine.... bc I knew I would struggle... it knocked me out. I really got to ask for more bc it stopped me from needing more xanax which is always a good thing.

[anxiouslyrunningaway]

About starting lightly

Okay okay, You are thinking oh fuck you, starting lightly, and well yeah, feel free to do so. But also, I've tried. This is not the first time \ I am trying to do something. The thing is, I tend to be very over-motivated and tend to believe I should start with perfect ----everything. Okay, if I do not have the right gear what is even the point? Ad if and when I start I must be stellar okay? No threading lightly, I expect exceptional performance from day one. And yes, I fail. I tend to start abruptly get that dopnaie kick, overdo things, and get so tired and sore all over my body then I just cease completely.

But, this time I ASKED FOR HELP,

I asked my sister if she could give me advice about how to start running and whether I could join her and her partner on their next jog (both runners and quite fit), just to….have the motivation to leave the house. I joined them for a few hundred meters and then I heard her shouting instructions from time to time too fast! slow down! turn around and run back, that was quite a distance for today! They were both very supportive of my curiosity and gave me some more advice about how long, fast, and often to run to be able to sustain the routine and feel good after the run. Yes, you are supposed to feel good after the run (who would have thought? Not me!). Sure I felt a bit exhausted, my legs were tired but not to the point I needed to lay down and die. I did my research this time and concluded that brisk walking for 5 minutes is a good warm up then I would help myself with the scheme of Couch to 5 K - 1 minute of running and 1 minute of walking (here I admit I cheated a bit and I was drawn to overdo it, trying to figure out if I can run for 2 minutes or 3 minutes). This phase-training is ideal to start with it helps your heart and body to get used to performing and to calm down in short intervals and helps to build your stamina. A very important step that is doable and sustainable. Not only doable but is a crucial phase to help oneself build self-confidence in the abilities of one's body. Of course, I would not be able to run 30 minutes consistently. But with 10 minutes of heat up and 10 minutes of wind down plus 10 minutes of interval training divided into walking and running

One thing I always struggle with is perfectionism, I need to prove to myself I can do more than average what is expected of me. Ultimately, very often I ended up overdoing it and not only I did not end up finishing the thing, but I was left with horrible feelings of failure and inability to commit. Starting lightly really does heighten your chance to actually come back for the same amount the next day and the next day. I felt so good after my run! And it is all thanks to the fact that I was not trying to prove to myself I could run this fast and this distance without stopping, I wanted to start. Not to run but to build the base. I kept on reminding myself that walking is not something I should be ashamed of (you will meet people cheering you on when you suddenly switch from running to walking thinking it is the right thing to do - which can be quite frankly very frustrating experience. Even from the fellow runners - please don't. I do know you mean well but do not impose the performance myth onto other runners especially the forever beginners who are just trying to start, to find ways to feel comfortable running and even more importantly, to feel comfortable walking when it feels like we cannot run anymore.) One of the things that was keeping me from running was the idea of the other - all the people who could see me running - the potential witnesses to my failure - having to stop and catch my breath. Just let go of your ideations of the ideal image of a runner. In the metaphorical but also very physical way, however shallow it sounds, no matter how little I seemed to care about those aspects my insecurities started to appear the minute I was considering running - clothing, pace, tempo, sweat all that. I kept repeating to myself that I was trying, just giving myself a break for once and disregarding my inner critic. And it was not easy.

If I am absolutely honest, starting with running in a new/different city was a big help. It was not really about the inability to start back home, but rather feeling a bit more at ease, and definitely a bit better than I did in Prague. I came to Brussels for an internship for two months and coming from a hilly-ish cityscape to the outskirts of the city where the closest bike lane/running lane is 5 minutes of walking distance was a big help. It was not the factor that miraculously helped me transform into somebody with strong willpower, but if I am honest, it was a nice change, a bit of help. So yes, I am not sure how long would it take (and if ever) to start back in the city of my previous residence. But rather about looking for the reasons whether it is possible right now I want to focus on how to start right now. Or maybe later. For me personally, it took a few months of ruminations to finally get up and start. So whatever the final impulse I was acting on this time was a result of thinking about it. The idea of wanting to start grew in me slowly but steadily. I think in the end I really wanted things to work out this time. Especially after all the failures I was dealing with at that time (break up after quite an exhausting long-distance relationship after 1,5 years, career failures, academic failures, and the list could go on, but hey, we are here), I was desperate for a feeling that I can control at least some aspects of my life. I can build up something myself, that would be relatively independent of the circumstances of the outside world. That I possess the willpower to change the course of my life, I can train for a marathon and even if it takes months or years, I can commit to it. I can observe the process, be in the process, and focus on the progress, not being the best but just making it to the finishing line.

So I guess we will see about that?

[alphaketoglutaricacid]

lettuce give this another shot :

@lilowpaloso

I think that there are parallels between where shuro fell down and where falin got eaten the first time and that namaris choice in the two situations (going down to get him vs opting out), constitutes a pretty significant character progression for her that communicate some pretty complex themes of the work. At the start, she n shuro quit without a verbal word to the leader of the party, opting to apparently tell everyone else in the party in person but laios, who they leave a note for. This, along w how she mentions that she realized again what it means to fear and how you must survive no matter what, paints her in a bit of a cowardly light, which is how marcille sees her. But in her reintroduction, you see this is not the case — that her leaving the party was bc of longstanding problems that she was not earning enough money to pay off her debts (for four years no less!) and in the bible it says she was struggling on whether to leave or not bc she liked the camaraderie (and getting kicked out of her clan and being seen w distrust plays a huge factor into this) but she knew she was never gonna get close to meeting her goals like this.

So on the second go around, when shuro gets pushed down the well, when she does volunteer to go down and get him w a group of strangers rather than the group she worked w before , without pay, I think its saying something important: that moral characteristics like bravery and selflessness are not something innate to people, but something that is either encouraged or discouraged by the company you keep and the circumstances you are in (Ie often u give what u can afford to give). But notably, I feel going down to get toshiro is not the best tactical choice in this situation. Mr. Tansu is a man that holds substantial power on the island. Toshiro is some guy who is really conflict averse. They are getting breaking news from the canary forces on the first floor without their leader physically present, which makes the canaries more disorganized. She would not be getting news at all about the situation if she goes down on the dungeon. The expedition would take at least a few weeks, so by choosing to go, she is giving up her ability to shape the situation, bc itll probably go the direction its gonna go by the time she gets back up. Now, namari has a good understanding of ppls strengths and weaknesses, so perhaps she recognized tansu could handle himself. Still, the elves are threatening the one source of livelihood for her permanently — she didnt even have enough money to get off the island, so I think she stands to lose more this time by going down to get shuro than she did the first time w falin (tho the party was exhausted so their chances suck, but shuros party probably was also tired at that point but not as tired. But i think shes walking into the jaws of death this time too bc I think thats the risk u take every time u go down there, and also bc of the hullabaloo, less ppl are going to those lower levels). I think the situations are comparable not bc its a 1:1 , but bc the difference in circumstances show how far shes come, but also that shes come as far as she has bc she let others help her and change her.

Now I know I said namaris probably closer to chilchuck and toshiro vs laios, but i think my language is imprecise— more accurately I think her relationship with them is easier to navigate bc theyre not her boss. I think she gets along quite well w laios, but that the fact his decisions impact her livelihood and he doesnt choose to prioritize her need for money when adventuring is pretty much the only job she could get, complicated her relationship with him. Like its hard to both like someone as a person and also resent them bc they dont ever prioritize ur needs at ur job. Notably, namari and chilchuck often butt heads in the dungeon on how to proceed, but she doesnt hold resentment towards him bc hes not the one who makes the decisions. In some ways, her friendship with laios was an extraordinarily difficult situation, but that doesnt mean it wasnt important for her growth, and the story shows this by him facilitating the event that allows her to communicate with tansu that she does care about him beyond the money and reiterating how laios trusts her. In life, I think we need a mix of people we have an easy rapport with and people we have more complicated, challenging relationships with that help us grow. I think this is why shes more willing to throw her lot in with laios and help him out at great risk to herself as the story progresses- cuz she quit so now she can be his friend in earnest and as equals.

I think its actually not possible to quantify which ppl are closer to other ppl other than in extremely broad strokes, but sometimes ill still do it as a shorthand bc I dont want to sit here typing forever and I struggle to convey complex ideas. This has gotten quite long. But to summarize, I dont actually think that namari liking shuro more than falin was a big factor in her decision here. But is was a moment that made me re-evaluate how close she was to shuro and how close she was w falin and I do think she is closer w toshiro than falin. Which has narrative implications I think in the way falin is presented as a good, pure figure that everyone loves — we think this bc laios and marcille are the main characters, but throughout the story, i think we get a better picture that falin played an important part of some ppls lives and less so in others bc falin is a human being. And it was a bit of an inside joke w myself bc I think I’m funny.

still impressed namari decided to go down to the 5th floor (honestly they probs got no clue where he fell) w ppl she did not know to rescue toshiro for no pay when at the start she left the party bc she wasnt about to risk her life (even with money, i think) bc she was like u gotta survive no matter what. U must always remember ur fear. I think its bc she has a better support system (financially and like socially) but im also like damn. She liked toshiro more than she liked falin. Thats actually a little surprising.

[creativeashproductions]

Change of Scenery // Evan Buckley

IN WHICH: Captain Bobby Nash has kept a secret from his friends, his wife and his step children since 2015 when he came to LA. Bobby’s eldest and only surviving child comes to LA to reconcile and make amends all the while she catches the eye of a certain blue eyed firefighter.

Warnings: Swearing, death/familial loss, pregnancy, blood, angst, injuries/medical emergency, and fluff

Words: 8k

A/N: Back at it with another 9-1-1 fic. Hope you enjoy, and I may just have to do another crossover with 9-1-1 and Julie and the Phantoms.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!

Masterlist

There are moments in our lives that define us, whether it can be known as a positive or negative, but the outcome is always the same. A six-letter word that strikes fear and excitement into the souls of humans is change. The fear can be for ourselves or as a result of a child, a sibling, or a parent branching out on their own. Unfortunately, you had gone through a harsh and cruel experience on a cold winter night in the city you grew up in.

A typical Thursday filled with classes at the college you attended in Minnesota on a scholarship, nothing out of the ordinary. The plan had been to drive to your parents’ apartment to catch up with them for the weekend. Saturday morning was already reserved for a girls day with your little sister Brook and your mom. In the afternoon, you’d promised to take your brother Bobby to the ball diamond.

Your bag was packed, the plan to drive straight from class to St. Paul the following day to arrive in the daylight. Your dad struggled with worry when it came to you driving in the dark and especially in winter with icy roads.

“Y/N!” Dottie screeched from the living room of the four-bedroom dormitory. The pretty and curvy brunette had been the first friend you made in college.

Typically Dottie was on the quieter side, so when she screamed, you practically sprinted to the girl.

“Where’s the fire?” You demanded with a smirk at the reference to a topic that was a constant in your family. 

The fire drills your father conducted every four months for an exit plan in case of a fire and general information to save yourselves. He had also trained you to remember fire hazards and how to call dispatch with clear information if that time ever came. It never did and hopefully never would.

“The Lakeview Apartments in St. Paul.” Dottie’s dark brown eyes spoke only of pity and concern. The five foot ten roommate literally caught you as you tumbled into her arms with a loud grief-stricken scream.

You were forever indebted to the brunette for the plans she sacrificed to drive you back to St. Paul. There was absolutely no chance Dottie would allow you to both drive and be alone with no news. The media hadn’t released the names of the 148 deaths the fire relentlessly tore from the land of the living.

“I want to prepare you for what you’ll see. Your mother suffered severe third-degree burns over the majority of her body.” The kind nurse, also one of your friend’s parent, explained as she guided you to the Burn Center in the Regions Hospital, “I don’t want to lie and tell you she’ll be fine. You’re an adult Y/N. You deserve the truth and not be coddled.”

“Is she gonna survive?” You quietly asked, “Has she woken up since she was brought in?”

“The doctor placed her on a high dosage of morphine for the pain. Your father hasn’t left her side.” Lucinda informed you with sympathy written as over her face, The hazel eyes unable to adequately meet yours.

“I’ll check on her, then could you take me to the rooms my siblings are in?” You asked, completely unaware Brook and Bobby had been DOA at the hospital.

Your father hadn’t answered the text messages or the voicemails you had left on his phone—radio silent. You couldn’t be mad when he was with your mom, but a text would have been nice.

“This is where your mother is staying for the unforeseeable future. If you need anything, you can call me.” Lucinda softly replied before turning her heel to head back to the Burn Centre’s front desk.

It was horrific walking into a room with no idea if the occupant who had raised you would survive. The confident, gorgeous mother you had for the past nineteen years was unfamiliar to you, the extensive gauze covering nearly every inch of her body. You almost couldn’t even recognize the man sitting in the chair with his hands wrapped. 

“Dad? What happened?” You questioned the grieving man. The only person left in your family as you would soon come to know.

“Y/N?” Bobby gasped, pushing himself to his feet, staring at his only living child. The guilt ate at him just staring at you with those light brown eyes, “Oh, sweetheart.”

Your dad crossed the room in a few steps. The scent of smoke was still clinging to every part of him, but it was fine. Your dad was okay, minus the wounds on his hands. You’d always been closer with your father than your mother.

“Dad, what happened?” You quietly asked the ashamed firefighter that had to reconcile his feelings on the fire and his career—that struggle ending up pushing you away when he really just wanted you as close as possible.

“The building caught on fire after an ember from a heater lit a blanket on fire,” Bobby informed you with his eyes pinned on his wife. Bobby knew the chances of Marcy surviving were incredibly low, and he had to tell you that.

Bobby only knew the details passed on from a firefighter who pitied the man who’d lost most of his family. 

“Is Mom gonna be okay?” You questioned, and the said injured woman in the bed weakly responded.

“Baby?” Marcy quietly questioned from her absolutely still position on the hospital bed, “Uh, Bobby.”

You left your father’s side to be as close to your mom as possible, with the clear plastic separating you for her safety. Your heart shattered at the sheer exhaustion in her pretty blue eyes. 

“Hi, Mom.” You shakily spoke with one hand lightly pressed against the plastic divider. You didn’t even notice when your dad stepped up too.

“Marcy?” Bobby called out from right beside you, just as torn up, but Bobby carried extra weight on his shoulders, “We’re right here, Marcy. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The muffled grunt of pain, your mom’s attempt to save you from grief, Marcy let out as she turned her head to look at you. You knew deep in your gut that this was the time place you would see your mom alive. And by the look in her eyes, she knew too.

“The...kids…?” Your mom’s breathing became more erratic as she questioned the man she viewed as her hero. The man she believed had saved her and their youngest children, “Where...are they?”

“The kids are fine.” The way your father said it and the tears led to the knowledge once kept from you.

“No.” You whispered, seeing the total grief written clear on his face. The pain meds and agony kept your mom from knowing the truth.

“They’re safe.”

“I knew you’d come and save us.” Your mom breathed as her eyes started hiding the pretty blue you’d now only see in pictures. In your dreams, until even those faded as father time cruelly pulled you along.

Then your worst nightmare happened. You watched as the woman you looked up to flatlined with the thought of her children safe. You’d always know she’d held on just long enough to find out the state of her children. You could only hope she’d forgive your father for lying to her as she died.

“Mom!” You screamed, fighting the arms of an orderly restraining you. You barely noticed the resistance to your frantic attempts.

One minute you were staring at a team unsuccessfully trying to revive your long-gone mother, then you were in a hotel room. The atmosphere tense and quiet between father and daughter, with the ghost of your dead family to keep you both company. You could hear Brook gagging every time you’d kissed your now ex. You could see Bobby toddling after you years ago.

At least you had your father—a father whose guilt festered until he couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“It was my fault.” He murmured, staring at the barely eaten burger that tasted solely just cardboard. He couldn’t bear to look at your face, “I didn’t mean to leave it on.”

Your head snapped to stare at him in disbelief, “What do you mean you didn’t mean to leave it on?”

“I-I went to the roof to sleep after your mom kicked me out. I didn’t have my keys to the apartment I had below ours.” Bobby began spilling the lies he’d told to you about his addictions. Of the apartment, you’d had no clue was even in his possessions.

The pain of losing your family tore into you, “You took my mom away from me. I’ll never get to share my wedding day with her. Shopping for a dress and gossiping about boys. I’ll never be able to wipe Brook’s tears during her first heartbreak.”

Each word broke Bobby more and more.

“You stole my future. You’re selfish, ungrateful and utterly pathetic. You cost so many people so much, all because you sought out your next high.” You spat, glaring at someone you’d never expected to hurt you. You didn’t notice your hands grabbing your possessions nor opening the hotel room door, “You couldn’t even properly try to get clean.”

“Y/N-”

“Get your shit together before you kill anyone else. I never want to see you again.” You sobbed with regret already festering in your body, but pride held you back from apologizing.

Upon your return to your dorm with Dottie by your side, you immediately began the process to enter an exchange program. Within a month, your feet entered Sydney Airport. You didn’t return to America for several years.

You took a job as a casual lifeguard on Bondi Beach, met Lucas in a meet-cute situation at the grocery store. You graduated college and found a job as a paramedic as you began becoming a flight paramedic. In 2020 Lucas and you discovered you’d be bringing in a little baby into the world.

Learning about your little Cashew growing safe in your womb fanned the flame of desire to reconcile. Ultimately the pride kept pushing the urge to apologize for the cruel words you told your father further away. You naively believed you had all the time in the world.  

Remember the six-letter scary word? If losing your mom, siblings, and father was a devastating blow, losing Lucas was nearly tied. Your little Cashew lost their father before they even got to meet him. That was push enough to pack up your home and fly back to America with your father’s new address as soon as you could.

In the fallout of the apartment fire, your father relocated from Minnesota to Los Angeles. 

Los Angeles, 2020

As soon as you’d found the nicest but cheapest hotel to stay in until you found a place, you walked the streets of LA. The first order of business of approaching your father at his workplace as you had no personal address. Residing still in Minnesota, Deputy Chief Evans had only given you the address of Bobby’s work.

You could only hope Bobby wouldn’t turn you away. That he was willing to bridge the gap, you’d widened over the years. That he could forgive the silence to each email, he sent when you changed numbers.

“We should go out to dinner.” The female voice was what brought you back to the present time. The woman was beautiful with her buzzed head and clear skin.

Right by her side was a dark-haired male of Asian ethnicity with a bag thrown over his shoulder, “If you’re paying, you bet I’ll be there.”

The two continued to converse in their own world until the man had to literally dodge you when they finally noticed you.

“Does Chief Bobby Nash work here?” You inquired, having no desire to enter small talk when the baby was sitting on your bladder again. You nearly retched when the man stared down at your swollen midsection, shocked, “It’s not his baby.”

Hen caught the evident disgust on your face, “He’s in his office. I’ll guide you there…”

“Y/N.” You supplied the firefighter. Hen smiled in response, “And your name is…”

“Henrietta Wilson, but you can call me Hen. That was Howard Han. He goes by Chimney, and I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the name.” Hen chuckled in her steps to the closed door of the fire chief. Hen swiftly knocked on the door to give Bobby a heads up.

“Come in!” Bobby called from his pile of paperwork he had pushed and waited to work on. It had slipped as the date came closer. Your twenty-seventh birthday, the seventh one since he last saw you.

“Cap, a woman is asking for you,” Hen told her friend and boss. It’s a good thing you didn’t choose to surprise your father because Hen was shorted, and your bump made manoeuvring around tricky.

“What can I do…” Bobby trailed off when he saw the girl waiting to talk to him. The pen in his hand dropped to the table in shock.

Hen glanced between the two equally taken aback individuals, “Am I missing something here?”

“Hey, dad.” You whispered to the man who’d been dreaming of this moment since the minute you left. He’d searched for you at your previous college and nearly made a missing person report.

“Dad?” Hen couldn’t pick her jaw up from the floor if she even wanted to because this was juicy information. Sure, Bobby had caved into telling his team, his family that he’d lost his wife and two children in a fire.

He rarely talked about his life before the 118, but he’d never mentioned having a surviving daughter. Not in the handful of times he’d talked about the tragedy, nor did he have any objects or photos of you. 

“You’re really here?” Bobby lightly chuckled with a twinkle in his eye. Hen had only seen a handful of times. All of them had Athena in the scene, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” You beamed, stepping closer to the man you’d missed dearly, “I’m so sorry for the way I left. What I said was cruel and untrue. You aren’t selfish, and I can’t blame you for something you couldn’t control.”

Bobby grinned. He’d stepped around his desk only to halt when he took in an undeniable development—the baby bump you carried.

“Is-”

“I’m pregnant. Six months along with a baby girl.” You laughed to the apparent disbelief in your father’s light brown eyes. His gaze continued to shift between the bump and your e/c eyes.

“Wow. Sorry, this is...wow.” 

“She’s one of the reasons I wanted to come back. To fix our relationship because I want her to know her grandpa. You’re the only grandparent Poppy will know.” Bobby was quick to tug you into his arms as soon as the first tear dropped down your cheek.

There was so much you wanted to tell your father, but that overwhelming grief rose higher. You’d left Australia where Lucas laid in a plot in a cemetery. You left the friends you’d found in the city. Left the lifeguard job you’d come to love.

“Where are you and your partner staying?”

“He...uh...Lucas passed away recently.”

The arms holding you tightened in response to your confession, “Oh sweetheart.”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I can’t stay in the home we bought. Not the place he died when I couldn’t save him.”

“I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’-”

“Don’t coddle me. I was...am a paramedic. A flight paramedic, to be specific, so I know that my hesitation could be the reason he died.”

Your career took the father by complete and utter surprise because you’d always planned on a different job. Before the fire that claimed so many lives, you’d never entertained a career in the emergency field.

“We have a lot to catch up on. First, you need to know that I’ll always love your mother no matter what, but you need to know. I met someone when I first moved here, and we were friends at first. She divorced her husband. We started dating...sweetheart, I remarried.”

A wave of emotions flared in your chest, from betrayal to sadness and ultimately happiness. Having lost your first love, you understood and knew if love came around for you, you wouldn’t ignore it. Lucas wouldn’t want that.

“I can’t wait to meet her.”

Re-entering into Bobby’s new life was a difficult adjustment for everyone included. Tension had risen between Athena and Bobby for a brief period. Athena hadn’t even been aware of your existence, but she could fault Bobby. Athena had even told her first husband about her late fiance Emmett when they were still together.

It was difficult for you with the new addition of two step-siblings in the same birth order as Brook and Bobby had been. The Grant siblings had welcomed you into the family without any reservations.

“Did you ever get to fly the chopper?” Harry asked as he scrubbed the dirty dish from the Sunday family dinner. 

It was the first dinner that had no awkward tension since you arrived back in the country. Athena had taken a bit to warm up, but it was nothing personal. She’d actually been the one to find you you’d been staying at a hotel. Mama Athena did not like her pregnant step-daughter living at a hotel. She’d actually stormed your room with Hen and Karen as back up to pack your room and leave for the Grant-Nash house.

“No. I had to help keep the patients alive. If I’m telling the truth...sometimes I didn’t even notice I was in the air.” You whispered to your stepbrother. He was just invested in your career as he had been when Bobby first entered their lives.

“That is so cool!” Harry enthused with soap suds splashing your thin knitted sweater. Harry’s mouth formed an ‘o’ when you flicked water onto his face in retaliation.

“Do you know Bondi Beach in Australia?” You inquired the youth with the chore of dishes completed.

“Yeah! There’s a tv show called Bondi Rescue! I watch the clips on YouTube!” Harry exclaimed, hot on your heels to the couch. Out of May and Harry, he followed you around with questions about your life in Australia.

“I was a casual lifeguard. I’m not featured on that show, but I would get called in when a lifeguard was needed. It paired well with my job as a flight paramedic.” You half-smiled, remembering the Bondi lifeguards who had welcomed you into the family. You became one of them when they started pranking you.

“Did you ever see a shark-”

“Harry, go brush your teeth. Leave Y/N alone.” Athena informed her youngest from the open patio doors. Your father, Athena and May had been outside as soon as the table had been cleared.

“But-”

“Harry,” Athena warned the youngest Grant. Harry didn’t attempt to argue with his stern mother; all he did was hug you quickly. You watched the young boy disappear into the hallway.

“He reminds you of your little brother?” Athena questioned. In your time of reminiscing, the older woman had settled in Harry’s previous position.

“A little.” You whispered, “Thank you for welcoming me into the family. For making my dad happy.”

“You know I may have some baby clothes put away if you’d like to use them?” Athena offered with that smile that made you feel at home. Athena was far different from your late mother, with her presence commanding respect and intelligence. Your mom was similar, but I suppose it could be described as a softer touch.

“Anyway, saving a penny is appreciated. I have a question for you also.” You hesitantly started with a bundle of nerves deep in your belly. Athena turned to give you her full attention.

“Well? Out with it.” Athena pushed, but she had a slight feeling of what you were about to ask her.

“My mom was one the strongest women I know. It hurts that my baby won’t get to experience her love and guidance, and you can say no. We’ve only known each other a short time, but would you consider...maybe being a grandma to my baby?”

Giddy was the feeling Athena developed along with the laughing smile that only came from happiness. The woman could only nod her head in response to your hesitant question. To Athena’s knowledge but not yours, Bobby was softly smiling, watching his formerly estranged daughter getting along with your stepmom.

“Oh!” You gasped as your baby kicked hard enough for her foot imprint to be seen through your knitted sweater. 

Bobby was by your side in concern the second he heard your startled sound, but Athena wasn’t that concerned. Athena remembered having the same reaction.

“Are you okay?” Bobby frantically questioned. He faltered when the woman shared a belly-deep laugh at the sheer fear written in the seasoned firefighter’s eyes.

“Poppy was kicking.” You chuckled as your father’s shoulders dropped in relief, “Here.”

Your nimble fingers clasped around your father’s wrist to bring his palm to the spot Poppy was kicking. A certain lightness flooded your entire body, being capable of sharing this experience with Bobby. Watching tears well up in the grandpa to be’s brown eyes.

“Whoa.” Bobby breathlessly spoke as Poppy kicked against his palm. The feeling building in his was exhilarating with the small amount of grief mixed in, “I remember when your mom was pregnant with you. We didn’t know if we were having a girl or boy, but she was adamant you would be a kickboxer. So active.”

Athena watched as the relationship between father and daughter started healing directly in front of her eyes. The Sergeant was about to give you two some privacy when you caught her hand in your free one.

“Here.” You informed the older woman shifting to place her hand where your father’s hand had previously been. Your e/c eyes sought the wonder-filled different shades of brown eyes the couple had.

“You should get some sleep,” Athena spoke, staring at her hand resting on your bump. Her dark chocolate brown rising to find your gaze, “You won’t be getting a lot once she arrives.”

Bobby and Athena watched as you turned the corner to the spare room Athena’s parents used when they visited. For the time being, you’ve moved into the room, and the Grant-Nash house hoped you would stay. May had always wanted a sister, and Harry loved all the stories you told about Australia.

“You know, at some point, you’ll have to talk to her.”

“I just was-’

“-without anyone else being the buffer. Bobby, both your lives is evidence enough that some things are too trivial to stress over.” Athena pinned her stern gaze on her husband. The same husband is actively trying to avoid her penetrating gaze.

“What I did-’

“Is in the past, Bobby. You have a second chance with that wonderful woman in that bedroom and our grandchild. Now, are you sure that having the party at the firehouse is okay?”

A hand supported the base of your back where an ache tended to stay for most of the day. That ache wasn’t the worst symptom of your pregnancy. You had heartburn constantly that tied with unfortunate constipation that had thankfully lessened. Your purse always had a cardigan for the hot flashes as well.

“Perfect! May has my car, and Bobby needed that.” Athena beamed from the open bay of the 118. One of the firefighters, Eddie, if you recalled, snagged your purse and the specific ingredient for a recipe.

“You could have borrowed Bobby’s-”

“His vehicle is in the shop Buck.” Athena interrupted the only member of the 118 you had let to officially meet.

Now there were two suspects of the sudden shortness of breath you started experiencing. It could be Poppy in the limited space in your body or the handsome firefighter. Buck had to be hands down none of the most attractive men you’d ever encountered. His dark blonde hair had minimal height, but the soft waves made your fingers itch to feel it. His ocean blue eyes crinkled at the corners with mirth.

“Ah, so you’re flesh and blood of Cap?” Buck questioned from in front of you. His blue eyes centred solely on you, with half a mind thanking himself that he could navigate the station blindfolded in the dark.

“For the last twenty-seven years, I have been.” You retorted, stopping at the edge of the stairs to the apparatus. Your keen sense of smell catching one of your favourite meals your father had dug up from the recipes he hadn’t used in years.

A zing of electricity trailed off your arm when a calloused palm met yours. Your e/c eyes followed the path of tan skin until it reached the shirt sleeve of Buck’s t-shirt. The shirt emblazoned on the chest with the department’s insignia. The man in the casual uniform guided you safely up the stairs with his hand on your back.

The pressure of Buck’s hand on your aching back muscle nearly brought what would be an embarrassing moan from your lips. Thankfully a gasp of surprise fell out instead at the banner hanging with other decorations.

“What?” You choked, cupping your hands to your face. Pure unadulterated shock and affection flooded every inch of you.

The entire 118 squad intermixed with their loved ones surrounded the open area with grins. On a table behind everyone was many wrapped gifts. But the cake was the most impressive.

A large rectangular cake in the realistic shape of a fire engine parked in front of a fire hydrant with a fondant hose going to the truck. On top of the fire truck was the turnout boots next to the matching helmet, the 118 proudly on it. You adored the turnout coat draping off the top to hang off the side.

“If you look at the helmet, it says Poppy.” Buck enthused, guiding you even closer to catch the immaculate cake, “It has to be the best cake we’ve gotten from them.”

“Hey, my rebar head cake was phenomenal!” Chimney called with a belying grin on his face. His hand encased by a brunette woman about his height with her heels on.

“It’s a long story.” Buck offered as soon as you gave him a weird questioning look, “Let me introduce you to everyone!”

For the next five minutes, you spend it by meeting the family of 118, including Eddie’s completely adorable son. Christopher was happy to sit next to you as soon as Harry had found you. Slowly the others came closer to hear the stories.

“What’re the most common injuries on the beach?” Denny, Hen and Karen’s ten-year-old son questioned.

“Bluebottle Jellyfish stings. On one day, we had hundreds of people come to the tower for stings, and the treatment for the minor ones is stingose spray and ice.”

“My question is how a girl from Minnesota is a lifeguard in Australia. Especially on Sydney’s most dangerous beach.” Chimney inserted, waving his bottle of pop at you, his eyes kept moving towards the wine Maddie brought.

Unfortunately, the 118 wouldn’t be celebrating with the wine until their shifts ended in a few short hours. It was a damn miracle they hadn’t been called out yet.

“This former Minnesotan spent summers at my best friend’s parents’ place in Cali as a lifeguard. Also, Bondi is not the most dangerous beach in Sydney. That’s Tamarama.” You pointed towards the man who raised his hands in surrender.

“Have you ever seen a dead body?” Harry asked, bringing a sobering silence in the question’s wake.

Your body language changed as soon as he asked, “Unfortunately, I’ve seen death as a paramedic and as a lifeguard.”

“You’re a paramedic? I thought you were just a lifeguard?” Buck asked, interested in the new information. Buck could feel his Captain’s eyes on the back of his head; he was sure Bobby could smell the attraction on Buck.

“Casual lifeguard. Called when needed as a backup.” You turned your e/c eyes towards the arguably youngest member of the 118.

“How many dead-”

“Harry.” Athena warned her son from continuing a topic that killed the ease and happiness you’d shown previously, “Why don’t we stop talking about-”

“Too many, Harry.” You interrupted your stepmom with a gentle smile towards the woman, “It’s not just drowning that claims lives but also the cliffs surrounding the beaches. Lifeguards patrol more than the beaches and water. Lifeguards respond to medical emergencies, mostly spinal until the paramedics arrive.”

“Oh-”

“I had a fellow lifeguard leave the job because of the suicides we deal with.”

“...who wants cake?” Karen used the quiet interlude of the much too serious topic for a group of kids barely in the double digits of ages. All referenced children followed Hen’s life to the beautiful baked creation.

“Sorry for getting dark there.”

“We all know the dark side of the jobs we chose to do. You sound like you miss Australia. Are you going to return there?” Eddie questioned with one eye pinned on his son, consuming more sugar than he wished.

Eddie’s question did raise self-doubt, but you knew that ultimately living in Australia was no longer a viable option. 

“There’s nothing there for me.”

Eddie, Buck and your father understood that mentality to a ‘t’ with family complications keeping them away. Your father for obvious reasons, whereas Eddie and Buck each had a living family with opinions only they saw right.

“You’re always welcome here. Especially when you bring that little cutie to the firehouse.” Maddie cooed towards your baby bump. The 911 dispatcher had asked many questions about your pregnancy.

 Maddie was the type of person who could make a stranger feel like they had known for their entire lives.

“Here.”

A plate of the cake was thrust in front of your face courtesy of Maddie’s brother Buck. It is quite literally the perfect size you could ask for. In his other hand, he had a new bottle of water waiting for you to grab.

“Thank you, Buck.” Your shock must have shown in your voice when his cheeks flushed.

“This whole party is a celebration for you, so you shouldn’t have to get up...unless you want to!” Buck rushed to respond, getting more flustered with the amused look of his older sister on him, “You’re already doing something absolutely amazing, so you should get to rela-”

“Buck!” You laughed, ending the older man’s rambling thoughts. The entire party attendees had started watching Buck’s failed smooth attempt.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Buck mutely nodded in response, “No prob-”

The bell was the one to interrupt him instead. The on-duty firefighters rushed down from the upper levels to the lockers. The swift suiting up impressed you as it was like you blinked, and the bay was empty.

“Should be the last call before they get off shift.” Maddie, still occupied with the cake she was eating, “That wine looks so good!”

Your attention snapped from the vacant spots the 118 vehicles parked to the woman ploughing down on the cake. Sure it was good, but not that good. Maybe you could tell as a pregnant woman, or perhaps you just caught some of the symptoms you felt.

“How far along are you?”

Maddie froze, “What are you talk-”

“You’re pregnant, right?”

“Don’t tell anyone. Chim and I found out recently, but we want to wait on telling people. Once the first trimester is over, everyone can know.” Maddie pleaded with two hands cupped under her chin in a prayer position. The pretty brunette using the puppy dog eyes on the new friend she’d made.

“You should tell Buck-”

“We will once we enter the safe zone. So tell me about your baby’s father.” Maddie swiftly changed the subject, unaware of the ache developing in your midsection.

“Lucas Gowan.” You mussed, recalling the freckled half Australian half Scots man with the thick red locks.

“Ooh, is he still in Australia?”

“Technically, he is. I met him at the grocery store near the university campus. I’d transferred to escape my grief. It was purely an attraction at first sight before developing into love at first sight. We convocated and moved into a cosy little place. We’d only just found out about the baby when Lucas passed away.”

As you told Maddie, your hand had moved to cradle the only remaining piece of Lucas. 

“His death was unexpected and sudden. He’d taken a run the morning of our scan to find out baby Gowan’s gender. He fell off the side of the cliff. I was told he died instantly. The investigator believes his shoelace untied, and he stepped on it. Fell right off the side.”

“I’m so sorry.” Maddie breathed, leaning closer to hold your hands in her own, “He’d be so proud of you. For returning to the states. Do you keep in contact with his family?”

“He was an only child. Parents died in a car accident when he was ten years old. He was in foster care until he aged out of the system. Poppy is named after his mom.”

Maddie instinctively knew talking about Lucas was, “You know you get along pretty well with Buck... I’ve never seen him so flustered.”

“Maddie, I can tell you are a very intelligent woman, but you’re wrong here. Why would a guy like Buck be interested in a pregnant woman with a reconciling relationship with her father and his Captain while grieving her baby’s dad?”

Maddie tilted her head to the side, “Because I know my brother. He’s only ever had that look when I first moved to LA. Back when Abby was still important to him.”

“We’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Maddie’s mouth opened to speak, but you were saved by the bell when Athena called you over for pictures. Then her attempts got thwarted once more when the 118 returned to the house perfectly synced to the end of shift.

“Driving here was the last time until the baby’s here. You’ve got precious cargo-”

“I’m seven months pregnant; I can still drive. There’s no law saying I can’t-”

Never argue with Athena Grant-Nash, “It may not be illegal, but I won’t endanger my daughter or my granddaughter.”

“I have to get to my OB/GYN appointment tomorrow. You and Dad each have a long shift during my scheduled appointment. Harry is both too young to drive and in school. May has a shift at dispatch. There’s literally no one available to take me.”

Bobby watched as two of the most important women in his life argued over something as trivial as driving. Harry shook at listening to someone fighting against his mother; she could be terrifying.

“I can take her.”

Everyone in the fir house turned to the voice who’d offered suddenly and found the sheepish form of a tall firefighter. Eddie’s eyebrows raised at his best friend.

“I don’t work tomorrow. I’ve got no plans. Albert’s got some date with a girl at her place.”

“I couldn’t put you out.”

“You need a ride, and I’ll be bored, so why not take my new friend to her baby doctor.”

“Baby doctor?” Hen parroted to her wife in astonishment towards her coworker and close friend. Both the women found the blatant flirting from Buck to the soon to be mother.

“She’ll take you up on the offer. She’s staying in our guest room. Come early for breakfast before you go. We’ll be having waffles.”

Buck found any excuse to visit the Grant-Nash home with the motive to hang out with you ever since the baby shower. From delivering baked goods from your favourite bakery to insisting on driving you to appointments. Didn’t matter if Athena or Bobby could take you; Buck was adamant he drove you.

The friendship was easy going and very natural, like a ball glove still moulded perfectly to your hand. The hangouts in your home evolved to weekly visits to restaurants with guidelines to the current event happening worldwide. 

Ultimately it even led to a test date.

“You look breathtaking.” Buck breathlessly informed you once he’d gently pushed your chair closer to the table.

“Thank you.” You kindly responded despite thinking the complete opposite to the charming man sitting across from you.

Athena and May had helped you get ready for the date with calming words on how going on a date so far into the pregnancy was okay. Then, your father had tentatively inserted himself with sage advice on re-entering the dating scene.

“I thought we could grab some ice cream after,” Buck spoke up as soon as the waiter had taken your drink order. Buck had decided to refrain from alcohol and went with glasses of lemonade and water.

“You shouldn’t say that. I’ll just want ice cream.” You snickered, caressing the taut belly you’d grown to love. In fact, the firm push of a heel announced Poppy’s agreement with ice cream as dessert.

“How is Poppy?”

“The doc says she’s right on track. Healthy all around and in the position, she’s supposed to be at this stage.” Buck adored the affectionate smile that always appeared when the topic of your pregnancy was brought up.

“That’s amazing! Bobby gushes about you and Poppy. The fridge has an entire door dedicated to sonograms of Poppy. Even a few from that maternity shoot Hen and Maddie surprised you with.”

A few weeks had passed since the baby shower the 118 had surprised you with. Maddie had announced her pregnancy to the joy of the chosen family she had. Bobby had put together a crib he had painted. Michael, Athena’s ex-husband, had started making plans for adding on to the house for a room for the baby.

Despite informing the architect, you planned on moving out when you had saved enough, he’d made a sound argument. Athena would want a place for the baby to stay when you visited, or the woman demanded to babysit.

Now you found yourself in a National forest not far from Los Angeles, posing in front of nature. A surprise photoshoot Hen and Karen had organized with Karen’s brother Trey. Maddie and Athena had been the ones who drove you.

“Hold the teddy bear on your bump,” Trey informed you from behind his professional and intimidating camera. The photographer praised you in the rapid movement to listen to his offer.

“Hey! Maddie! You should take a few photos. I need a pee break.” You didn’t wait for Maddie to respond in your rush to the somewhat rustic bathroom hut.

By the time you returned, Maddie was taking a couple pictures. Then you took some with Athena to have on the nursery walls and for Bobby to have a photo for his desk.

“Now one with all three of you.”

Present

“So a daredevil.” You stated unsurprised that the firefighter had a history of recklessness. You don’t go into firefighting without a taste for danger.

“The bruises and blood fit better than the awful bleached hair during my time in Peru.” Buck laughed, recalling the questionable choice in his fashion pre-firefighting. Sometimes he missed the people he encountered in his period of self-discovery.

“You didn’t wear puka sh-”

“I did. Bleached hair, puka shells and Hawaiian shirts were my staples during my bartending years. I fit in with the aesthetic of the bar I tended.”

“Buck!” You nearly gasped at his raw honesty. Buck didn’t hold back any answers to your questions, but you each strayed from the topic of family.

Talking about the tragic family history wasn’t a good idea on the first time regardless of the time you’d known each other.

“You’re telling me-” Buck halted as soon as he caught the flash of discomfort flicker over your beautiful features, “Are you okay?”

“She shifted. Been sitting on my blad-” You cut yourself off with a hiss of pain. Buck’s eyes widened at the pain taking over your features, “Oh, that hurt.”

Buck went straight into work mode, “Have you been in pain for long?”

“No. A few cramps here and there today, but my doctor said it was nothing to worry about.” You informed the experienced first responder resting level to your knees.

Buck didn’t want to say it, but he was sure that you’d gone into early labour. There was no indication your water had broken, but he kept over the last hour together. Every once in a while, you shifted or pressed a hand to your bump.

“Has your water broken?”

You shook your head, “No, but...oh... that’s not a cramp.”

With that statement out, you clenched your fingers tight on the edge of the table as pain rippled in your belly. A contraction that stole your breath momentarily. In your contraction, Buck had dialled 911. Buck recalled that sometimes a woman’s water doesn't break until right before the birth.

“We’re not getting that ice cream, are we?” You snorted upon being lifted onto the gurney. How fortunate or unfortunate you were to have the 118 right there.

Hen had taken a position at your feet to check on your lower body while Chimney took your vital signs. You honestly didn’t like the look Hen and Chimney shared with Buck.

“What is it?”

“We’re gonna need to deliver here.” Hen sighed, giving you the facts that terrified you. When you envisioned having the baby, it was in a medical centre. Not in a restaurant.

“My office is large and away from the crowd if you want. I can show you the way.” Sophie, the restaurant manager, offered already starting to lead the way. Sophie would never know how thankful you felt for being able to have privacy.

“Okay, Y/N, is it okay if I check how dilated you -.” Hen breathed with her hand, gently disappearing until the thin blanket Chimney procured from the stocked ambulance, “Y/N when I saw I want you to do that.”

Hen didn’t need to check your dilation when she could see the baby’s head already.

“I’m right here.” Buck cooed in your ear. He had held your hand as his coworkers did their jobs around you.

“This isn’t the way I envisioned you seeing my pu-”

“Push.” Hen urged, cutting off your almost vulgar language, but it eased the tension in the small restaurant office. You couldn’t even see Buck’s flustered reaction as you bore down with the contraction, “Good! Take a breath.”

“You’re a strong woman. It never ceases to amaze me the strength women have.” Buck spoke, keeping your e/c eyes on his blue ones. His hand raised to push a strand of your sweaty hair off your temple.

“Once more push!” Hen called out just in time with the last contraction. The feeling of the pressure between your legs popping was moan inducing.

Poppy was silent. Your entire body froze, yearning for the sweet sound of crying instead of the eerie silence. The world stood still as Chimney worked on your baby girl.

“Pulse is strong,” Chimney announced, keeping his attention on the task of clearing Poppy’s throat and nose. And that sweet sound of crying commenced, “Congratulations Y/N, you have a beautiful baby girl. Let’s get you to the hospital.”

Your father beat the ambulance to the nearest ER in pure anticipation at meeting his granddaughter Poppy Nash Gowan. He barely noticed as Buck stuck to your side like glue. Bobby waited outside the door as you got checked over in the room.

“Quite the first date.” You mused towards Buck, who hovered in awe over the life form you had carried for nine months. You’d been pregnant for three quarters of an entire year to his fascination. 

“All my meaningful relationships started with a medical emergency.” Buck finally looked up at you. He’d kept Poppy company in the bassinet while you delivered the afterbirth upon entering the hospital.

“Seriously?”

“Had a tracheostomy on Valentine’s Day with Abby, an earthquake with Ali and a newscaster in a crashed helicopter.” Buck listed off. He hadn’t even noticed scooping the newborn into his arms until he’d sat in the chair by your bed, “Why not add a sudden labour and delivery.”

“He would have liked you.”

The sentence came out of absolutely nowhere. Almost like something had ripped it out of your vocal cords. At the look of confusion, you elaborated.

“Lucas. He would have liked you. I think if it is possible, he might have pushed me into meeting you. I’ll still need to take it slow, but I’d like to give this a shot.”

That was all Buck needed to lean in closer to kiss you—the first of many kisses.

Some might disagree on how quick your relationship with Buck developed, but they didn’t know yours at all. It was natural with the firefighter who stepped into the role of father figure for a growing Poppy. By the time Poppy was one, you’d moved into a house not far from your father’s place with Buck. By the time Poppy was three, a pretty ring had sat on your finger. By five, the young girl had a baby brother. 

“Your parents spoil Poppy.”

“You say that like you didn’t crawl into her crib during her afternoon naps.” You deadpanned towards your husband. Buck had the nerve to sheepishly grin, “You give in each time she says ‘pwetty pwease’ for a cookie.”

“It’s a crime to make her sad!” Buck defended himself, but a grin of amusement threatened his act, “Besides, you crack each time too!”

“Mhm. Just wait until Theo can talk.” You pressed a kiss to the sleeping infant strapped into the baby carrier. Theodore Robert Buckley could fall asleep in a thunderstorm if he was in Buck’s arms.

“Oh! Maddie wants to have Poppy over for a play date. Madster’s been begging for her cousin to have a sleepover.”

Maddie and Chimney’s daughter was only a few months younger than your daughter, but the two were thick as thieves. Buck had referred to the Han daughter as Madster with how similar her mannerisms were to her mother.

“Think they’d take the rascal?”

“Is this code for you wanting to have another?” Buck questioned with a twinkle of mischief in his blue eyes. The same blue Theo had inherited along with a birthmark like Buck’s on his bicep.

“I-” You choked, blinking furiously, “Evan, I pushed Theo out of my body barely three months ago!”

Buck inconspicuously winked in response with the sudden scream of excitement coming from Poppy. The rambunctious five-year-old ploughed into Buck’s legs full force. Falling into the practised ease, you’d unstrapped Theo from Buck’s chest and promptly had his tiny body stolen into his grandpa’s arms.

“There’s my boy.” Bobby cooed to the sleep drunk tiny infant. The little baby is crowded by his Gram Athena and Aunt May, “Gonna have to get you a Minnesota Wilds jersey.”

“Hell no. That boy is LA born and bred. He’ll be wearing a Kings jersey like the civilized.” Michael announced with the sudden arrival of Theo and Poppy’s Uncle Harry.

“Mommy? When are we going to Stralia?” Poppy inquired from right beside your leg. Her tiny handheld is the giant one of her dad.

“In a few weeks. Are you excited to see the mommy’s old friends again?”

“Hm. Can we see Dada?”

Buck may be Poppy’s father, but he’d never let Poppy go without knowing she had two fathers in all. Her first one waiting to meet here decades from the time she was born and solely referenced Lucas as Dada. Buck was grateful for the man who brought Poppy into existence; the little green-eyed tot Buck could never regret. Unlike Buck’s parents keeping his older brother’s existence a secret, the firefighter refused to follow in their footsteps. He’d continue to shower the late Lucas in gratitude and respect. He refused to make the same mistakes as Phillip and Margaret Buckley.

“Of course. C’mon Poppy, time to say goodbye.” Buck guided the little girl to the extended family showering her little brother with love. The little girl was quickly swung into Bobby’s arms, and Athena cooing at your infant son.

Changes. The six-letter word doesn’t have to be terrifying. It can be breathtaking, memorable and beautiful to experience. 

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[puttingherinhistory]

“Covid has unleashed the most severe setback to women’s liberation in my lifetime. While watching this happen, I have started to think we are witnessing an outbreak of disaster patriarchy.

Naomi Klein was the first to identify “disaster capitalism”, when capitalists use a disaster to impose measures they couldn’t possibly get away with in normal times, generating more profit for themselves. Disaster patriarchy is a parallel and complementary process, where men exploit a crisis to reassert control and dominance, and rapidly erase hard-earned women’s rights. (The term “racialized disaster patriarchy” was used by Rachel E Luft in writing about an intersectional model for understanding disaster 10 years after Hurricane Katrina.) All over the world, patriarchy has taken full advantage of the virus to reclaim power – on the one hand, escalating the danger and violence to women, and on the other, stepping in as their supposed controller and protector.

I have spent months interviewing activists and grassroots leaders around the world, from Kenya to France to India, to find out how this process is affecting them, and how they are fighting back. In very different contexts, five key factors come up again and again. In disaster patriarchy, women lose their safety, their economic power, their autonomy, their education, and they are pushed on to the frontlines, unprotected, to be sacrificed. 

Part of me hesitates to use the word “patriarchy”, because some people feel confused by it, and others feel it’s archaic. I have tried to imagine a newer, more contemporary phrase for it, but I have watched how we keep changing language, updating and modernising our descriptions in an attempt to meet the horror of the moment. I think, for example, of all the names we have given to the act of women being beaten by their partner. First, it was battery, then domestic violence, then intimate partner violence, and most recently intimate terrorism. We are forever doing the painstaking work of refining and illuminating, rather than insisting the patriarchs work harder to deepen their understanding of a system that is eviscerating the planet. So, I’m sticking with the word. 

In this devastating time of Covid we have seen an explosion of violence towards women, whether they are cisgender or gender-diverse. Intimate terrorism in lockdown has turned the home into a kind of torture chamber for millions of women. We have seen the spread of revenge porn as lockdown has pushed the world online; such digital sexual abuse is now central to domestic violence as intimate partners threaten to share sexually explicit images without victims’ consent. 

The conditions of lockdown – confinement, economic insecurity, fear of illness, excess of alcohol – were a perfect storm for abuse. It is hard to determine what is more disturbing: the fact that in 2021 thousands of men still feel willing and entitled to control, torture and beat their wives, girlfriends and children, or that no government appears to have thought about this in their planning for lockdown. 

In Peru, hundreds of women and girls have gone missing since lockdown was imposed, and are feared dead. According to official figures reported by Al Jazeera, 606 girls and 309 women went missing between 16 March and 30 June last year. Worldwide, the closure of schools has increased the likelihood of various forms of violence. The US Rape Abuse and Incest National Network says its helpline for survivors of sexual assault has never been in such demand in its 26-year history, as children are locked in with abusers with no ability to alert their teachers or friends. In Italy, calls to the national anti-violence toll-free number increased by 73% between 1 March and 16 April 2020, according to the activist Luisa Rizzitelli. In Mexico, emergency call handlers received the highest number of calls in the country’s history, and the number of women who sought domestic violence shelters quadrupled. 

To add outrage to outrage, many governments reduced funding for these shelters at the exact moment they were most needed. This seems to be true throughout Europe. In the UK, providers told Human Rights Watch that the Covid-19 crisis has exacerbated a lack of access to services for migrant and Black, Asian and minority ethnic women. The organisations working with these communities say that persistent inequality leads to additional difficulties in accessing services such as education, healthcare and disaster relief remotely. 

In the US, more than 5 million women’s jobs were lost between the start of the pandemic and November 2020. Because much of women’s work requires physical contact with the public – restaurants, stores, childcare, healthcare settings – theirs were some of the first to go. Those who were able to keep their jobs were often frontline workers whose positions have put them in great danger; some 77% of hospital workers and 74% percent of school staff are women. Even then, the lack of childcare options left many women unable to return to their jobs. Having children does not have this effect for men. The rate of unemployment for Black and Latina women was higher before the virus, and now it is even worse. 

The situation is more severe for women in other parts of the world. Shabnam Hashmi, a leading women’s activist from India, tells me that by April 2020 a staggering 39.5% of women there had lost their jobs. “Work from home is very taxing on women as their personal space has disappeared, and workload increased threefold,” Hashmi says. In Italy, existing inequalities have been amplified by the health emergency. Rizzitelli points out that women already face lower employment, poorer salaries and more precarious contracts, and are rarely employed in “safe” corporate roles; they have been the first to suffer the effects of the crisis. “Pre-existing economic, social, racial and gender inequalities have been accentuated, and all of this risks having longer-term consequences than the virus itself,” Rizzitelli says. 

When women are put under greater financial pressure, their rights rapidly erode. With the economic crisis created by Covid, sex- and labour-trafficking are again on the rise. Young women who struggle to pay their rent are being preyed on by landlords, in a process known as “sextortion”. 

I don’t think we can overstate the level of exhaustion, anxiety and fear that women are suffering from taking care of families, with no break or time for themselves. It’s a subtle form of madness. As women take care of the sick, the needy and the dying, who takes care of them? Colani Hlatjwako, an activist leader from the Kingdom of Eswatini, sums it up: “Social norms that put a heavy caregiving burden on women and girls remain likely to make their physical and mental health suffer.” These structures also impede access to education, damage livelihoods, and strip away sources of support.

Unesco estimates that upward of 11 million girls may not return to school once the Covid pandemic subsides. The Malala Fund estimates an even bigger number: 20 million. Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka, from UN Women, says her organisation has been fighting for girls’ education since the Beijing UN women’s summit in 1995. “Girls make up the majority of the schoolchildren who are not going back,” she says. “We had been making progress – not perfect, but we were keeping them at school for longer. And now, to have these girls just dropping out in one year, is quite devastating.” 

Of all these setbacks, this will be the most significant. When girls are educated, they know their rights, and what to demand. They have the possibility of getting jobs and taking care of their families. When they can’t access education, they become a financial strain to their families and are often forced into early marriages. 

This has particular implications for female genital mutilation (FGM). Often, fathers will accept not subjecting their daughters to this process because their daughters can become breadwinners through being educated. If there is no education, then the traditional practices resume, so that daughters can be sold for dowries. As Agnes Pareyio, chairwoman of the Kenyan Anti-Female Genital Mutilation Board, tells me: “Covid closed our schools and brought our girls back home. No one knew what was going on in the houses. We know that if you educate a girl, FGM will not happen. And now, sadly the reverse is true.” 

In the early months of the pandemic, I had a front-row seat to the situation of nurses in the US, most of whom are women. I worked with National Nurses United, the biggest and most radical nurses’ union, and interviewed many nurses working on the frontline. I watched as for months they worked gruelling 12-hour shifts filled with agonising choices and trauma, acting as midwives to death. On their short lunch breaks, they had to protest over their own lack of personal protective equipment, which put them in even greater danger. In the same way that no one thought what it would mean to lock women and children in houses with abusers, no one thought what it would be like to send nurses into an extremely contagious pandemic without proper PPE. In some US hospitals, nurses were wearing garbage bags instead of gowns, and reusing single-use masks many times. They were being forced to stay on the job even if they had fevers.

The treatment of nurses who were risking their lives to save ours was a shocking kind of violence and disrespect. But there are many other areas of work where women have been left unprotected, from the warehouse workers who are packing and shipping our goods, to women who work in poultry and meat plants who are crammed together in dangerous proximity and forced to stay on the job even when they are sick. One of the more stunning developments has been with “tipped” restaurant workers in the US, already allowed to be paid the shockingly low wage of $2.13 (£1.50) an hour, which has remained the same for the past 22 years. Not only has work declined, tips have also declined greatly for those women, and now a new degradation called “maskular harassment” has emerged, where male customers insist waitresses take off their masks so they can determine if and how much to tip them based on their looks. 

Women farm workers in the US have seen their protections diminished while no one was looking. Mily Treviño-Sauceda, executive director of Alianza Nacional de Campesinas, tells me how pressures have increased on campesinas, or female farm workers: “There have been more incidents of pesticides poisonings, sexual abuse and heat stress issues, and there is less monitoring from governmental agencies or law enforcement due to Covid-19.” 

Covid has revealed the fact that we live with two incompatible ideas when it comes to women. The first is that women are essential to every aspect of life and our survival as a species. The second is that women can easily be violated, sacrificed and erased. This is the duality that patriarchy has slashed into the fabric of existence, and that Covid has laid bare. If we are to continue as a species, this contradiction needs to be healed and made whole. 

To be clear, the problem is not the lockdowns, but what the lockdowns, and the pandemic that required them, have made clear. Covid has revealed that patriarchy is alive and well; that it will reassert itself in times of crisis because it has never been truly deconstructed, and like an untreated virus it will return with a vengeance when the conditions are ripe. 

The truth is that unless the culture changes, unless patriarchy is dismantled, we will forever be spinning our wheels. Coming out of Covid, we need to be bold, daring, outrageous and to imagine a more radical way of existing on the Earth. We need to continue to build and spread activist movements. We need progressive grassroots women and women of colour in positions of power. We need a global initiative on the scale of a Marshall Plan or larger, to deconstruct and exorcise patriarchy – which is the root of so many other forms of oppression, from imperialism to racism, from transphobia to the denigration of the Earth. 

There would first be a public acknowledgment, and education, about the nature of patriarchy and an understanding that it is driving us to our end. There would be ongoing education, public forums and processes studying how patriarchy leads to various forms of oppression. Art would help expunge trauma, grief, aggression, sorrow and anger in the culture and help heal and make people whole. We would understand that a culture that has diabolical amnesia and refuses to address its past can only repeat its misfortunes and abuses. Community and religious centres would help members deal with trauma. We would study the high arts of listening and empathy. Reparations and apologies would be done in public forums and in private meetings. Learning the art of apology would be as important as prayer.

The feminist author Gerda Lerner wrote in 1986: “The system of patriarchy in a historic construct has a beginning and it will have an end. Its time seems to have nearly run its course. It no longer serves the needs of men and women, and its intractable linkage to militarism, hierarchy and racism has threatened the very existence of life on Earth.”

As powerful as patriarchy is, it’s just a story. As the post-pandemic era unfolds, can we imagine another system, one that is not based on hierarchy, violence, domination, colonialisation and occupation? Do we see the connection between the devaluing, harming and oppression of all women and the destruction of the Earth itself? What if we lived as if we were kin? What if we treated each person as sacred and essential to the unfolding story of humanity? 

What if rather than exploiting, dominating and hurting women and girls during a crisis, we designed a world that valued them, educated them, paid them, listened to them, cared for them and centred them?“

[bubblybubbubs]

Stuck With Me (3)

Summary - Draco’s POV on losing his soulmate

Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count - 3.5k

AN- I am so sorry this took so long, I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 1  2 

taglist - @lonely-kermit @lifeasdreamgirl @mera-shifts @abbyloubaton @clumsilyclueless @confusedscreaminggremlin @seanh-boredom @weasleysmalfoyxstyles @thefandomplace @mayempress @shadyrose66622 @jay-jay-love @ktvia @lovebynorth @sweet-creature98 @remmyswritings​ @chaoticgirl04

Sometimes Draco thought about how different his life would be had he not left you, had you not gotten hurt and lost your fucking memory.

It was truly ridiculous, the universe was actively conspiring against him, he was sure of it.

His current living situation just proved that further to him. “Wake the fuck up.” Blaise said slowly pouring water on his face even though Blaise himself was evidently groggy. “I will kill you.”

“Looking forward to it.”

Draco was unsure as to why Blaise had chosen to live in a crappy apartment when his family Manor was free. He missed his silk sheets and expensive pillows. Yet sadly the ministry had decided they wanted to take that leaving Draco on Blaise’s smelly consignment store couch. Had he gotten completely cut off by his family? Perhaps, it would make the disgustingly plain beans and toasts they ate daily make a lot more sense. He’d hate to think that Blaise fed them this by choice.

“Guess who wrote.” Blaise said, wiggling a letter in Draco’s face.

“Loud ginger?”

“Loud ginger.” He confirmed dropping it in on Draco’s face. “You should answer her before we get a howler, then we’ll really see how loud the ginger can get.” Draco looked at the letter, Ginny’s name was scrawled on the envelope and the aggressiveness of the signature made him heavily considering not opening it but the possibility of getting a howler from her convinced him otherwise.

Draco,

You are the worst and I hate you. I’m not sure if you care anymore given that you have refused to make contact with her but y/n is doing fine. I mean sure she’s been asking about her soulmate and lying to her is slowly killing me, but I’m glad you and Blaise are having fun in your bachelor pad and that you have successfully cleared your amnesiac soulmate out of your head.  

Looking forward to hearing your pathetic excuses,

Ginny Weasley.

It was way too fucking early for this.

-

Things were strange.

You had gotten most of your memories back but everything was very different than what you remembered, everyone was different after the war.

The Weasleys, oh the poor Weasleys, they were like your family but the life has been sucked out of them without Fred. They had all tried to hide it from you, they believed you were already going through enough and you didn’t need their problems too. Ginny especially, she hadn’t left your side since you woke up. You kind of felt bad for Harry because whenever he wanted to spend some one on one time with Ginny she always insisted you tagged along.

For example whatever the fuck this current situation was.

“I’m really sorry Harry.” You whispered to him. “I told her I’d be fine alone.”

At first it had sort of made sense how careful everyone had been around you, but at this point it was exhausting. You would walk into a room and it would just go silent. You lost your memory, not your basic communication skills.

“It’s fine, I understand Ginny can be quite persistent.”

“What about me.” Ginny said hooking her arms with the both of you.

“Just that I don’t think I should be going on your dates anymore, it’s kind-“

“Ginny.” Harry said interrupting you pointing towards a boy down the street. He was blonde and lanky, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

You had seen Ginny mad, in fact it was one of the first things to come back to you. Her calm fury was something that hadn’t remained constant since she was young and right now you saw it on her face as she stared daggers into the boy.

She scoffed. “I’ll be back.”

“This might take a while.” Harry said quietly, shaking his head. “Come on we can meet Ginny there.” You stole a glance across the street as Harry dragged you away. Ginny was yelling at the boy but he didn’t seem to care because he wasn’t looking at her he was looking at you. You felt your face heat up and you looked away from him following Harry. “Who was that, should I know him?”

Harry paused for a minute.

He had that face that people had whenever they were walking on eggshells around you.“He went to school with us but I don’t think you two were ever friends.” The way he didn’t look you in the eyes screamed to you that he was lying.Harry was always a horrible bloody liar.

-

It was really hard for Draco to process what Ginny was saying. Her anger had gone right to her face and Draco had been silently betting with himself as to how long it would take for her face to turn the same color as her hair. “Your face is really red.” Draco said, struggling to hold back his laughter. “Are you drunk.” Ginny said stoically.

Was he? It was likely, he honestly couldn't remember the morning or yesterday. The days were sort of blending together.

“Malfoy.” Ginny said. Usually when people used his name they were yelling at him or were angry at him. But Ginny said it with pity which somehow felt worse.

“I don’t get why you're doing this to yourself.” She said. “You’re miserable.” He deserved to be miserable.

“It’s for the best.”

“How’s that.”

Draco had no interest in divulging his feelings to weaslette of all people, but it seemed his judgement was slightly impaired by the alcohol he may or may not had been drinking. “I’m going to fucking Azakban Ginevra,I just dont see the point in telling her I’m her soulmate and possibly facing rejection just for me to be thrown in Azkaban for the rest of my life.” Draco huffed. “Even if she somehow forgave me, I doubt the dementors will be allowing conjugal visits.”

“There are no more dementors at Azkaban, Kingsley got rid of them.”

Now normally Draco was against hitting girls but he was considering it heavily. “Thank you Weasley. I feel way better, I’m sure Azkaban is a paradise now. Remind me to send Kingsley a thank you letter.”

“Draco.” Ginny said.

Gross, hearing Ginny say his first name with pity felt even worse.

“You’re not going to Azkaban, Harry agreed to speak at your trial.”

“Oh great he’ll testify to the one time I helped him, I’m sure it’ll cancel everything else out.” He said. “I’m not a good person Weasley, that’s why I know I’m going to Azkaban, because I deserve it.”

“Is that why you’re staying away from y/n?” Ginny said even angrier than before. “Is this some sort of self punishment.”

Draco stayed quiet.

“Merlin, Draco go to fucking therapy.” Ginny huffed. “You’re not the only one that’ll suffer because of your self pity. She needs her fucking soulmate back, as much as I hate you for everything you’ve put her through I can’t argue with the fucking universe and neither can you.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have fucking gotten involved with her in the first place, it’s only put her in danger.” He took a deep shaky breath. “And her losing her memory was the universe’s way of telling me to stay away.”

He had known for a long time that she was too good for him  

It was dark and he was tired, turns out making potter stinks badges and teaching all of Slytherin clever chants was demanding. Draco wasn't really paying attention to his surroundings as he walked back to his dorm until of course he heard quiet sobs. He was a firm believer that crying in public was pathetic, especially in a hallway where anyone could stumble across you. And he might’ve told them that had it not been you. He had been thinking about you, not that he would ever tell anyone that ever. But how could he not, you were his soulmate and that had to mean something.

He barely had time to think as his feet moved on their own bringing him in front of you.

“Why are you crying.”

Merlin, could he have been any less compassionate.

“Why do you care Malfoy.” You said.

He hated the way you looked pretty even if your eyes were all puffy and your face was all red.

“I don’t.”

He did. He even started to walk away for dramatic effect of course.

“I’m scared.” It felt weird to hear sincere words from you that weren't you yelling at him, and he hated the fact that he didn't hate it. “Harry has his first task tomorrow he could get hurt or worse.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Don’t tell him I told you this but he has to be some sort of invincible to defeat Voldemort at the age of 1. Don't you think?”He could hardly believe the words he was saying.

“I suppose you’re right.” You finished off.

Draco sat tensely, he wasn't exactly sure what to do. He couldn't hug you could he? No that would be seriously overstepping. You would probably punch him in the face, again. After all you had been the one who wanted to forget about the whole soulmate thing and of course you were a halfblood and a gryffindor on top of that. It would never work.

For once he hated being right.

-

You were actively weighing how likely it was for Ginny to kill you if you woke her up.

Very, is what you eventually came up with. Maybe you could play the amnesia card.

“What do you want y/n.” Ginny grogged from under her. “I’ve been listening to you shifting around for the last hour.”

You had been staying at the Weasley’s and you had absolutely refused to take Fred’s bed so that had resulted in a cramped hammock floating in Ginny’s room.

You turned around to face her with a sorry look on your face.

“Did I know that boy, the one you were yelling at.” You said. “I just feel like I knew him.”

Ginny was quiet the same way Harry was. “No.” She said turning away from you. “No you didn’t.”

“Ginny-”

“Y/n please don’t.” Ginny said, cutting you off. “It’s not for me to tell, if it was believe me you’d already know.”

“I want to go.”

“Go where.”

“To Hogwarts.”

It was embarrassing. Everyone had gone already; they had been able to at least attempt to cope with the trauma they had endured. And you who couldn't even remember the bloody war couldn't work up the nerves to go.

Ginny stared at you for a bit before muttering. “Hermione and Ron are going soon, they’ll likely let you join them.” You were about to make an argument about going on your own before Ginny turned back around nonverbally telling you that the conversation was over.

You still couldn’t sleep and not from lack of trying. Your mind was whirring, ever since you had seen Ginny yell at the boy your lack of memory seemed to be feeling different. And your fear was beginning to settle in, your doctor said that some memories may never come back and that thought made you sick to your stomach. You didn’t feel all that different, Ginny said you were the same whenever you asked. But she could be lying (since she seemed to be in the habit of doing so these days) and you would never know because you had amnesia.

-

Draco was regretting not taking his plea deal. He would much rather be sleeping in Azkaban than waking up on Blaise’s concerningly uncomfortable couch to an angry looking ginger towering over him. No one seemed to value his rest and it was getting ridiculous. He pressed his eyes closed and pull his blanket further over his face in hopes that maybe Ginevra would disappear. Sadly that was not the case and Ginny ripped the blanket off of him leaving Draco quite cold.

Ginny stared down at him as she stood impatiently at the foot of the couch.

“Blaise someone broke into your flat.”

“I noticed mate.” Blaise said who looked just as exhausted hunched over his coffee.

“We need to talk.”

“We talked remember, or were you drunk too?”

Ginny did not look amused and Draco almost felt bad for being so difficult but then he remembered he didn't care.

“Y/n’s going to Hogwarts with Ron and Hermione. She’s likely going to get her memories back.” Ginny said. “Thought you should know.”

Draco sat up. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Ginny said taking a deep breath. “You need to be there.”

“How so?”

“She’s going to remember all the shitty things you’ve done to her and are yet to apologize for and you’re going to lose your soulmate for good.”

“I don't see how me being there will change that.”

Ginny didn't answer him rather she walked towards his chimney. “You know what, screw you. I truly do not care if you go, I just thought you should have the choice that's all.”

Ginny didn't look at Draco, rather giving Blaise a short nod before using the floo to go back to the Burrow.

Draco let himself fall back down to the couch as he listened to Blaises loudly chow down his cereal.

“So are you going to go?” Blaise said his mouth still full.

He felt bad for Blaise’s mum all that money on etiquette lessons for what?

“No.” Draco said, burying his head in his pillow.

“You’re a tosser.”

“I can live with that.”

He could and he has. If he had a sickle for everytime he was called some variation of ‘tosser’ he certainly would not be sleeping on Blaise’s couch.

“I’m calling Pansy.” Blaise didn’t scare him, not in the slightest. But Pansy was another story, Pansy scared everyone, especially the people that loved her which sadly included Draco. “I will kill you.”

“You’re just saying that cause you know she’ll knock some sense into you.”

“I have a lot of sense.” Draco groaned. “In fact I have too much sense.”

Blaise ignored Draco’s exaggerated groans as he called Pansy.The call was short or maybe it was long, all Draco knew was that Pansy was standing over him with that look on her face.

“I’m not going, and you’re not changing my mind Pansy.”

“Blaise leave.” Pansy ordered.

Blaise looked insulted. “This is my house.”

“You call this a house?”

Blaise huffed mumbling under his breath curses at Pansy.

“That was rude.”

“So you're going to lecture me on rudeness now, that's rich coming from you.”

“I dont care.”

“You look and smell like shit, I can tell you ‘don’t care’.” Pansy said.

Never in her life had Pansy been one to sugar coat things and apparently she had no intention of starting to do so. Draco was going to argue it was the couch but he realized he couldn't remember the last time he showered so he kept his mouth shut. Draco a year ago would’ve drowned himself in the black lake had he known he’d come to be like this.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m pulling the card.”

“Pansy no that’s not fair.” Draco said sitting up.

“Fair?”

Poor choice of words.

“Draco, do I have to remind you my soulmate is dead, I stopped feeling tugs and being able to talk to my soulmate when i was 13. Your soulmate is alive by some fucking miracle, and frankly you’re being a selfish prick.”

“Oh.” He always hated when Pansy talked about it. Not because he didn't care but according to Pansy because he cared too much and the last time he had shown any sign of pity towards Pansy it had not gone well for him.

“What lies do you have Ginevra feeding her, does she think she has no soulmate, does she think her soulmate is dead?”

“She doesn’t think she has a soulmate.” Draco said in a low voice, he wasn't proud of what he was doing but he also knew he had no choice. “She was in her coma during the tug. I figured by the time the next one rolls around I have something figured out.”

“And what about you.” She asked. “She may not remember you but you’ll remember her, you'll never forget that you have a soulmate out there that you refuse to see.”

“I won't let myself ruin her.”

“She’s a grown woman, I find it demeaning that you don't see her capable of making her own damn choices.”

“What?”

“You think she'll hate you, you think she’ll be ruined, you think she’s better off. What about what she thinks? You think she'd be okay with you slowly killing yourself?”

“You're a bitch Pansy.”

“So I’ve been told.” She looked towards the clock.

“Come on lets get you something to eat.”

She reached her hand out for Draco to grab.

“I can walk to the kitchen without holding your hand thank you very much.”

Pansy rolled her eyes and grabbed onto Draco’s arm.

“What are you-”

Draco’s sentence was cut off by Pansy apparating them both out of the loft.

-

Draco had gone to his fair share of therapy, did it ever work? no, Draco would rather die before talking about his feelings with a stranger but he had been taught his fair share of anger exercises . And Merlin did they come in handy, truly it was the only thing keeping him from throttling Pansy as she stood there with a smug face looking at the rubble that once was Hogwarts.

“Pansy.” Draco said slowly.

“Shut up, look she’s right there.”

“I’m not ready Pansy.” Draco said wiping his palms on his pants out of stress. “I wanted to bring her flowers.”

“flowers?”

“Forget me nots.” He said with a sardonic dry chuckle. “It was our unofficial flower, ironic isn’t it.”

“The fact that you have an unofficial flower makes me want to throw up.”

“I need flowers.” He said. Pansy groaned before searching the grass. She picked up a dandelion swirling her wand transfiguring it into a bouquet of forget me nots.

“Here, go.” He was about to give another excuse but Pansy apperated away. The one time he needed her she leaves.

He wasn’t exactly sure how he was supposed to approach her without seeming like a stalker.

His thoughts were disrupted by Hermione and Ron walking up to him. He wanted to turn around so bad but he had no doubt that if he did so Hermione and Ron wouldn’t hesitate to curse him.

“Granger, Weasley.” He said sticking his hands as deep as his pockets would allow him.

“I didn’t think you were going to come.” Hermione said.

Draco shrugged.

“Just go talk to her.” Ron said.

“Thats why Im here.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath but Draco didn’t feel like fighting Weasley.

Draco had never felt such anxiety because of another person. He had always been confident and walked around like he owned the world, but now he felt scared.He watched you as you traced your hands across the bricks of Hogwarts, his steps faltering as he came closer to you.

“Hi Y/n.” He called out.

You turned to look at him. Draco’s heart felt heavy at the way you looked at him, not any recognition in your eyes. You had once looked at him with such love, then such hate but now you looked at him with nothing. because right now that’s what he was to you, and it broke his heart.

“You.” You said stepping closer. “You were the one talking to Ginny.”

“I wouldn’t really call it talking, she yelled I stood there.”

“Ginny does that a lot.” You shrugged.

“Yeah.” He said.

You spotted the flowers in his hands.

“I’m sorry, who did you lose?”

His hands tightened on the flowers.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” You said. “I lost my friend Fred, and my memory. But I don't feel like I lost it since I can't remember ever having it. But I miss Fred.”

He studied every centimeter of your face noting the subtle changes he didn’t notice the last time he saw you as you rambled on about Fred anxiously.

“You.” He said voice wavering. “I lost you.”

You stayed quiet for a second.

“I’m sorry I-“

“don’t know who I am?” He said with a dry laugh. “I was sort of expecting that.”

You didn’t say anything studying his face for anything that sparked a memory in you.

He dug through his jacket pocket pulling out a photo.

His hands were sweating and he tried his best not to touch your hand. Partially because he didn’t want you to feel his sweaty hands and because he feared he would break down at the realization that you were finally here in front of him.

“I’m Draco and you’re my soulmate.” He said

-

AN THIS IS NOT THE LAST PART THE LAST PART WILL BE THE NEXT PART

[kaylawritesfics]

Marvel: Fic Rec 1

A collection of marvel fics that I’ve recently read that I thought were really good!

march 28, 2021

| Avengers |

@ijustwant2write : That’s Just Wrong (Avengers x lesbian!reader)

‘coming out to the avengers as a lesbian who likes pineapple on pizza and they’re super taken back - not cos ur a lesbian but cos of ur pizza taste’

this one is a super cute coming out story i loved it so much

| Bucky Barnes |

@moteldwelling : good girl (bucky x fem!reader)

bucky and reader turn eachother on with pet names, and smut ensues. dirty talk, couch sex, praise kink. this sort of turned into dom!bucky idk it just happened LOL

@crispychrissy : Healing (1940s!bucky x nurse!reader)

Tasked with examining the injured soldiers that were liberated from the Hydra factory, one sergeant in particular gives you a run for your money.

this one is one of my favorites

@tuiccim : Almost Had Me Believing It (Series Masterlist) (bucky x reader)

An undercover operation playing Bucky Barnes’ wife is a dream come true. Playing house in the suburbs while trying to take down a drug ring brings you and Bucky closer but a nosy neighbor causes trouble in paradise.

this is one of my all time favorite bucky series

@imaginexmeintheuniverse : Dog Tags (bucky x reader)

For your Christmas drabbles, could you write Bucky gifting the reader his old dog tags?

@pinkettepoet : In Which She Knows That They Don’t Know (bucky x reader) (avengers x reader) part 2

could you write a buckyxreader/avengersxreader where they like all forget her bday bc there’s just been a lot of stuff going on so even though she’s kinda upset about it she doesn’t blame them and something happens and they all realize what day it is and they go all out to throw her a party and it’s just really fluffy and happy avengers family? Sorry it’s kinda long!

| Loki Laufeyson |

@angelkurenai : One Moment (Loki x reader)

You have found a way to undo the damage Thanos did and bring everyone you lost back, all of your loved ones or at least most of them. As you travel back in 2012, however, you run into someone who is far too familiar. Unable to let go, even after all these years, of the death of the man - or basically god - you loved so much you forget all about the mision and decide to have one more moment with the one who sacrificed his life to save yours out of love.

@beskar-tano : Just A Taste (Loki x reader)

On a brisk walk through Central Park, Loki tries earth’s hot chocolate for the very first time.

@obscure-imagines : Loki x Valkyrie!Reader

imagine: being a Valkyrie that Loki was always in love with and when you show up in Sakaar he’s really excited to see you again

loki fangirling over the valkyrie reader is my aesthetic

@gingerwritess : Loki x reader

I’ve got a question I’d love for you to answer, because I simply adore your characterization of Loki. What sort of nicknames do you think he’d call his s/o? Both the lovey-dovey ones and the playful mean ones

this is so soft i love it

@too-attached-to-fiction : A Night In The Gardens (Loki x reader)

#2: “It’s nearly midnight, what are you doing?”

@justeclipseblogs : Complicated (2012!loki x goddess!reader)

Based on Avengers (2012), where instead of Thor going after Loki - it’s Thor and his friend, Reader, who happens to be Loki’s… well, it’s complicated.

this is one of my favorite loki fics and i would love to see a part 2 to it

@yourfavouriterival : i will always love you; how i do (loki x reader)

@beskar-tano : Undying Fidelity (Loki x reader)

“I was just kind of hoping you’d y’know … fall in love with me.” + Loki Laufeyson Odinson

@jobean12-blog : A Smile In Bloom (loki x reader)

You and Loki bond over your mutual love for plants :)

@rorybutnotgilmore : Exist For Love (loki x reader)

Just some domestic baking and dancing with Loki.

| Natasha Romanoff |

@lethological-clara : Bikes and Bruises (natasha x reader)

Natasha teaches you how to ride a bike.

@saltybaltic : Downpour (natasha x reader)

Walking through the streets of New York you get caught in a torrential downpour and have to find cover

@saltybaltic : Save The Date (natasha x wife!reader)

On the day of your third wedding anniversary with Natasha, you realise that you’ve both been celebrating the wrong date

@saltybaltic : Cat Walk (natasha x reader)

Being friends with Natasha isn’t always easy, especially when you’re supposed to be helping her pick an outfit and you’re struggling to keep your mind out of the gutter.

gay panic

| Peter Parker |

@starshipsofstarlord : Screen Light (peter x reader

watching a movie does not always entail paying attention to it. However, there is innocence to the picture perfect distraction.

@baroquebucky : Truly, Madly, Deeply (peter x reader)

Truly, Madly, Deeply by One Direction with Peter Parker

one direction and peter parker is the perfect combo

@buckysbeloved : of sleep and safety (peter x reader)

in which peter parker slumps into your room exhausted and you have to try and get him into bed despite the height difference between you

| Pietro Maximoff |

@dem-obscure-imagines : Little Stark (Pietro x stark!reader)

Could you do an imagine of being Tony’s snarky sarcastic clever badass part-time Shield agent sister and Bruce’s best friend and therefore spends a lot of time in their lab while they’re your favorite people you are also brilliant, and therefore they also see Pietro always hanging around because he has a crush on you and Tony is protective big bro and everyone else just teases Pietro??

@helaintoloki : Meet The Family (Pietro Peter Maximoff x reader)

An innocent family dinner with Pietro’s new girlfriend reveals that life in Westview is not what it seems. Uncle Pietro introduces y/n to the family!

This one is sweet with a touch of Westview darkness

| Pepper Potts |

@rae-is-typing : Mother’s Day (mom!pepper x stark!reader)

It’s Mother’s Day, and you surprise your step mom Pepper

| Steve Rogers |

@ohmygoditsanthonyedwardstark : Why Do You Hate Me So Much? (steve x reader) (slight bucky x reader)

You spend your whole life loving Steve Rogers, unfortunately he can’t even spare a minute to love you.

i really want a part 2 to this one

| Thor Odinson |

@rae-is-typing : She’s Not Dying (platonic!thor x reader)

You have a cold, and Thor thinks you’re dying.

| Wanda Maximoff |

@cap-n-stuff : wanda maximoff x reader

Wanda x reader angst (like reader gets hurt or dies maybe idrk lmao)

@beskar-tano : wanda x reader comfort headcanons

[writinglizards]

My Heart Just Knows

Sequel to Don’t Stop (I Can’t Turn the Feeling Off)

Summary: Jaskier pays Geralt a visit at his studio after a long day. Geralt makes it very good for them both. 

Paring: Geralt/Jaskier Rating: Explicit Warnings: Smut, Dom/Sub play, use of the word ‘sir’, semi-public sex

Read on Ao3

As their relationship progresses, there's...a slight change. Geralt texts more often, more openly. He tells Jaskier when he's having a bad day, when he's worried, when he's struggling with this, all of it, and he gives Jaskier the opportunity to connect to him, to reassure and explain. And in return, Jaskier does his best to be a little more manageable. He doesn't smother him in attention, doesn't text incessantly, or call, or make a general nuisance of himself. They're...they're finding a balance.

They go on a few more dates, little things that end in sweet kisses and sometimes a frantic fuck at either Geralt's apartment or Jaskier's house. It's good. It's good, and Jaskier's terrified of when and how it's going to end. He keeps telling himself that they both want this, that it's not likely Geralt's just going to break it off, suddenly tired of the attention that comes with Jaskier being a popstar after he’s had his fill of Jaskier's body. He's not...he's not like that, Jaskier knows. It doesn't make it easier to deal with, but texting Geralt about it does, so he continues to do that.

Bad day, Geralt texts him sometime shortly after 1 pm, you wanna meet up for dinner? I'll pay.

Sure. You thinking that Nilfggard place downtown again?

If that's what you want, yeah. Just wanna see you.

Jaskier's chest is tight as he reads over the words. "Hold still," Yen tells him, pinching his bare shoulder aggressively. He flinches, whining, and she smiles only a little meanly at him when their eyes meet in the mirror, "you can moon over Geralt later."

"Yenna--"

"No, don't you 'Yenna' me, Jaskier. Later. You've got another interview." He grumbles in response, shoving his phone between his thighs to eliminate the temptation of looking at the texts again. "And if this goes well enough, I'll cancel the 3 pm interview."

"Really, Yen?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. Her smile softens just a little, goes a little more genuine around the edges.

"Mm. But only if this goes well. And that includes hair and makeup, you imbecile, so hold still." He does, smiling all the while. He knows she's offering to cancel the later interview so he can meet Geralt at his studio as he closes down for the evening. He also knows if he points that out she'll overload his schedule just to prove a point. It's practically a game.

The interview goes well enough, and Yen scowls only a little when he comes back to the hair and makeup room with his best pout in place.

"Yenna--"

"Oh, shut up, for Melitele's sake. I already canceled," she says before he can even ask, and he can feel the smile on his face, stretched so wide it hurts.

"You're the best, Yen."

"I'm aware," she says primly, "now sit back down. We've got a meeting to catch in an hour and you can't wear stage makeup to it."

By the time she drops him off at Geralt's studio building, he's exhausted, but looking forward to it. They haven't talked much since setting up dinner tonight, and Jaskier's hopeful Geralt will want to take him home (or let Jaskier take him home). It's...it's been a while since they've gotten off together, although they've seen each other plenty. And they haven't fucked in even longer.

He rides the elevator up, shifting from foot to foot anxiously until the doors snick open on the correct floor. He ducks into the office less than a minute later and is delighted to find Aiden at his desk with Lambert in his lap, very obviously making out.

"Hello darlings."

"Son of a--fuck," Lambert yelps, tumbling out of Aiden's lap and directly onto the floor. Aiden fumbles a hand out to catch him but he's laughing and he's not much help.

"It's been a good day for everyone, I see."

"Hi Jaskier," Aiden smiles, helping Lambert up who shakes off his hands immediately, glowering.

"Listen, popstar--" he starts in, aiming for intimidating, but the effect is diminished by the way Aiden melts behind him, smile soft and fond, "--Geralt doesn't know. You can't--"

"Can't say anything? My lips are sealed." He mimes pulling a zipper closed in front of his mouth and Lambert fumbles to a stop, confused.

"...Really?"

"Really. It's not my place to go blowing your big secret, dear." He winks over Lambert's shoulder at Aiden, who erupts into snickers, a hand clamped over his mouth.

"And what do you think is so funny, kitten?"

"I--I just--" he has to pause to breathe, to calm himself down, "We've been dating three years and Jaskier's been dating Geralt two months and he already knows. Lambert--"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he grumbles, but even he's grinning a little now.

"Am I missing something here?"

"It's a secret only from Geralt," Aiden tells him helpfully, "everyone else knows."

"Ah." That's... "is there any particular reason?" he asks. Lambert shrugs and Aiden grins broadly.

"Geralt told Lambert not to harass me two days after we started dating and it was just...too funny to correct." Lambert snorts a laugh and Aiden's grin softens as their gazes catch and hold, "And here we are."

Jaskier's chest tightens watching them. It's clear they care about each other, clear they love each other, and he's...he's happy for them, he is. He just hopes...

"Aiden, when's that next appointment?" Geralt's voice calls from somewhere in the workroom, making Jaskier jump and Aiden roll his eyes.

"He canceled," he hollers back, dragging Lambert back down into his lap with a grin, "you're cleared for the day." There's a vague rumble of assent from the other room as Lambert beams and twists back to press a kiss to Aiden's throat, swinging a leg over the armrest of the chair to lounge back in his lap, Aiden's arms around his waist, his back to Aiden's chest.

"You aren't afraid he'll walk in and catch you?" Jaskier asks, and Lambert laughs.

"Pretty boy's real focused at work, popstar," he grins, "why, I've--"

"Okay," Aiden laughs, slapping a hand across Lambert's mouth, "no lurid details, thanks." Jaskier can't help but laugh.

"Ask me again when princess isn't here," Lambert grins, elbowing Aiden playfully. Aiden slaps at his chest vaguely.

"Behave."

"I always behave, kitten."

"Mm, no, you don't," he says, but he still presses a kiss to Lambert's cheek, "now are you gonna let me work or are you gonna have to go sit in the car until I can get off early to pick puppy up from daycare?"

"Fuck you," he mutters, cheeks tinged pink, and Jaskier bites back a laugh. Ah. So that's what that means.

"Do you think he'd mind if I--" he trails off, gesturing vaguely toward the back room, and Aiden refocuses on Jaskier, smiling.

"Nah, go right ahead. I'll shout before anyone comes in, no worries." The wink he sends Jaskier implies he knows very well what they've gotten up to in the past. Jaskier fights down the blush burning in his cheeks as he steps through the door.

Geralt's stitching together an outfit across the room at one of the large, industrial sewing machines, humming softly under his breath. It's a tune Jaskier recognizes, one of his songs.

"Aiden?" Geralt asks, not turning to look, and Jaskier's chest aches with how much he loves him, this quiet, attentive man.

"Try again, love," he says softly, and Geralt swears. Jaskier laughs as he pulls the fabric away from the machine and snatches up a stitch ripper.

"Couldn't have waited another fucking minute, could you?" he grouses, "you ruined my seam."

"Mm, I'm sure you can fix it," Jaskier grins, crossing the room to press up behind him, drop his chin onto Geralt's shoulder, "I believe in your very capable skills, darling."

Geralt grumbles irritably, but he also turns to kiss Jaskier sweetly, so he can't actually be that mad.

"What are you doing here so early?"

"Good boys get their last interview of the day canceled so they can come visit their very important other half," he murmurs, kissing along Geralt's throat, "and I've been such a good boy, sir."

"You want me to put you in your place?" Geralt asks, and it sends a shock of heat straight to Jaskier's core. He'd just been teasing. They haven't...Geralt's not really interested in dominating and Jaskier hasn't slipped on him since that last time with the dildo. The thought of it--

"Don't tease me, love," he murmurs, kissing Geralt's throat again as he pulls away. He twists to look at him, expression thoughtful.

"I'm not."

"Geralt. I know you don't...you don't like that."

Geralt twists, getting his hands around Jaskier's waist and tugging him forward, thumbs pressing into the jut of his hipbones just above the waistband of his trousers, "It doesn't do anything for me, but I--you like it. And I like to see you feel good." It sends a shiver down his spine.

"Aiden's in the other room," he whispers, but it sounds like a weak protest even to his own ears.

"And my last appointment canceled. Aiden won't come back here because he doesn't want me to give him any extra work." He says it matter-of-factly, but he's not pressing, just...offering.

"What about dinner?"

"We can get something after, if you want," he murmurs, pressing his lips to bare skin peeking from the deep v of Jaskier's shirt. He sinks his fingers into Geralt's hair, petting gently.

"Will you take me home afterward?" He's...a little nervous about...about after. He doesn't play as a sub often for a number of reasons, one of which being his sub drop can be...bad. Most people don't want to deal with that.

"Of course," Geralt hums, lips barely brushing his skin, "whatever you need from me, Jask," and that's...

"Please," he gasps, tightening his grip in Geralt's hair, "sir, please."

Geralt breathes out quietly for a moment, and then his shoulders straighten as he pulls away. Jaskier lets him go.

"Go kneel by the couches. Don't touch anything, yourself included. If you're very good, I'll take care of you after I've fixed the problem you caused. Understood?"

Jaskier swallows hard and nods. Geralt just raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Go sit."

Jaskier feels a little thrill go through him as he crosses the room, settling down on his knees by the client couch. Geralt watches him critically until he's settled and then he nods, more to himself than to Jaskier, and resumes his work on the sewing machine.

It's a unique thrill, to be on the other end of their play, to have Geralt ignore him. He's already hard and aching in his trousers and watching the curve of Geralt's shoulders as he works is only getting him more wound up. He shifts, biting back a whine, and the sound of the sewing machine stops.

"Do we have a problem over there?" Geralt asks, tone severe, and his stomach clenches so hard it almost hurts.

"N-no, sir," he mumbles, forcing himself to stillness. His hands settle on his thighs and he squeezes sharply, trying to calm himself down. Geralt stares at him for another long minute before he turns back to his work. Jaskier lets out a breath.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the slow rush of breath in his lungs, the easy inhale, exhale pattern. He tries to focus on that rather than the burning under his skin, his own arousal. At some point, every exhale becomes a whine, but he's so far gone he doesn't notice until Geralt snaps at him.

"Can you be quiet?" he asks, and when Jaskier's eyes snap open, he's not even looking at him. He whines again, louder, unable to help himself. "Answer the question, Jaskier."

"N-no," he admits, and something in him roils to admit that he can't be good enough for him, can't--

"You need help?" Geralt asks, tone a little softer, and Jaskier sobs, nodding.

"Please."

Geralt sighs, a long, slow exhale, and then he's standing. He pauses to scoop something up from a nearby table before approaching Jaskier.

"Will this work?" he asks, presenting a scrap of fabric for Jaskier's approval. It's soft and silky from the looks of it, and Jaskier nods, tilting his head back and letting his mouth fall open as if to take Geralt's cock. Geralt groans.

"Cheeky," he mumbles, thumb pressing temptingly against his bottom lip, "misbehave and cause distractions and still think you deserve my cock in your mouth." He takes the cloth and winds it tight before shoving the fabric gently between Jaskier's teeth.

He moans as the fabric presses against his tongue, soft and silky like he knew it would be. Geralt stretches the ends of it back behind his head and tips his head down with one hand, knotting the fabric tightly but not so tightly it causes undue stress on his jaw.

"How's it feel?" Geralt asks, "nod if good, shake your head if it needs adjustment." Jaskier hardly waits for the question to be out of Geralt's mouth before he's nodding, tongue pressing against the fabric as he works his jaw testingly. There's a little give, but not too much. It's perfect.

"Good," Geralt says fingers settling on the hinge of Jaskier's jaw and digging in just a little, "you stay quiet and let me finish my work, and then we'll see what you've earned." Without another word, he turns and crosses back to his sewing machine. Jaskier could cry.

He tries to be good, but it's so fucking difficult. He's hot and hard in his trousers and Geralt looks so good, shoulders pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his back as he bends over the sewing machine and Jaskier whines around the gag.

Geralt starts humming again and Jaskier forces himself to focus on that--the pleasant melody of it, the way it makes his chest tight with fondness. He lets himself get lost in the sound, and when the sewing machine stops humming, he doesn't even notice.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice is soft and his fingers along his jaw are gentle. He can't remember closing his eyes, but opening them takes an enormous effort. "Good?"

"Hmmph," he mumbles through the gag. His tongue feels thick, his thoughts syrupy. He's not sure when he slipped into subspace but it's...pleasant. To put it mildly.

"Will you behave if I remove the gag?"

"Mmph."

"Alright," he says, as if Jaskier had answered with something intelligible. His fingers shift gently through Jaskier's hair before unknotting the fabric and easing the gag, damp with saliva, from between his teeth.

He gives him a minute to work the stiffness from his jaw, one hand cupping his face gently as he does so almost automatically. His half-lidded eyes are locked on the clothed cock not a foot from his face and it makes his mouth water to think of getting his lips around it. He hopes Geralt thinks he's been well behaved enough to let him suck him off.

"Color?" he asks, and it's so hard to make words work, but--

"Green," he rasps out, voice wrecked. Geralt hums.

"You were very good after the gag. Do you think you deserve my cock?" he asks conversationally, and Jaskier sways forward without really meaning, cheek pressed to the front of his trousers, "Answer me, Jaskier."

He rubs his face against the firm bulge of him, like a cat, moaning. He can't do much else.

"In your mouth?" he asks, voice low, and Jaskier moans again, soft and shaky. Geralt hums in response.

He doesn't say anything, just unbuttons his slacks, holding Jaskier back with one hand in his hair as he works them down his hips enough to pull his cock free.

Jaskier moans again, mouth falling open when Geralt rubs the head across his slightly parted lips, one hand around the base of his cock and the other still tight in Jaskier's hair. Distantly, he knows what comes next, but right now all he can process is the slick of precome on his lips and cheeks. His tongue flicks out to lick the taste from his lips. Geralt groans.

"You're so pretty on your knees, sweetheart," Geralt says, and it ignites something hot in Jaskier's gut, something ravenous. Geralt uses endearments so rarely. To hear it now lights him from the inside and Jaskier shivers with it. "You going to be good and let me fuck that sweet little mouth now?"

"Please," he rasps, barely loud enough to be heard, but Geralt makes a soft noise.

"Good boy," he breathes, and Jaskier chokes, gut clenching tight, "hands on my thighs. Don't want you tempted to touch yourself." He whines softly, but follows the directions, digging his fingers into the soft fabric of his slacks and bunching them under his hands.

As soon as he does, Geralt presses forward and Jaskier's jaw falls farther open, his length sinking between Jaskier's lips.

"Fuck," Geralt sighs. He stops about halfway and Jaskier mumbles incoherently in protest as he pulls backward before thrusting forward again, only a little deeper. "You feel so good, Jask."

He does his best to be good for him, tonguing along the length and sucking at the head as he pulls back, but it's hard to be present enough to do a good job. Mostly he just lets his jaw go slack as he whines around his length, lets his mouth and throat be used as Geralt presses in until he bottoms out, Jaskier's nose pressed to his pubic bone and buried in coarse white curls.

"Your throat's so tight," he groans above him, working his hips in short little circles as he bumps against the back of his throat. Jaskier's gone lax--he can feel the fullness, but it's only distantly uncomfortable. His fingers flex in the fabric of Geralt's trousers and his dick pulses hotly and he just...floats.

"You want me to come down your throat?" Geralt asks, breathless, and Jaskier whines, unable to respond. He does, he does, but-- "Words, Jaskier."

Geralt tugs him off his length, the red, swollen head of his cock bobbing enticingly before his lips as he pops free of Jaskier's mouth. He's enraptured with the slickness of it, the way precome beads needily at the head, the string of saliva still connecting his swollen lips to the plumpness of him.

"Words, Jaskier," Geralt repeats, tone severe, and it breaks him out of it, just a little.

He glances up at him through his eyelashes, mouth hanging open. His dick aches and his throat aches and he wants so badly for Geralt to find his pleasure in using him--wants to be good.

"Please," he forces out, "come down my throat, sir."

It's all the encouragement Geralt needs. He growls roughly as he shoves his dick back between Jaskier's lips, and Jaskier sucks and laves greedily at him, desperate to feel his release hit the back of his throat.

"Not gonna be long," Geralt warns, voice rough, and Jaskier moans brokenly, fingers tightening in his trouser fabric again.

Geralt shoves his hips against Jaskier's face twice, three times, before spilling. It's messy and thick and more than he was expecting--he chokes a little even as Geralt pulls back, gives him room to swallow.

"Shh," he's soothing, grip gone gentle in Jaskier's hair, "I know, 'm sorry, sweetheart. Swallow, love, you're fine."

Geralt's thick fingers wipe the tears from his eyes, the ones he didn't know were there, as he swallows, panting roughly.

"You did so well, Jaskier," he murmurs when Jaskier's mouth is empty again, breath rasping in his lungs, "so good for me, thank you, sweet." He shivers.

They don't move for several moments. Geralt guides Jaskier's forehead to his hip, lets him rest his head there as he catches his breath and presumably decides what to do with him. He's so hard it's painful and he can barely breathe for how badly he wants Geralt to finish him off.

Despite that, he's also aching for Geralt to deny him, to tell him he was good but not good enough, to have him sit, ignored and untouched, until his arousal dies, until he's no longer burning for it.

"How should I reward my good boy?" Geralt asks, fingers carding gently through Jaskier's hair, and he can't help but whine. Maybe someday he'll tell Geralt about how badly he wants to be denied, but right now-- "what do you want, Jaskier?"

"Wanna get off," he slurs, voice wrecked. He hardly sounds like himself.

"Do you deserve for me to jerk you off, or should I let you rub against me instead?" he asks, and the thought of that, of not being given what he really wants--

"Please," he mumbles, unable to give voice to it, "please, sir."

"You'd like that?" Geralt asks, tone conversational. Of course he knows Jaskier would like that--they've talked a little about his need for denial, talked about how hot he gets for humiliation. Geralt obviously doesn't know quite the extent of it and Jaskier had thought Geralt was choosing to go easy on him. Now he knows he's just playing the game.

Geralt steps back, settling on the client couch, and widens his thighs. Instinctively, Jaskier shuffles forward to press between them before Geralt hauls him up to straddle his thigh, knees resting on either side. He threads Jaskier's arms around his neck and Jaskier shakes with his effort to hold still.

"You don't touch yourself," Geralt says softly, "you keep your hands around my neck. I'll touch you if I want. You can move, but you're going to come in your pants, understand?"

The shivers trembling up his spine intensify and he nods, hiding his face against his arm and Geralt's neck. "Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, palms settling on Jaskier's hips, "get going, then."

Geralt's hands fall to rest on the swell of his hips, just holding, and Jaskier has to encourage himself into movement, rocking forward gently. Geralt doesn't reprimand his speed or give him directions, so he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, trying to bite back a whine. He doesn't want to upset Geralt, wants to be good, wants--

"Hey," Geralt whispers, lips brushing Jaskier's temple, just a gentle graze, "follow what your body wants, Jaskier. There's no rules here." It's exactly what he needed to hear and he whines openly when Geralt encourages him to move faster, to chase that white-hot feeling burning in his gut.

He snaps his hips forward, grinding his cock along the press of Geralt's thigh, shifts to grind harder up against his stomach for a minute before resettling along his thigh, panting hard.

"There you go, Jaskier," he breathes, squeezing his hips gently, and Jaskier could cry for how good it feels, "good job, sweetheart, just take what you need."

"'M close," he gasps out, twisting his face to press his lips to Geralt's cheek. He hadn't been asked to kiss him and he hadn't been told it wasn't allowed, so--

"Yeah? Come on, Jask, what do you need?"

"You," he sobs out, and Geralt turns to meet his lips with his own, kissing him slow and sweet as Jaskier grinds hard against his thigh and comes in his pants, shaking and gasping into the kiss.

He rides out the feeling with shocky little rocks of his hips, eyelids fluttering, and Geralt holds him through it, palms sliding up his back and then back down, even and controlled. It's grounding and it's exactly what he needs to force himself back into control, to pull himself out of the fog of needy subspace he'd fallen into.

When he pulls back, finally, Geralt's watching his face closely before he breaks into a soft smile. "There you are," he says, voice soft and reverent, "how was it, Jask?"

"Good," he says. The word is inadequate to describe the way his entire body feels light and fuzzy, the wave of tiredness suddenly tugging his eyelids down. Geralt smiles.

"Yeah, I bet," he leans forward to kiss him, quick, "I was...okay?" Oh. Oh.

"You were perfect, love," he says, because it's true, "thank you. I wouldn't...I wouldn't trust just anyone to dom for me anymore. You did a very good job." Geralt doesn't respond outwardly with more than a nod, but Jaskier can see the way the praise lights him up from the inside, the way his smile pulls a little wider, eyes crinkling just a little more at the corners.

"Thank you, I'm...not as comfortable. Domming." Jaskier knows. They've talked about it, a little bit, about how Geralt doesn't really get the idea of finding pleasure in the power. "This was...good," he says haltingly, and Jaskier perks up.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he affirms, before ducking his head, blush spreading up his cheeks, "I...liked seeing you take your pleasure...because of me." Ah.

"You just love to spoil me," Jaskier mumbles, cupping his face and leaning forward to kiss him, soft and sweet, "no matter what role you take. My good boy."

"Ah--" Geralt makes a soft noise at the praise, pressing into Jaskier's kiss for one quick, heated moment before he pulls away, "we should...uh. We should go. I could take you home?" Geralt asks, voice low.

"Sounds like a plan, darling," Jaskier can't help but grin. His pants are sticky and uncomfortable, come rapidly cooling, and he's not looking forward to the walk back to the car, but--

"Here," Geralt says, pulling away to move to the other end of the room and rifle through a set of drawers, "go change." It's a simple skirt, colorful but not flashy, and Jaskier can tell just from looking at it that it's his size. His heart skips, chest tightening.

"You made this for me?"

"Mm," he's not looking at him, "I did." Jaskier laughs breathlessly and he feels...so light.

They leave the studio a few minutes later, Jaskier's soiled pants in a bag. In the front office, Aiden's behind his desk and Lambert's across the room in one of the waiting chairs. Interestingly, his hair is mussed and his shirt buttons are a little off.

"Lambert, don't harass my employee," Geralt burrs, tugging Jaskier after him, their arms linked, "Aiden, you can go home early, whenever you're ready."

"Will do, boss man. Thanks!" He catches Jaskier's eye and fucking winks.

He doesn't say anything about it until they're in the elevator.

"So Aiden and Lambert," he starts, not intending to give away their game but just...prod Geralt's own assumptions (he's not sure how Geralt doesn't know they're fucking, honestly) but Geralt breaks him off with a groan.

"Aiden and Lambert are...weird. Especially together. It's best not to think too hard about it," Geralt says, and Jaskier's lips twitch. They're in for a long con, alright. "So, my place or yours?"

"Mine," Jaskier purrs, leaning up to nip Geralt's jaw. Beneath his lips, Geralt shivers, "we haven't got to use my bed yet."

[airplanned]

Ned Talks About Fight Scenes

I write a lot of fight scenes, and I consider it something I'm good at.  There are a lot of things to consider when writing a fight scene and they all intersect with each other.  I'm going to talk about three things: Clarity, Emotion, and Flow. 

Clarity is important, because you don't want your reader to stop and say, "Wait, there's another guy?" "Since when did they have an axe?" "I thought they were on the ground?"  "When did they get inside?"  Anything that pulls the reader out of the story disrupts your flow and is bad.  You need things to clip along, so be sure that your choreography makes sense and that you're clear about what's going on.  

The biggest problem I see in fight scenes is when a transition is missed so a character is over here, and then all of a sudden they're over there or facing a different way.  I'm not saying that there needs to be a whole big thing made about the transition, because that will affect your flow and slow you down with excess description, making it feel bloated.  But saying, "He turned around," takes up minimal space and will sometimes save you a lot of grief.  

I think the easiest example to show of this is actually a make-out scene I read ages ago.  (Make-out scenes and fight scenes have a lot in common.) It went something like this: "He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her shoulder.  She hopped up and wrapped her legs around his waist."  ...   The picture I have in my head is that he’s still behind her, but her legs are folded backward like a ballerina.  This would be easily preventable with a simple "She turned around and..."  

Now, this example is a very close example.  The characters are attentive to every little moment, so a jump into a different position is jarring.  A fight scene example would be if you have a one-on-one duel, and it's emotional and calculating, and your character is very attuned to every movement that their opponent makes.  It's a little different if you have a sweeping battle scene with a horde of hundreds of enemies, like if you're writing an Age of Calamity battle.  Your main character isn't thinking in minute steps, but rather in sweeping moves, so your reader is fine not hearing that your character has turned around, but wouldn't be fine not knowing that your character is suddenly bleeding from dozens of fatal wounds or is half way through a battle with a big monster that actually matters.  So be aware of the scope of your scene, and that will guide you in how detailed you need to be.  (Also keep in mind that you can zoom in, like you fight a big Age of Calamity battle, but then things get more personal when you meet the boss and fight them.)

I know that just saying "don't so this" is not super helpful.  First of all, sometimes something is so clear in your head that you don't even know that your reader isn't following you.  The main solution to that is a beta reader.  A second set of eyes can easily point out these moments.  You can also draw stick figures (it's fun!).  For each sentence, draw where they would be and make sure the change between them makes sense.  

Sometimes, you might have something very complicated in mind.  But if you cant describe it clearly, it's not worth it and it might be worth scaling back.  Killing your darlings happens.

Sometimes, the fight will be a huge mess and our hero will be flailing around, not knowing what's going on or which way is up or when it's going to be over.  But in that case, you can just say that.  Be clear about it.  And then tell us what your POV character does know.  If they're overwhelmed, tell us what they feel.  Adding in emotion can actually be clarifying in explaining to the reader why the character acts the way they do.

Which brings us to

Emotion.  It's important for a lot of reasons.  First of all, if you leave out the emotion completely and have it be straight action the whole time, then your hero looks as if it's no big thing.  This battle is simple and they are a killing machine.  Maybe that's what you want.  But if there's no tension for your character, there won't be any tension in your reader.  If you say that this scene is no sweat, I (the reader) will not be sweating.  But if your character is struggling, if they're fearing, if they're exhausted or hurt, I'm going to worry for them and you automatically have tension.

Second of all, I tend to write more character driven things, and what's the point of the fight scene if it doesn't have some effect on the character or show something about them?  What purpose does it serve in the story?  Maybe it's just to be cool, and that's okay, but don't expect more from it if that's the case.

The other cool thing about including emotion is that if you have a paragraph in the middle of a fight scene where the character is thinking about how hard the fight is or worrying about protecting someone or excited to finally be using a sword again after a long hiatus, then your reader will assume that time is passing while they're thinking, and then when you pull out of that paragraph and back int the action, your character can be in a new place, fighting a new monster.  It's one way to avoid that jarring lack of transition that we talked about earlier.

So returning regularly to your POV character in a fight scene is a good idea.  I tend to do one pass where I just write the choreography (unless some big, climactic emotional moment is the whole point of the scene/story, in which case I'll write that first), then I'll do a second pass inserting some interiority. 

Flow deals with how the scene reads.  You want it to read fast (action packed!) because your character will be thinking fast and things will be moving fast and you want your reader's heart to be beating fast.

You can achieve a lot of this on a micro level with just word and punctuation choices.  1. Commas: a comma is a way to show a pause for breath, so in some cases, misusing commas and using a run-on sentences is your friend.  Lists are also your friend, because you can have this happening and that happening and something else over there and they felt dizzy and tired and yet the list goes on.  

2. Longer sentences tend to pul you forward through the sentence whereas short, choppy sentences have a lot of periods, which are hard pauses.  

3. To Be Verbs slow you down.  A "to be" verb is any conjugation of "to be": was, is, were, are, be, am.  You might have heard this in high school English class and rolled your eyes, and I have strong feelings about how this is not a hard and fast rule that should be used in all situations.  However, to be verbs DO slow you down, and that's not what you want here.  So let's use a test sentence like, "He was running towards the moblin."  The thing about this is that "run" isn't the verb.  "Was" is the verb.  What was he doing?  He was existing.  Which is more exciting: existing or running?  Change this to "He ran towards the moblin," and already that reads faster.  

4. Over-specificity will slow you down too.  There are so many fight scenes out there where I think they're trying not to fall into the trap discussed earlier of being unclear, so they go hard in the other direction and over-specify.  If you want to tell me at the very start that our hero has a sword in his left hand and a dagger in his right, go for it, but I don't want to hear about what anyone's left hand and right hand are doing during the actual fight.  (Unless handedness is a theme or something in your story?) I don't need to know how many degrees they turned to block a blow.  I don't need to know too many adjectives, because each of your adjectives should be hitting me in the face.

There's a lot more I could say about flow.  I do a lot of work with numbers of syllables and length of syllables, which means that certain words won't fit in the sentence I'm working on.  I do a lot with timing the big moments and arranging the white space around paragraphs so that the reader has a pause to go "oh shit!" when I want them to go "oh shit!"  I do a lot of onomatopoeia (sound effects) as shorthand for movement. "ClashClashClash. Boom!"  But I feel like getting into all that will be a bit too much and it's kind of more of a feeling than a science, so I'll stop here.

Good luck!

[lululawrence]

Polyamory Fic Rec

I thought I’d made one already, but apparently I hadn’t. So, since @twopoppies had an anon looking for more, I figured I’d go ahead and make a rec list now. This is not exhaustive, but it’s a start! 

Please remember to leave the authors kudos and nice comments to show appreciation for their work.

I Should've Known by @nikogda (Liam/Louis/Harry, 11k)

It started out with little things here and there. A light that needed replacing. The belt in the vacuum. Small things, and eventually they took advantage of it.

Louis decided they needed another, larger repair whilst talking with his alpha neighbour, Liam. Liam had said he would do it for Louis and his partner, Harry.

And, well, it sort of went a little off track from there. What was an innocent thing at first, was now the two omegas’ way of catching the sweet deep scent of their alpha neighbour one whom they both mutually crushed.

Or: the one where alpha Liam moves in next door to bonded omegas Louis and Harry. All three go on their own journeys but in the end find that maybe, in the end, it really was always each other.

And That Was That by @lightwoodsmagic​ (Zayn/Liam/Harry/Louis, 23k)

“Okay. When Zayn and I were working on the set yesterday, Liam dropped by and mentioned he had a date. I asked Zayn about it, and he said that they’re ah - poly?”

Harry blinked.

“Oh yeah, I knew that. Li mentioned it when we were playing tennis once.” He ran his hand through Louis’ hair, smiling softly when he nuzzled into the touch.

“Is that what’s making you act strange? Because it seems like something that works for them, and I —.”

“Zayn has feelings for me.” A deep breath, and then blue eyes locked on green. “He said he needs distance because he has to get over them.”

Harry hadn’t realised his hand had fallen from Louis’ face until his fingers were being tangled and gripped tightly.

Or, Zayn and Liam have been polyamorous for years, but Harry and Louis are monogamous. When Zayn meets Louis and starts to fall for him, it opens them all up for something they've never experienced before.

That Don't Define Who You Are by lululawrence (Nick/Harry/Louis, 7k)

“Shit,” Harry muttered, rushing towards the man. “Are you alright?”

The man clearly tried to muffle his scream. “No, I’m really not. I’m afraid you’ll need to call 999.”

When Harry reached the man, he saw the man’s leg had gotten caught by pieces of the bike that had come apart beneath him. Without thinking, Harry leaned down and lapped where the blood was flowing quickly until it slowed.

“I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want you to pass out whilst I was on the phone.”

“God, no, don’t apologise,” the man said. “My mum’s a licking omega, see. Quite soothing.”

Harry blushed. “Yeah. Let me see about an ambulance for you.”

Or the one where Harry is a licking omega with a broken bond who helps heal a fairly hapless beta with a folding bicycle. When Harry also meets the beta's alpha, things start to get... interesting.

Its Mutual We (All) Discussed It by @nikogda (Zayn/Harry/Louis, 29k)

“Well you go to the agency, Alpha Donor Services and fill some forms out, whoever is doing the deed gets tested and such. And then they match you based on the papers with a few Alphas. You read the information on them and pick a few, they make sure they’re still willing and tell them about you. Eventually you guys will meet in public, do that a few times until you’re comfortable.” Niall scratched his arm lightly, and glances over at Harry, “The point of the service is to help a family, mostly an omega one, who can’t have children of their own. An Alpha will help an Omega get pregnant.”

“I feel like this is a lot.” Harry mumbles, setting his mug down.

“It is. Or well it was but it was worth it, H. I mean, I would do this again. We already talked about it.”

“Really?”

Or: Two omegas in a committed relationship are ready to start a family. In the process, their alpha donor becomes part of the family too. Every part of their relationship may be unconventional but all of them have never been happier

old haunts are for forgotten ghosts by fortymaliks (Nick/Harry/Louis, 8k)

“It’s the three of us, now,” Harry says, finally.

Louis blinks.

“Like,” Harry rushes to clarify, “you, and me, and Nick.”

Louis wakes up with amnesia, and learns that he's missing two whole years of his life. Two whole years, and some interesting developments...

Orion's Belt by @londonfoginacup (Nick/Harry/Louis, 24k)

Louis and Nick have been in a happy committed relationship for two years, their matching soulmarks on display for the world to see. It’s been them against the world, the alpha/beta singer and radio DJ power duo.

All that changes on February 1st, when they wake up to a third matching soulmark.

As they say, the course of true love never did run smooth.

You're a Rabbit, Louis Series by @magicalrocketships (Nick/Harry/Louis, 16k)

"Maybe Louis turned into a rabbit," Nick suggests. They both laugh. Louis doesn't. Harry is an idiot and Nick is an even bigger one.

Louis stomps past both of them on four tiny, furry, baby rabbit paws, and into Nick's flat. "I hate you both," he says. He sits on the rug by the TV. "And you can stop following me around too," he says to Pig, who sits down next to him on the rug.

"But seriously," Harry says, from the door. "Where's Louis?"

Louis thumps his back leg on the floor. "I'm here, you idiot."

"I'm not really suggesting this could be true," Nick says carefully, "but are we sure he isn't a tiny baby rabbit?"

The "A" in "Normal" by Yesitstyles (Nick/Harry/Louis, 28k)

Louis eats chips, argues with his best friend Nick about the validity of various sexualities, and falls for a second crush. Harry tries to spell the word "normal".

Loving You's the Antidote by lululawrence (Nick/Harry/Louis, 11k)

Nick and Harry had never been an obvious match. When eighteen-year-old Harry, newly presented as an omega, came home freshly bonded to Nick, a man nine years his elder and a beta no less, Anne had been more than skeptical and Eileen had shared some harsh words of her own. That didn’t deter them, though, and their families soon realised there really was something special about the bondmates that allowed them to work together almost seamlessly.

It was only a few months later that Harry started getting sick.

Or the one where Harry and Nick have been able to keep Harry's disorder at bay over the course of their relationship, but when they move to London and away from their support system, they find themselves in desperate need of help.

Come Out and Play by @dinosaursmate (Combination of OT5 pairings, 30k)

“I have this… fantasy.” Louis smiled self-consciously. “Well, I- I’ve been thinking about it recently, you know?”

Harry smiled softly. “Say it, Lou.”

“I have this fantasy,” he repeated. “Of… all five of us.”

“All five of us,” Harry exclaimed. “Gosh.”

Louis buried his face into Harry’s armpit, and Harry giggled softly. --- Harry and Louis discover a new kink in their relationship, and it brings all the boys closer than they could have ever imagined.

Trinity's Fate by Anonymous (Nick/Harry/Louis, 43k)

When a person is sixteen years old, he or she finds out if they are a dom or a sub. Later when they turn eighteen, the name of their soulmate(s) appear somewhere on their body.

Louis Tomlinson, a sub, fears getting a dom more than anything.

When his eighteenth birthday approaches and the names Nicholas Grimshaw and Harry Styles, a well known dom couple who are DJs for BBC Radio 1, appear on his arms, Louis panics.

Let me be your good night by Conscious_ramblings (Nick/Greg/Harry/Louis, 8k)

The one where Harry and Louis are in love, they end up at a party with some friends, and end up discovering things about themselves, and their friends that could change everything.

The thing was, Harry and Louis weren’t poly. They’d never even played with others together, despite having talked about it quite a lot in the heat of arousal. When they had been at torture garden and antichrist they had flirted with the idea. Harry had even kissed a friend of theirs once to rile Louis up, which had lead to a great session on the Saint Andrew’s cross. Louis loved to watch Harry flirt, loved the way jealousy turned him on and riled him up, loved how pliant and submissive Harry could be when Louis claimed him after. But they definitely weren’t poly, and Louis wasn’t quite sure what that meant for this evening. Everyone else attending the party was, and Louis’ green-eyed-monster had been feeding off that fact for most of the bus ride here. Now he was confronted by a really hot man playing with his boyfriend’s hair like it was no big deal, and he didn’t know quite what to do.

Perfect Sky by @polkadotlou (Nick/Harry/Louis, 40k)

Sub pairs are a rare thing, not only because of the jealousy that can brew between submissives if a Dom isn't attentive to each.

A sub pair has to be balanced.

Harry and Louis have always fit each other without trying. With them, it's easy.

But sub pairs can't just go out in the world and live on their own.

Alternatively, Louis always knew that a Dom was going to come into his and Harry’s lives – he only wishes Nick picked him too.

The Only Thing That Keeps Me Grounded by lululawrence (Nick/Harry/Louis, 28k)

“Shit, I definitely missed the last train.”

“Oh no,” Louis lamented. “I’d offer a ride, but I’m part of a carpool and we’re full already. I’m so sorry.”

“Really, it’s fine.” Then, what Louis said sank in. “Wait, I thought you were here alone?”

“Oh, I am. I’m the only one dancing here tonight. The others were working. In fact, here’s Nick now.”

It felt like slow motion as a tall, lanky man with incredible hair came walking over towards Louis. He smiled before pulling Louis into him and giving him a quick kiss.

“Nick, this is my new friend Harry. He just moved to the area and he’s amazing at swing. Harry, this is my husband, Nick.”

Fuck.

Or the one where Harry moves to Washington DC to be a nanny and never expects that his past struggles with love will be brought to a head. He definitely never expects the solution to it all will be the man of his dreams that just so happens to be married to the other man of his dreams.

Tell Me It’s The Strongest Shape by @louandhazaf (Nick/Elgar/Louis, 73k)

Nick and Elgar have it all. They’re famous, successful, and engaged to be married—and sometimes they play with others.

When uni student Louis gets street cast by Elgar for a GQ photoshoot, he's drawn into Nick and Elgar’s complicated relationship.

They've always invited mates into their bed. It doesn’t ever mean anything. Until… it does.

it hurts, but it's worth it by words_unravel (Liam/Harry/Louis, 14k)

Liam finds the shots of the three of them, rolling around and laughing, a week or so later during a late night. After a moment's pause, she saves one of the photos, giving it some inane, boring name. She shuts down her computer after that and goes to bed.

It takes a long time before she falls asleep.