#Emergency Response Fitness

[theangrycorpsman]

The Importance of Exercise and Physical Fitness for Those in Physically Demanding Professions

Physical fitness is crucial for overall health and well-being, and it is particularly important for those in the military, law enforcement, and emergency response professions. These individuals need to be in top physical shape to perform their duties effectively. However, staying fit is not always easy, especially for those with demanding schedules or who may be deployed in remote areas. In this…

[whinlatter]

??? Wait what’s wrong with London boy? I love that song!

In The people v. London Boy, the International Criminal Court at the Hague found Taylor Alison Swift guilty of:

romanticising English men dragging you to the pub to watch rugby with their terrible friends, thereby doing irreparable harm to the long-suffering women on London’s heterosexual dating market

implying that walking around Camden Market in the afternoons is in any way a pleasant and/or relaxing activity rather than an extreme sport dodging tourists and goth teens (no offence to goth teens it’s just a lot of your clothes are really spiky)

endorsing Brixton nightlife (a night out mired in the fraught politics of South London’s gentrification dancing alongside the world’s rudest horse girls? I think not!)

inadvertently dragging Joe Alwyn for being a lil posh boy (‘took me back to Highgate’ — we get it Taylor! He’s asset rich!)

suggesting Shoreditch these days is anything other than a playpen for off-duty bankers and truly terrible DJs

inflicting upon the world the immortal line ‘but god I love the English’, thereby undoing decades of reckoning with the many sins of the British empire

Ms Swift was, however, cleared of the charge of promoting a toxic drinking culture, as the judge found that ‘drinking in the afternoon’ was, in fact, ‘very fun actually’

(also if you see me on a night out in Brixton throwing it back to this song no you didn’t 👀)

[springcatalyst]

*asks you about world building*

*sickos haha yes image*

All my stories take place in roughly the same timeframe in largely the same environment: hesitantly named Synsolic as an analogue to Earth (I may change that later because I don't know if I like it but it's stuck for a while now so. We'll see)

It's fantasy because I am a sucker for fantasy, populated by humans, merfolk, fauns, satyrs, ipotanes, and nightlings- which are also called shadowlings or aveoliths in varying contexts. I know "faun'' and ''satyr" are largely used interchangeably in a lot of things, but they're different species, here, though they share similarities with each other as well as with ipotanes, the other ungulate species. Merfolk are actually made up of two subspecies, iarans and nix, but while they differ physiologically in a lot of ways, culturally they are one and the same, so they're generally grouped together. I think that's as far as I'm going to get into species things for now, because I've got *checks notes* 32 pages of species things in my own nonsense word docs and I really don't think you want all of that. Unless...

BUT

The world as it is now has been fractured. I hesitate to call it post-apocalyptic because that implies a level of supernaturality and/or violence that generally isn't present, but the gist of it is that over a century past, in the mountain range at the northern edge of the continent, the tallest peak erupted. Think Mt. Taupō or Mt Tambora, with some variation. The ash, the pyroclastic flow, the acid rains and sulfide clouds, combined with the continued effects that the material that made it into the stratosphere had on climate in the next few years, contributed to a heavy death toll. Even after the initial activity ceased, cities fell just because they couldn't feed themselves in the unnatural winter that followed, in the subsequent years' lack of a true summer. The sulfuric content released poisoned the air, especially close to the mountain, though if you were close to the mountain, you were probably dead anyway from that initial eruption, just from being buried in ash or debris. More people were lost than can be counted- in the hours after the eruption, but also in the years that followed.

Some were affected more than others. Merfolk, occupying mostly the southern seas and having the added protection of the waters' surface, retained more of their infrastructure, and with it, knowledge and history, more of their people, than terrestrial humanoids. Satyrs had typically occupied the forests in the north, and so there are very few, if any, true satyr cities remaining. As a result, merfolk are now known for their knowledge of technologies that were lost to others, and satyrs are largely travelers or scattered among other species, unlike fauns, humans, and ipotanes, who have places that are more theirs. (The species are not completely distinct, they live amongst each other in a lot of cases, but there are places that are mostly fauns, or mostly humans, for example, where other species are more a minority. Satyrs don't really have that.)

It has been a long time since the cataclysm. Nobody currently alive lived it, in fact, there are few that even remember somebody who did, and if they did, they were almost too young to know it. But it lingers in the way that things are, now. Cities don't really exist as much as towns or villages, small settlements that can support themselves with little outside influence. There's not a whole lot in the way of governmental influence, and there's definitely not any nations anymore, though they were more of city-states before, anyway. This is a double-edged sword, because the cataclysm made people come together in a way they weren't previously, but it also gave people who wanted to use or harm others an easy avenue to do it, with no formal punishment a disincentive.

The world is mostly in-betweens. Towns or herds or any other type of community are few and far between, and in the spaces linking them is just a vast wilderness that, too, has been changed by the cataclysm. Ash is rich soil. There are forests where there were once prairies and there are rivers that were redirected. The closer you get to the mountain, the more changed things have been. The landscape is scattered with overgrown ruins, again, with increasing density as you draw closer to the source. People are isolated because of this vast space they must span in order to reach others. There are many travelers, but they rarely cross paths, because how could they? There is so much space.

There is SO much more I could say but for the sake of your sanity I'll leave it here. Extremely swag of you to indulge me and if you EVER are actually interested in me elaborating on literally anything PLEASE ASK. I WILL GLADLY

[projectbatman193]

#ProjectBatman Threat Level!

So I've been having fun talking to some IA lately, and I asked them to classify the level of threat that I present, I described an individual and he classified it as such. He stated that I present a low risk of starting any threatening situations, but also that I'm highly capable of harm. (which is kinda the point of Batman).

They said I could be useful in extreme situations, and that has always been the focus of my training so I asked what other skills I could develop to be even more useful if needed. And that's the list above.

And this was the order they said I could develop, I'm curious about it. I'm already studying different languages and coding, so I'm thinking about doing a first response medical course and maybe a survival skills one!

[agayconcept]

.

[paganinpurple]

AO3 Etiquette -UPDATED

Based on both decent and not so decent replies, I have made some changes to my original post below.

It would seem a whole new kind of AO3 reader/writer is emerging and it is becoming clear not everyone quite understands how the website community works. Here is some basic guidance on how most people expect you to go about using AO3 to keep this a fun community archive that funtions correctly:

As well as likes, kudos is for when the story was interesting enough to make you finish reading. If it sucked or was badly written, you probably left. If you finished it, you liked it - so kudos.

If you really liked it, you should try to comment. It can be long and detailed or a literal keysmash. Writers don't care, we just love comments.

No critisism unless the author has specifically asked or agreed to hear it (so use your notes to say if you want some constructive feedback). Even constructive critisism is a no-no unless an author note tells you it's okay. No, posting it online is not an open invitation for that. Many people write as a fun hobby or a way to cope with, among other things, insecurity and just want to share. Don't ruin that for them. I've seen so many authors just stop writing coz they can't handle the negative emotions the critism brings, and it's only meant to be a fun thing shared for free (pointing out tagging errors is not included in this).

Do not comment to ask the author to write/update something else. It's tacky and off-putting and will probably have the opposite effect than the one you want.

There is no algorithm, it's an archive. Use the search and filter function to add/remove the pairings/characters/tropes etc. you want to read about and it will find you the fics that fit the bill.

For this to work, writers must tag and rate stories. This avoids readers finding the wrong things and missing the stuff they want. I don't care how cringy that trope is in your eyes - it gets tagged.

The tag exception is if you don't want to tag a million things or spoil your story, you can rate it as "chose not to use warnings," and maybe tag the bare minimum.

Don't censor tags. How can someone exclude a tag if the word isn't typed out correctly? There are no content bans for terms so don't censor them.

If the tags are mostly content/trigger warnings, especially if they are things considered very fucked up or graphic, you might want to use "dead dove - do not eat" to ensure people know that you're not messing around with tags and what they get is exactly what you've warned them about.

Character A/Character B means a ROMANTIC or SEXUAL relationship of some kind. Character A&Character B is PLATONIC, like friendship or family.

Nothing is banned. This is an rule because banning one thing is a slipperly slope to banning another and another, until nothing is allowed anymore. Do not expect anyone to censor for you. Because of the tags system, you are responsible for your own reading experience.

People can create new chapters and sequels/fic series any time after they "complete" a story. So it's considered perfectly normal to subscribe, even to a finished story. You can even subscribe to the author instead just to cover your bases.

Do not repost stories or change the publishing date without an extremely good reason (like a complete top to bottom rewrite or an exchange youve written for going public). It's an archive, not social media. No one cares what's the most recent, only what fits their tag needs.

Instead of deleting a story you wrote if you hate it - consider making it anonymous or orphaning it so others can still enjoy it, without it being connected to your name anymore. If you still want to delete it, fair enough.

It's come to my attention that metaworks ARE allowed on AO3, which is something I wasn't aware of. So if you do post an essay or theory, please tag it as such so others can choose to search for it or exclude it. Art is also allowed.

The only reason this archive works is because NON ONE PROFITS. Do not link to your ko-fi or patreon or mention monetary gain in any way or you violate the terms and risk having your account removed. If anyone does link, it leaves the archive open to people claiming it's for profit and having the whole thing removed.

I KNOW there's plenty more I missed but I'm trying to cover most of the basics that people seem to be struggling with.

I invite anyone to add to this, but please explain, don't berate.

[bi-writes]

I love the mail order bride !! Can we see her trying to get a job or school something and Simon getting offending thinking he doesn’t have enough to support her ??

mail-order bride

he would not be offended if you wanted to do something for yourself; but he would be offended if you felt you were required to.

you pick up your blazer out of the closet, fitting it over your shoulders and buttoning it. you check your hair and your makeup one more time in the mirror before making your way into the living room, where simon still is, tools laid out at his feet as he uses a level and a pencil on the wall.

you clear your throat, knocking on the doorway gently.

"s-simon?" you ask gently. he grunts in response, marking a place on the wall, and you shuffle on your feet as you try to calm your stuttering breath. "i...can i ask for a favor?"

"can ask me for anythin'."

you purse your lips, "uhm...i need a ride."

"where ya wanna go?"

you play with your hands, rocking back and forth on your heels. he's still facing the wall, dark sleeves rolled up as he lifts a wooden block to the wall and starts to mount it there. he's putting up floating shelves you think, but the block of wood is very short in length. odd.

"i...have a job interview," you say softly. "it's in a half an hour. i...have to leave now to be on time. i'm..." you close your eyes, flinching. "i'm sorry, they only just called me, i-i should've given you more time--"

"why are you apologizin'?" he asks, setting his things down. he turns around to face you, and you open your eyes again, biting your lip. he comes closer, making you look up at him, and he narrows his eyes at you. "just said they only just called ya. so 's not y'r fault."

you open your mouth to say something, but he just brushes past you to head towards the door, grabbing his rain jacket and slipping it on. he flips the hood up over him after he shrugs his balaclava on, and he meets your eyes where you stand there oogling at him.

"well?" he raises a brow. "get y'r shoes on."

you scramble to go slip your boots on, picking up your purse by the door. simon opens the front door, revealing the misty rainy weather that's emerged since the morning. simon opens up an umbrella, making his way down the steps, and you follow him. he stops you before you come down, holding his hand out, and when he gets to the bottom of the steps, he holds his hand out for you.

you take his hand gently and let him guide you down the steps, and you're startled when he appears at the passenger side door of his truck. he holds the umbrella over you, opening the door for you, and he holds your hand again as you get settled before he shuts it behind you.

the drive is quiet. the rain falls hard, but simon is unbothered. you clutch the seatbelt a little bit as he drives--you don't want to be ungrateful, but simon sometimes makes a turn too sharp and brakes a little too hard. he sometimes has a hard time staying in his lane, too, but you just squeak and try not to be too loud when he swerves into a parking space crooked at a 45-degree angle.

simon opens the door for you, holding the umbrella and taking your hand again to help you onto the pavement. he walks you to the door, humming lowly, and he tilts his head to the side as you open the door.

"'ow long will y'be?" he asks, and you shrug.

"i-i don't know. maybe an hour?"

simon huffs a little, "olright. y'call me when y'r done."

you nod, about to go in, and he stops you again, big hand on your elbow.

"just..." he sighs deeply, looking anywhere but into your eyes. "good luck."

simon doesn't leave. he sits in his truck in the parking lot, eyes narrowed at the door of the building you just went inside of. his leg bounces underneath him, and he doesn't turn the car on for the heater because the bite of the cold, rainy weather keeps him awake and alert.

it's been over an hour. his phone sits on the dashboard, silent. he's not a patient man, never has been. his patience certainly has been tested with that fucking gremlin you insist on keeping around, the pocket of fur that drinks out of his water glass when he isn't looking and must nibble on his herbs in the kitchen (he can't prove it, but there's teeth mark tears in the basil leaves, the little shit). but this is somehow worse. he doesn't know why you want to get a job. he's been thinking about it while you've been gone.

maybe he hasn't made you feel secure enough. maybe you still feel like a stranger in your own house. maybe you still don't trust him yet, so you're too afraid to ask him for anything.

his phone starts to ring. he picks it up immediately, putting it to his ear.

"'ello?"

"s-simon?" it's you, of course, soft voice a little shaky. "i-i'm...can you pick me up now?"

"'m outside. i'll come get ya."

he practically rips open the door, and you're already standing there, coming out. he stops you before you start walking, making sure you're underneath the umbrella before you start to walk again. you keep your head down, and he doesn't even get a glimpse of you as he opens the door for you again and helps you up and into your seat.

as he pulls back onto the road, he barely hears the sound of your tears over the rumble of the engine. he looks over at you, frowning when he sees your hands covering your face and your shoulders shaking lightly.

he growls under his breath, not even turning on his blinker as he pulls over onto the side of the road. there's a honk sounding as other cars pass, but simon just turns to face you.

"oi, why are y'cryin'?" he asks firmly. you don't respond. you keep your face hidden, your body turned away, and simon huffs.

"oi!" he startles you with his loud voice, and your hands fall into your lap. "wot the fuck happened?"

"i didn't get t-the job," you hiccup. "i-it went...it was h-horrible. he hated my...m-my resume. the questions...i-i took too long t-to answer them, and i-i could tell...i could t-tell he h-hated me--"

"so you didn't get the bloody job," simon shrugs. "come off it. there'll be others."

"i-i don't even wanna do this!" you cry, wiping your face. your mascara is running, and simon sighs, frustrated.

"then why are you?"

"i...i-i--"

"look at me," he tells you, and your eyes meet his finally. your face is puffed and messy, wet streaks along your cheeks and eyeliner smudged along your eyes. "y'can do woteva y'want. anythin'. 'f you want t'stay home, then ya stay home. 'f y'wanna go t'work, then y'go to work." he reaches over and grips your face in one big hand, cupping your jaw and forcing you to lean closer to him. you can feel his breaths through the mask, warm and anxious. "don't worry about me. now tell me y'understand."

your lip wobbles, but you nod anyways.

"i-i understand."

your eyes close when you both lean in closer, and the mouth of his mask brushes against yours. you stay that way for a few long moments, lips brushing together, and when he pulls away to get back on the road, you notice his hand has fallen to rest on your thigh.

you put your hand over his gently, and by the time he pulls into the garage, your tears have dried, and your anxiety has dissolved.

when you emerge from your warm shower, there's an envelope by your purse. simon is in the kitchen, busying himself with dinner, and you pick up the envelope and rip it open. when you unravel the paper, there's a new credit card taped to it, with your name on it.

there's movement out of the corner of your eye, and when you look up, you realize simon had finished putting the little shelves up on the wall.

you can't hold back your smile, watching as the cat jumps from one shelf to the other. the cat follows the ascending and descending blocks of wood, all the way around the room until they curl up on their favorite spot on the couch, right inside the throw blanket that has been curled into a neat ball just for them.

you slip the credit card into your purse. when you pass by simon in the kitchen, you put a hand around his bicep and coax him to bend low, giving his cheek a kiss.

does he know he's not wearing his mask anymore?

his ears get red when he blushes.

[communistkenobi]

re: this post but also slightly off topic, this is also why the SOGIESC (sexual orientation, gender identity & expression, and sexual characteristics) framework developed in the Global South as a legal framework to deal with sexual minority rights, stands in some ways in direct opposition to the LGBTQ+ framework of the West, which asserts that rights for minority groups flow from identity/inclusion within the minority group, forcing the obvious question of how the law determines identity (this is part of how transmedicalism emerges as an answer to the question “who is really transgender?” and also likely informs community fights over who ‘really counts’ as lgbtq). the framework of SOGIESC gets around this problem by resolving it entirely, instead insisting that because everyone has a gender identity and sexual orientation, everyone has a right to their given gender identity and sexual orientation, and any obstacle to realising these rights must be challenged and dismantled. empirically this bears out as well, given that global south countries, especially in Latin America, have some of the most progressive legislation on trans rights worldwide, with Argentina being the first country in the world to allow for legal gender transition without requiring medical documentation or proof of medical transition. We can see how different theories of state and legal power between LGBTQ+ vs SOGIESC emerge: a series of legal concessions granted to a narrowly-defined minority by a hegemonic, cis-heterosexual majority (LGBTQ+), versus the universal vision of sexual minorities whose rights are the rights of all people (SOGIESC).

and like obviously this is not a solution without problems (the +ESC was only added ten years after the original conception of SOGI, for example, an obvious oversight that was corrected - we may never escape the acronym wars), and as a framework that is fundamentally legal in both scope and design there is the obvious question of how law fits into a truly just socialist society (a historical and ongoing debate within various socialist states that I know much less about; I’m also thinking about the ‘mission drift’ and mangling that ‘intersectionality’ has dealt with over the years, also a concept that comes out of legal scholarship). but as an international legal standard it seems like an obvious critical response to the various problems of the LGBTQ+ framework, especially re: how the law determines who “actually counts” as gay trans queer etc

[syrinq]

me, who loves having things in stock so i don't have to worry about it running out 24/7: peace on earth

me, who can't order legally certified drugs for brain fungus for multiple months at once, just because it's utilised in a non-swag illegal way by other dipshits on earth:

[poisonlove]

Wednesday Addams x F!Reader

• Reader is about to leave for work. Wednesday asks her if she's forgotten anything, and Reader gives her a kiss. Wednesday turns red and opens her hand to reveal Reader's keys/wallet/etc., saying

'I meant this, but it's appreciated.' Or smt like that!

forgetting something ?

Pairing: Wednesday Addams X fem!reader

Words: 4k

Warning: fluffy

Author notes: I've received a lot of requests, I'll try to do them all!

Happy reading

"Love, what's the password for your phone?" I ask curiously as my eyes glance at the smartphone in my hand.

I found myself in Ophelia Hall in Wednesday's room with Enid, wanting to spend some time with my girlfriend. Enid was doing Things' manicure while sharing some gossip about some outcasts at school. Meanwhile, Wednesday Addams was making the most of her writing time.

Ignoring me.

The tapping of the keyboard abruptly ceases and Wednesday slowly turns towards me. Her brown eyes turn cold and dark as they meet Enid's, who visibly trembles in the face of that icy, penetrating intensity.

"Things, I'll finish later..." Enid whispers, her nervous smile betraying the fear inspired by Wednesday's gaze.

Without saying another word, Enid jumps up from her bed and hastily exits the room. The door slams behind her, resonating in the silent air as Wednesday watches her pass with an impassive expression, lips pressed in a subtle smile of satisfaction.

"How many times have I told you not to scare her?" I say with a small smile on my lips, and Wednesday looks at me without batting an eyelid.

"I didn't scare her," her voice is calm and controlled, without any hint of remorse or concern.

"You did," I sigh at her comment while absentmindedly playing with her phone.

"As you wish," Wednesday replies calmly, showing no particular emotion.

I smile shyly at her response.

"I told you not to use vulgar nicknames in front of others and you keep doing it," Wednesday justifies herself, looking at me curiously.

I raise an eyebrow in confusion.

"Vulgar?" I ask, feeling puzzled.

Wednesday nods timidly, without a hint of a smile on her lips.

I sigh loudly.

"Anyway... Could you tell me the password?" I ask again, wanting to change the subject to avoid ruining the atmosphere.

Wednesday tilts her head to the side and scrutinizes me with her gaze.

We've been together for a month, but I don't know if I'll ever get used to her quirks.

"My favorite plant" Wednesday replies in a monotone voice.

"Of course" I reply sarcastically as I type in 'Belladonna.' The phone unlocks, and I smile as I see the background: me and Wednesday embracing during the Poe Cup. The brunette had a stoic look while she look at me smile at the camera.

"Nice background," I say teasingly and Wednesday rolls her eyes at my comment.

"I know," she replies monotone.

I could see a small smile threatening to emerge at any moment.

"But don't you have any games?" I ask disappointedly, and Wednesday stares intensely at me.

"I barely use it to write to you," she justifies herself, and I nod understandably.

Wednesday and technology were two completely different things and couldn't fit in the same sentence.

"So you only have WhatsApp?" I ask curiously, looking at Wednesday.

"You're distracting me unnecessarily," Wednesday mutters annoyed by my questions. She turns her back on me and starts writing her story again.

"Thanks, Wed" I say sarcastically, and Wednesday continues to press the keys of the typewriter ignoring me.

"Why am I with her, I don't know," I mutter to myself, turning my gaze to her phone. I scroll through some pages and look at the apps.

I  choice YouTube.

"Because you love me," Wednesday replies loudly without looking at me "and anyway, I can hear you, be careful," she adds in a cold voice.

Was that a threat?

"Right" I reply aloud.

I start searching for what interests my girlfriend. Hundreds of horror stories and interviews of real murders, true photos, and thousands of hypotheses about monsters, unsolved murders, and much more.

Creepy but Wednesday's style.

"Y/n?" I raise my head from the phone and turn my attention to Wednesday who had once again interrupted her writing hour.

"Tell me, darling" I ask with a smile on my lips.

"Shouldn't you be going to work at the café?" Wednesday asks with curiosity.

My smile fades and I widen my eyes in realization: I had forgotten.

I quickly get up from the bed in a panic

"shit shit" I put on my shoes and look around the room in concern. "Where's the jacket?" I wonder, and I look around the room with worry. "You threw it on Enid's bed," Wednesday exclaims disapprovingly, and I smile hugely.

I internally thank Wednesday for her incredible memory.

I walk towards the door, but Wednesday's voice makes me stop.

"Forgetting something?" She asks seriously.

  I sigh at the unfortunate moment of being romantic. "You're right" I walk towards her and lean down towards her face to unite our lips in a sweet kiss.

As we separate, I notice that Wednesday's cheeks were completely flushed.

"You were forgetting the car keys, idiot," says Wednesday embarrassed, showing me the keys.

I had left them on her desk an hour ago when I arrived.

"Oh, thanks," I say embarrassed, and Wednesday smiles widely making my heart race a mile a minute.

"But I appreciated it" she confesses quickly and I smile back getting lost in her deep brown eyes.

Yes, definitely, now I remember why I'm with her.

[tprings-hair]

I'm going to say something about the new unification short film that I haven't seen anyone here say yet.

I love the handholding scene. massively impactful. I love the echo of "this simple feeling" from the motion picture and the genesis reference and the idea that spock did not die alone or among strangers. it's just so satisfying after all this time to know that even shatner knew it was wrong and needed to be approached with more compassion for nimoy and the fans who loved these characters and knew they should be together at the end, whatever that looked like.

but you know what really got me?

this minute or so. kirk confronting his old selves. because that's obviously original series kirk right there in the gold uniform.

and the other? THAT'S HIM!!

(I'm linking it this way because you apparently can't add more than one video to a post and I need it here for demonstration.)

so we have present kirk walking down a dark hallway. at the end is spock, but at the end is also spock's death. how can he step forward and face that? what happened to the way he used to think about death?

yellow shirt is TOS kirk, who had always found a way around the problem and never (if the movies are to be believed) had to face death straight on. he's looking forward with confidence. there's no way spock is dying. there's a way out of this somehow, if only he can find it.

TOS kirk looks back the way he came, because he believes he can go back. he can always go back. the series always resets to the same characters who can be depended on to take similar actions, because that's what a serial is, and that's who he is. things have taken their toll on him, but he knows he can take the hit and keep moving.

but he stops when he's faces with WOK kirk. the one in the red dress uniform, who has lost spock and knows what it is to live without him. who has faced death in a way he had never had to before, because the constraints of the series never allowed it. he has been changed because of it.

TOS kirk sees that, and does that sort of posturing that he always does in front of someone who's threatening him. but WOK kirk isn't threatening him. he's just living through something TOS kirk hasn't had to face yet. it's him staring his past self in the face and telling him, kindly and firmly, you know nothing about how it will feel. you will never be the same without him.

and TOS kirk looks back again, and there's a present kirk, wearing his generations uniform. this is kirk having turned that grief to a desperate search for the most important person in his life, and emerged with spock by his side. he's not the same, but he's made it through. of course TOS kirk would look to that.

and as our kirk looks at these people he used to be, they vanish in front of him. he remembers the way he used to think about losing spock. the fear, the grief, the hope. there's no hope left. when he reaches the end, spock will be there, and it will be their last time together.

but he puts the pin back on, and reminds himself of his duty not just to a fellow officer, but to a friend, to the most important person in his life, and to himself. spock should not be alone, and he never got to say goodbye properly before. doing it now is the least he can do.

that's his ultimate responsibility in that moment: being there for spock. that's been his ultimate responsibility from the beginning. and this is shatner acknowledging that they deserved an ending that fit that truth.

[hanasnx]

hip to be square.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ WARNINGS: themes similar to the movie | allusions to violence and murder | sexual content | sexism | fiancée!reader | dumbification | degradation | rough sex | anal play references | anal fisting reference | drug references | allusions to asphyxiation.

“You’ve worked up quite a sweat.” PATRICK BATEMAN notes in thinly veiled repulsion. Those cruel hands on your hips restrain themselves, and you can feel that tension against you. Instead, he pours his ample strength into yanking you back on him, choked sounds emit from your gaping mouth. In a way, this is an obligation, he can't really enjoy the way your cunt squeezes him, or how his thumbs fit those perfect back dimples—not in the way he wants to. If it were up to him, he'd squeeze the life out of you while he screwed those lifeless brains to pieces. Finally a bitch like you would be put to good use, eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen grows black dots in your vision. You'd claw at his grip around your neck, easing in to crushing your windpipe, the light would die as he watched, and he wouldn't even falter in his pace. Those hips would still be fucking you, like he is now.

Hard and rough, it hurts. Abusing your cervix as you're bent over the perfect white covers of his California King. You bounce on him like you want more, but in reality you're limp as he directs your body the way he wants it to move. An irrefutable force against you that you are powerless to soothe, unbeknownst to you your only line of defense to protect you from his wrath is the ring on your finger.

You're engaged to him.

In his eyes it was an unavoidable tragedy. All his friends are your friends, you live in his area, and you're a ten minute commute from work. If he's looking to blow off steam during lunch, he'll pop in for a visit and use you up with a pillow covering your head. You don't catch on to the fact he doesn't want to look at you while he ravages you, never question why he insists on hitting it from the back if he can help it. It aids that you've got a nice ass, plump and round and fits in his palms when he handles it. When you aren't being a priss, sometimes you'll let him slip a finger into your asshole. At one point he managed to convince you to let him fist you, but he'd slipped you one to many things that night, narrowly avoiding a messy emergency room visit. There was no way he was going to wait up for you in such a place so late at night. What would he have told everybody? That his fiancée was some junkie? Absolutely not.

Nails dig into your skin at the memory, the salt of sweat burning that raw that makes you mewl. He steels himself from demanding you shut up, instead assuaging the urge by smacking your hand away when you reach back to hold his in a petty attempt to get him to let up. Cruelly, he drills you. Those pathetic noises release in pain, you don't even sound human. "What are you to me?" he spits, looming over your little body as his every muscle contracts fucking into you at a reckless pace. You're sore from his weight, but you can't do a thing about it when being treated like shit never felt so good. A ring of cream foams at his base, taken from you as your cunt confuses punishment for desperation, your expression twisting so hard you'll get wrinkles early. He'll have to divorce you before that happens, otherwise people will think him vain. "Answer me, you idiot, you're supposed to answer me."

Somehow, you don't notice how he's talking to you. How it's different than the cold and distant nature you're accustomed to in public. "Nothing." you breathe out. "I'm nothing." You chase whatever you can get your hands on, scrambling for whatever stupid response you can muster in this state. Apparently, it pleases him, a sea of moans flowing out through his deep voice as he satiates himself using you like a sock with your name on it in his room.

[realcube]

dilf december

day seven ⭑ atsumu miya ⭑ x babysitter! reader

tw : NSFW MINORS DNI, age gap, vaginal, breeding and slight daddy kink

even since he has retired from volleyball professionally, there is still not enough hours in the day.

perhaps it was because he played for one of the most renowned teams, or because he was such an impressive setter, but even a decade after his retirement, his schedule is fully booked with press appearances, talk shows, journal interviews and even modelling contracts. not to mention the court chasing him up about alleged "tax fraud", whatever that means.

so as much as he would love to spend every waking moment with his two little angels, that simply is not possible.

although, he tries his best. since he had custody of his children this week, he somehow managed to make a clearing in his busy schedule to take care of them. however, at the very last minute, an emergency came up pertaining to the media uncovering his court cases, so he had to urgently visit his PR agency to deal with it.

hence, he needed a babysitter to look after his kids for a couple hours. thankfully, you were available.

he had got your number off of a friend of a friend. really, he was just desperately messaging people in his contacts asking for reliable babysitters, and you were the first one to reply. he didn't have time to carry out an extensive vetting process so he just promised you an extra ¥10k if you don't kidnap his children.

and though he didn't check out your profile much either, he wasn't disappointed when you showed up at his door, wearing loose joggers with a tight top. it was to his dismay that he didn't have much time to chat you up before he had to speed off to handle his business with his pr agency.

he said he'd only be a couple hours, so you were irritated — but not surprised — when he came back ten hours later. by then, night had fallen and you had tucked the kids in bed, while you sat with your arms crossed and brows furrowed on the living room couch.

you hear his keys jangle in the front door, followed by apprehensive steps into the room where you sat. "where's my little monsters?" he said in a sing-songy tone.

"in bed." you replied bluntly.

he chuckles, and stands in front of you with his arms crossed too, wearing a devilish expression, "yeah? you managed to get 'em down?"

"i did."

"huh. aren't you a miracle-worker?" he quirks a brow and pushes his tongue into his cheek, unsure of the attitude your giving him, but he perseveres, reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet and then counting his notes, "how were they?"

once he has counted a suitable amount, he hands the stack to you, and you cautiously take it, slipping it into your purse. "they were good. they didn't want to eat anything at first because they didn't want to have dinner without you, but i eventually convinced them to at least have a vegetable snack, so they ate their carrots and peas."

while you were attempting to explain his children's nutrional intake to him, atsumu's attention seemed to be fixed elsewhere. particularaly on your chest, where he could see your hardened nipples poking through the thin grey fabric of your top.

"you cold?" he inquires innocently, with a constrasting sly smirk, and you just grunt in response.

"don't worry about me. worry about your kids." you state bluntly.

a pregnant silence lingers between the two of you, for just long enough to allow you to wonder whether perhaps what you said was out of line, until he breaks it by commenting, "you're right." he snickers slightly, easing the tense atmosphere, "thanks for coming over on short notice, darlin'. yer a real life-saver, y'know."

"it's no problem. anytime." you almost immediately shrug off the previous animus in favour of a more passive approach.

he motions for you to follow him to the doorway, but just as you stand up, you can't help but note the growing buldge in his fitted black trousers. you tease, saying, "are you cold?"

"uh, no, why'd y—" before he even finishes asking the question, it is answered by following your gaze down to his erection, at which he grits his teeth together awkwardly, "right. in that case, i'm fuckin' freezin'."

regularly that comment would mean nothing to him and he'd swiftly move on, but he can tell by that desperate fucking glint in your eye that you are craving him, it's a look that speaks a thousands words. he can't quite put his finger on how it's conveyed but it's definitely there; something about you exudes lust and sexuality. so, now that he gets the impression you're reciprocating his desire, he narrows his eyes and quickly shifts the tone of the interaction by walking backwards towards to the couch, then taking a seat. he spreads his legs slightly and pats the thigh of his left leg, "wanna help an old geezer out?"

it's only when the words exit his mouth and he watches you intently, anticipating a response, when he realises how much he hopes his assumptions were correct. that he wasn't just imagining the wanton desire laced in the way you innocently bat your lashes at him, or the horny tears that engulf your lashline and makes your eyes glisten and gleam. he prays he didn't make it all up in his mind.

but your conviction as you saunter over to him and take a seat on his leg only solidifies his original notion: you need your pussy filled so bad.

his leg shakes roughly underneath you, the fabric of his trousers stimulating your needy clit through your joggers and panties. "good girl. a bit mouthy, but so well behaved." he muses, rolling the bud of your hard, clothed nipple between his index finger and thumb, causing you to mewl at his touch.

"let daddy see that pretty pussy." he whispers hoarsely into your ear, pulling the neck of your tank top down to fondle your tit, while you hastily moved to yank off your joggers and disgard them onto the floor, leaving you in only your lacey black panties.

"you always wear these, darlin'?" he questions with an amused smirk.

you wrap your arms around his neck and whisper against his cheek, "only when i know i'm gonna be babysitting for hot, single, ex-athletes." your hot, breathy moans tickle his skin as his large hand rubs wide circles around your clit.

his thick finger teases your hole, but doesn't penetrate. he wants to leave that pleasure for his cock, which he is quick to let spring free from his trousers.

it's mammoth, just like you imagined. your knees were growing weak from looking at it. you bite your bottom lip and before you have to do it yourself, atsumu uses his grip on your waist to manoeuvre you over the tip of his cock, wetting his tip by dipping it into your heat, but not all the way, causing you to groan,

"miya.. c'mon.."

his brow twiches, watching you plea so desperately for his cock already. you barely even know him that well and you're ready to take him all into your sopping cunt. he can't tell if you're a sweet girl he caught on a needy day, or a just a completely depraved slut. either way, it's his privilege and honour give you what you need.

he thrusts into you, plunging his thick cock into your tight hole; the way your walls instantly grip him has a harsh, guttural drumming in his throat, followed by a string of muttered curses. wanting to keep quiet, but equally unable to contain how satisfied he is.

"fuck.." he grumbles into your ear, pecking and nipping at it as he speaks, "haven't had pussy this good in years, baby.."

a small whine slips passed in your lips in response, as you begin to move your hips, causing you both to moan in unison. soon, you start bouncing on his length and letting him slam into your hole repeatedly, moaning and gasping each time.

he aids this process by grasping your waist and guiding you up and down on his cock, urging you to increase your pace too, until you are feverently riding him as fast as possible, with little regard for the violent way your tits jumped or the lewd moans escaping your mouth.

he watched you eagerly ride him and a smirk formed on his flushed features; his eyes were glued to you the whole time, so he could see every detail of your face when it contorts in response to him climaxing inside you, and clogging up your insides with his hot cum.

your eyes roll back into your heat head, and your shaky arms hoist over his shoulder to brace yourself. his vision is blurred slightly in the heat of the moment but for the most part, he got to see every salacious inch of that face of yours.

yoru chest rises and falls, and your neck hangs back slightly as you breath upwards. however, he captures your chin between his index finger and thumb to direct your gaze towards himself, snickering when you are forced to meet his eyes. "how's that?"

"good.." you pant.

he nods slightly in response, piercing glare not faltering from your wasted figure, "think you can give daddy another?"

[onelittlespiral]

Attention: Health and Safety Alert

Dear Students, Faculty, and Staff,

It has come to our attention that a serious outbreak of a virus illness has been seriously harming our campus community. We take this public health threat very seriously and want you all to be aware and alert so that you can stay safe.

As a matter of transparency, we want to be clear on the origin of this virus. The Frontal Recognizance Transmutation Arenavirus 24 (often called just arena or FRT-24) has been a known threat for some time, with clear symptoms from infected individuals. A research lab on campus was known to have been studying its effects. This particular strain, the alpha variant, was of particular interest, so when a sample went missing, we exhausted campus resources to locate it. We were unable to and are now deeply sorry to our campus community. We take full responsibility for the current outbreak.

FRT-24 is highly contagious, so it is important to know the immediate signs. Look for:

Sudden headaches or migraines

Dizziness or loss of vision

Fevers and chills, especially paired with heavy perspiration

Loss of cognitive functions

Rapid muscle swelling

If you are infected, symptoms may take up to three days to develop, and you may still be a vector in this time. As the disease takes hold, you may notice a change in mood, as a lack of interest in usual activities. Instead, the disease drives the infected towards spreading. Common hubs seem to be gyms, parties, and social gatherings. We have also noticed an uptick in fraternity membership this year, a possible sign of disease spread.

Know the signs in yourself or others, as often the infected will not show traditional signs of ailment. This student has given us permission to share his story:

This young man was a healthy Junior just a few weeks ago. He was a promising young academic in biochemistry, hoping to one day do research on emergent diseases. Since his experience with FRT-24, his life is forever changed.

The changes are alarming. He has gained over 100 lbs and been unable to focus on his studies. Instead, he was spending hours in the student rec center, consumed by his illness as he worked his body to exhaustion. Since his quarantining, he has been unable to answer any basic questions about his academic career or research project. Instead, he has shown a hallucinated knowledge of a personal training and fitness program. As an early vector, we are aware of at least 10 other students who were infected before his quarantine, and he is being held for further observations on disease progression.

Thankfully we have been able to identify the method of transmission. At this time, it seems bodily fluids are most transmissible method. It seems that this virus enhances the body in this respect. Those infected will often try to spread by any means necessary. They are very good at finding susceptible men, isolating them, and finding ways to expose them directly to their sweat, saliva, and in some cases semen. They will be desperate for any chance to get you alone with them, to join their ranks. Do no be drawn in by promises of muscle, of status, or ease of life. Their brains are no longer their own. They only seek to make you a drone for FRT-24.

While we are still in the early stages of understanding the virus, we would like to acknowledge the valiant work done by Dr. Pulaski and his team of researchers. They have lead the way in this fight, throwing themselves at this dangerous line of work. Without their noble sacrifice, we would be still months from understanding the origins of this outbreak. We have narrowed down the point of origin to a party held a few weeks ago in the PKE frat house. At this time, it is unknown if frat leadership was in any way involved with this outbreak.

Sadly, Dr. Pulaski was found earlier this week a few days after conducting interviews and performing sample retrieval from the PKE house believed to be the epicenter. He was found shirtless, flexing his newly formed muscles in the mirror at the student rec center.

When reached for comment, he only smirked and reported “feeling great, bruh,” a clear sign of decline. We are still uncertain if he has exposed any of his other researchers to the disease.

Remember, you are responsible for yourself and out campus community. If you suspect you or someone you know has been exposed, please report to the Student Health Center immediately for examination. In the mean time, please stay safe everyone. We will continue to keep you updated as we know more

Regards,

Dr. Brendan Host, President

Congrats @occamstfs on 2k followers. I hope you all enjoy a late entry to the party. Go out and check out the other writers under the #occam2000 tag, some great stuff in there. And don't worry, FML: Initiate is coming soon.

[hahaifolded]

141 x POC!GN Intelligence Operative - The Contract (Long Drabble) Author's Notes: Once again playing with something new. Not gonna lie, hated this because this was more work than I had expected. Next one will be more narrative for my sake Warnings: MDNI, Angst (ALSO PUT YOUR AGE IN YOUR BIO CAUSE I DO BLOCK)

Contract of Employment - Intelligence Operative Name: [Retracted] Address: [Retracted] The basic terms and conditions of your employment are outlined in this Contract of Employment and the Employee's policies. Duration of Contract: Your employment with the Employer under this Contract started on [Retracted] and will end after 12 months after the initial date. Contract can be renewed after the Employee ends in good standing with the Employer after the 12 months and the Employee deems it a good fit.

Job Title and Hours 3.1: You are employed as INTELLIGENCE OPERATIVE for [Retracted] reporting to "the Captain." 3.2: You are expected to perform all duties outlined below starting at 0800 (8:00am) to 1700 (5pm) Monday through Friday. 3.3: You must be available for any extenuating circumstances past these hours. All emergencies will be informed by "the Captain" and "the Captain" only.

Price: Need you to review the plan for the next mission before the meeting tomorrow.

Ghost groans after reading the message. Price just had to ruin his Sunday night. Realizing that his plan to sleep in was just ruined, he decides to text you. Seeing that you normally got in around that hour, maybe you could join him?

Did he deserve that? God no. But, he missed you. So he sends the text and waits... and waits... and waits...

Next thing he knew, his alarm was ringing, signaling the new day. He checks his phone and sees there are no new messages. It didn't matter. He'll see you around soon enough.

But soon enough comes around and you're nowhere to be seen. Were you running late? Shit, your car. Maybe you were walking again? He sends you a text, but again, no response. He's so worried that he can't even focus when looking over the plans. It's not until he sees you walk in for the meeting exactly at 0800 that his mind eases. Surprised to see you walk in late, he decided to check up on you after the meeting.

Knock, knock

You glance up from your monitor. "Lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Sure, that was his title, but you always called him Ghost. Something didn't feel right.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check up on you."

You stop typing and completely turn towards him. "Why?" Your tone is accusatory.

He stumbles a bit. You were never short with him. "C-cause you came in late toda--"

"I did not come in late. If you look over my contract, you would see that my start time is 0800, exactly the time I clocked in today." You turn back to your monitor and continue to work.

Ghost takes a big gulp. "Oh. I- uh... I sent you message last night and this morning."

You let out a heavy sigh and stop typing. "Was it an emergency?"

"No, but--"

"Good. I can't waste any time here, have to make sure I put all of my energy in my work. So if you don't have anything else of importance, you can leave." And with that you continue to type.

Ghost walks out of your office and closes the door. Why did it feel like it wasn't just your door that was closed here?

Job Responsibilities 4.1: You are responsible for all work that requires intelligence which includes analysis, gathering of intel, and presentation of said intel. 4.2: You will not participate in work that falls outside your jurisdiction.

After today's meeting, Gaz was weary of the plan. Despite being checked by Ghost, he couldn't help but feel like it needed to be discussed further. He kept in his thoughts during the meeting as he wanted to process them further.

Now after thinking about it all morning, he realizes he needs one more brain to help finalize his thoughts. Not just any brain, however, yours. If he wasn't so caught up in his thoughts, he would have realized that he no longer had any entitlement to your help. But alas without a second thought, he rushes to your office.

He knocks on your door and walks in before you have a chance to say anything. "Hello, hello!" he chirps. And, instead of being greeted by your warm smile, he is greeted by nothing. You don't even bother to glance at him.

Without removing your eyes on the screen, you say with no emotion, "Sergeant Garrick, what do you need?"

Sergeant Garrick? Ewe, that sounded so wrong coming out of your mouth. You always called him Kyle... Gaz if you felt cheeky. Feeling nervous now, Gaz hesitates to speak.

"Sergeant, I really don't have time for your shenanigans. Do you need something?" You quickly glance up and shoot him a sharp look.

That look brings Kyle to the present. "Sorry, yes. I was hoping you would..." You finally look at him, but instead of easing his nerves, it only exacerbated them as you looked at him with annoyance. "If you can, obviously, help me go over the plans for the next mission. Something about them just seem off and I could really--"

You interrupt him. "I have to stop you there. No." And just like that, you turn back to your monitor.

"Why?" he asks without thinking. He catches the way you took in a sharp breath.

Without looking at him, you respond, "I have never been in the field so what use do I have for you? Besides my job is in intelligence and in intelligence only."

He cringes at his own words. He tries to get another word in, but you're clearly not listening. Feeling defeated, he walks out your door.

"Sergeant?" you call after him. He quickly whips around. Maybe you changed your mind?

"Close my door."

Job Responsibilities 5.1: You have jurisdiction over all work that deals with intelligence. 5.2: You have complete authority to discipline officers of lower ranking or similar rank if their actions interfere with your responsibilities.

Soap doesn't know how it happened. He has been in his office all day, working. Sure, maybe he spent more time than he should have thinking about you, but everyone else does it. Now he was scrambling, trying to finalize the schematics for the explosives needed for the next mission.

Low on time, he rushes to your office to beg for your help. He knew he was in deep water with you, but he really had no choice. He hoped your caring heart would pity him this one last time.

He barges into your office, calling your name out. You immediately shoot up from your seat, worry apparent in your face. You hurry to the front of your desk to reach the panting Scotsman.

"Sergeant MacTavish, is everything okay?" Johnny can hear the worry in your voice. Good, you still might care.

"It's an emergency. I need to finish these blueprints by today or Price will kill me! Help your favorite Scotsman out?" he begs. Soap nearly whines when you take a step back from him.

You scoff. "Are you being serious right now?" Okay, maybe you don't care.

"I know, I know. But I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate," he cries. His entire body shudders when you scoff at him once more. You shake your head in disbelief and return to your seat.

"Please, get out."

"Please, it's not even a lot. Just go over--"

"No, Sergeant. I have my own work to do."

"It won't take a lot of time, just--"

"NO!" you stand up again, slamming your desk. "Sergeant MacTavish, it is not in my contract to babysit fools like you." He winces. "If you cannot handle the work that comes with being in Special Forces, I recommend you to consider other careers. So leave my office before I write you up for insubordination," you hiss.

Soap quickly apologizes and leaves your office. He bumps into Price on his way back, but it doesn't phase him. Your utter disappointment in him plays back in his head over and over and over again.

Breach of Contract 8.1: If Employer deems the work of the Employee as unsatisfactory, contract will immediately be terminated. 8.2: If Employee deems the Employer is breaching any of the parts outlined above, Employee has the right to terminate the contract without any repercussions

John didn't take Soap crashing into him personal. It was clear his sergeant was lost in his thoughts. What did pique his interest was where he walked out of. It seemed like every member on his team had a chance to pop in your office today, but him. Refusing to let any of those muppets get in your good graces before he does, he decided to pop in.

Since Johnny left you door open, he just knocks on the doorway before letting himself in. "Hopefully, I'm not disturbing?" he jokes. The clacking of your keyboard stops and you slowly turn to look at him. You take in a deep breath, almost as if you're trying to contain yourself.

"Captain Price," you announce plainly, "do you need something? I'm almost done with today's report."

"No, not at all. Just wanted to check up on you. See how you're doing?" He doesn't quite catch what you mumbled under your breath. "Sorry?"

You roll your eyes. "Nothing," you pause. "I'm fine. Just trying to get my work done before 5pm."

"5pm? Have an appointment or something?"

You stare at him for a bit and remind him of your contracted hours.

Assuming that you were worried about not finishing on time, John assures you that you can always stay in late or pick up again tomorrow. "It happens to the best of us."

Your eyes go cold. "It wouldn't have happened to me if your men and yourself weren't adamant in harassing me with matters that frankly do not pertain to me." You readjust yourself in your seat. "I advise all of you to go over my contract to avoid further misunderstandings. I would hate to leave mid-mission."

John goes cold. You... leaving. He looks in your eyes to see if there was any hesitation. There’s none.

Employer Signature: [Retracted] Employee Signature: [Retracted] Date: [Retracted]

After that day, the 141 realized what they had done. They had completely crushed your spirit and pushed you to be the epitome of professionalism. You were still a phenomenal Intelligence Officer, but you were just that. You were no longer their team mate... their friend.

But you're still here so that's fine... right?

Word Count: 1732

More Thoughts - Next Thought

[woso-story]

Bad Driver

Alexia Putellas x Reader

It was a crisp Friday evening, and the anticipation of date night had you buzzing with excitement. Alexia, your longtime girlfriend and the love of your life, was getting ready in the bedroom while you paced the living room. The plan was to drive to your favorite restaurant, where you’d made reservations days in advance. Usually, Alexia drove her sleek Cupra, but tonight, you felt a spark of rebellion—you wanted to drive for once.

When Alexia emerged, radiant in a fitted blazer and her signature confidence, you smiled and said, "Babe, I’ll drive tonight."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You? Drive?" she asked, her tone light but her expression anything but.

“Yes, me. Why not? You always drive. Let me take the wheel this time,” you replied, grinning.

But Alexia didn’t hand over the keys. Instead, she shook her head with a nervous laugh. “No, no. It’s fine. I’ll drive.”

Confused, you stepped closer. "Why not? It’s not like I’m a bad driver or anything."

She hesitated, her gaze darting away. "It’s not that. I just… prefer to drive myself, that’s all."

Her response only deepened your suspicion. You crossed your arms and gave her a pointed look. “Alexia, you’re a terrible liar. Just tell me the truth.”

Alexia sighed, running a hand through her hair. After a long pause, she finally muttered, barely above a whisper, “I don’t think you’re the best driver.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

She winced, clearly regretting her words. "It’s not a big deal! It’s just… every time you drive, I get a little nervous."

“Nervous?” you echoed, bewildered. “Why would you be nervous? I’m a good driver."

Alexia bit her lip, as if debating whether to continue. Finally, she said, “Well, you’re often over the speed limit. And you’re late on the brakes… like, really late. Sometimes I think we’re going to hit the car in front of us. Oh, and there was that time you drove over the curb and scratched my rims. Twice.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “You noticed that?”

She gave you a sheepish smile. “I… might have had them repaired. Twice.”

Her confession hit you hard. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed how nervous she felt. The thought that she didn’t trust you to drive her car made your heart sink. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings,” Alexia said softly, stepping closer. “You’re amazing at so many things, mi princesa. Just… maybe not driving.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood didn’t land. You felt embarrassed and hurt, retreating into silence. The drive to the restaurant was quiet, the usual easy conversation replaced by an awkward tension. Even dinner felt different, with you picking at your food and Alexia watching you with worried eyes.

---

The dimly lit restaurant, usually your haven of laughter and love, felt muted. Alexia’s gentle attempts to pull you out of your shell failed to break through. Her jokes felt forced, and her compliments only deepened your self-consciousness. As dessert arrived, Alexia reached across the table to take your hand. "I’m sorry if I upset you. That wasn’t my intention."

You nodded, offering a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. "I know. It’s just… hard to hear."

As you left the restaurant, Alexia stopped you by her car. “Here,” she said, holding out the keys.

“What?” you asked, frowning.

“You’re driving us home,” she said, her tone firm.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not doing it now."

“I had a little too much to drink,” she countered, giving you a small smile. “It’s up to you now.”

You hesitated, suddenly suspicious. “Was this your plan all along? Get me to drive so you can complain about how bad I am?”

Alexia laughed, but her expression softened. “No, I just want to show you that I trust you. You’ve got this.”

With a sigh, you took the keys and got into the driver’s seat. The drive home was smooth, largely because you were hyper-focused on every move—checking mirrors, braking early, and staying well under the speed limit. Alexia’s amused glances didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re doing great,” she said, her voice full of warmth.

For the first time that evening, you felt a flicker of pride. That is, until you reached the garage of your apartment complex. As you turned the corner, Alexia shouted, ���Careful!” but it was too late. The screeching sound of metal against concrete filled the air.

Your heart sank as you parked and got out to inspect the damage. Sure enough, the rim was scratched—again. Tears welled up in your eyes as you turned to Alexia. “I’m so sorry. I’ll pay for the repair this time.”

Alexia walked over and pulled you into a comforting hug. “It’s okay, mi amor. It’s just a rim.”

“But I ruined it… again,” you mumbled into her chest, tears streaming down your face.

“Shh,” she soothed, stroking your hair. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re perfect to me, rims and all.”

---

Back in the apartment, Alexia made you tea and held you close on the couch. Slowly, your embarrassment faded. She didn’t try to fix the situation with words; instead, her steady presence spoke volumes. The warmth of her embrace and the rhythm of her heartbeat calmed you.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” you said quietly, your voice thick with emotion.

She kissed the top of your head. “Always. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied, snuggling into her.

After a few minutes of silence, a laugh escaped you. Alexia tilted her head, curious. “What’s so funny?”

“I always wondered why you never let me drive,” you said, grinning. “Now I know.”

She chuckled, pulling you closer. “You’re the perfect passenger princess, mi amor. Let me drive you wherever you want to go.”

Smiling, you nestled into her embrace, the tension of the evening finally dissolving. With Alexia, you knew you were safe—in love, in life, and yes, even in the passenger seat.