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definitelynotabirthblog · 1 month ago

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1000 word quick drabble. I challenged myself to write imperfectly for an hour and post whatever came out. This is the result. Not too bad for something that hasn't had about a million edits.

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A CALLOUS CABBIE

The clutch on their car had been making very strange noises since Thursday. There is no way it would be fixed in less than three days, five including the upcoming bank holiday weekend. Bella's contractions started at 11pm on the Saturday night, only as painful as day two period cramps and twenty minutes apart at first, but by 3am on the Sunday morning, the contractions head steadily increased in frequency to every five minutes with the intensity of them now rendering her unable to talk when they peaked. It was time to go to the maternity unit, but with no functional car of their own, they were relying on the local taxi service to help them make the fifteen mile journey.

Brendon booked the the vehicle for as soon as possible using the company's app on his phone. Within ten minutes, a black Honda had appeared outside their house, the low rumble of the engine humming. Brendon swung Bella's hospital bag over his left shoulder and, supporting his wife with his other arm, walked her slowly out to the car. As she shuffled in, the driver took in the sight of her bump in the rear view mirror and frowned.

"I hope there won't be any accidents on that seat. A drunk puked on it last week and I've only just had it fixed" he huffed.

"We have sick bags in case. But she doesn't feel sick, do you baby?" Brendan asked Bella.

"That's not what I meant," the driver sighed. "I meant any... fluids. The last thing I need is any nasty stuff on my seat."

"My waters haven't broken yet," Bella insisted. "But if they do and I make a mess on your seat, we will pay for the cost of getting it cleaned."

"And what about the cost of the fares I'll miss while I'm getting it cleaned? Whose going to pay for that?" he argued back.

Brendon looked at the driver, speechless. Bella rolled her eyes and looked at her husband.

"Run in and get a towel to put under me sweetie."

Muttering under his breath, Brendon got out of the car and ran back to the house. Less than a minute later, he was back carrying a large fluffy towel. Bella lifted her bottom up and allowed him to spread it beneath her.

"Happy?" Brendon said, sarcasm evident in his voice.

"Ecstatic."

The vehicle revved up and started to move. For the first tenty minutes minutes of the journey, Bella was able to breath through the contractions as Brendon held her hand next to her. The cool night air brushed her face through the open window, distracting her somewhat from her cramping womb. As a particularly nasty pain cut through her as the vehicle turned on an intersection, Bella felt warm amniotic fluid engulf her crotch. Crying out as the contraction peaked, Brendon looked at his wife's drenched bottoms and gasped. The driver glared through the rear view mirror.

"What the hell was that?" he called back.

"Baby?" Brendon said, ignoring him. He looked at his wife, who glanced down at her pants and shot a panicked look first to her husband and then at the driver.

"Just a really bad one. It's going now."

But less than two minutes later Bella was roaring as another pain pummelled her uterus, head thrown back, hand snaking down to her crotch.

"Oh god, it's coming! Brendon, it's coming now!" she squeaked.

"Stop the car please," Brendon called, as he removed his wife's seat belt.

"Why?"

"Because my wife is giving birth!"

"I'm not stopping now. We're five minutes away. Tell her to cross her legs."

"Excuse me? I said stop the car! I need to call an ambulance!"

"And whose is going to pay for my missed fares when we have to hang around for an hour for it to come?"

"I'll pay you double. Just stop the fucking car!"

"No," he said plainly, taking the slip road onto the motorway.

"Brendon! Please! It's coming out!"

Bella's pleading brought Brendon down from his rage as she whimpered beside him, her hands cupping her crotch. He could see the patch of wetness had grown as more fluid leaked out of her. Car being driven at 80mph or not, he needed to act. Grabbing Bella's hips, he swivelled her body 90 degrees so she was facing him, her shoulders resting against the interior of the car door.

"Take my pants off!" she gasped. Brendon dragged her bottoms down her legs in one swift motion, exposing her labouring vulva. There, sat between two puffy lips and under the glistening jewel of her clit, was the centimetre square dark patch of their firstborn's head as her body forced it into the world.

"Oh my fucking god, I need to push!" Bella yelled, as she bore down. Fluid dribbled out from behind the swirls of the infant's hair as the centimetre patch of hair grew to an inch. Brendon held her legs open and instinctively she put her feet on his shoulders, bracing her legs against him as she pushed.

"You're doing it baby," he said, his voice breaking as he gently supported the taut perenium with his shaky fingertips. Bella's stretched pussy neared a full crown, her feet by his ears. Grunting with effort, she pushed like she was trying to shit a boulder, as her baby's head stretched her battered vagina to its limit. She shrieked with pain as their child's head popped out with a slosh of bloody fluid into its father's waiting hands. Pushing once more, a wriggling baby tumbled out onto the car seat, swimming in fluid. Brendon put the child onto its mother's chest, covering them both with his own jacket.

"How are we getting on back there?" the cabbie shouted, as he finally slowed his vehicle, the lights of the hospital shining through the cat windows.

"You'd better fucking believe we won't be paying for any damage you arsehole," said Brendon as his child cried, breathing oxygen into its lungs for the first time.

#birth fiction #birth kink #fpreg #labour kink #birth fic #fem birth #inconvenient birth #labor kink #giving birth #quick birth

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adabird · 6 months ago

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Bakugou Katsuki x Injured Reader

!gender neutral reader!

-One-Shot

Katsuki had been forced by his publicist to dress into a tux and join Pro Hero Deku, for a convention. Of course, he and Izuku are close now but he’s getting agitated with all the flirty questions, flirty touching, and tightness of his dress shirt. He just can’t wait to come home to you. That being said, when a Secret Service agent dressed in a black tux and his hair gelled back, approaches Katsuki to whisper that Y/N, his wife has been attacked protecting a child, he stands up so fast he also most flips the table. Luckily, Izuku caught it. He immediately had a cab called, half way in the process of loosening his tie, and taking off his suit jacket is when you called him. Telling him everything was okay but you were injured and trapped where you were. Katsuki felt his world crash down within seconds. You had made him grit out a promise from a clenched jaw, that he would save the child first and not you. He made sure to burst into action, running through the red plush flooring and the pictured walls of the convention hallways. He had frantically waited for the cab, but becuase it was taking too long, he started to run to your location. He made a quick call over to his sidekicks asking if they were on the scene, and of course they were. Both him and Deku had defeated the villain, and assessed the building before entering. Deku went in to grab the kids, while Dynamite went in to look for you. He ended up finding you riddled with cuts, and what appeared to be a broken leg, as you sat unconscious, he started pushing you off the floor and into his arms. The ambulance ended up being loaded with not only yourself, but Bakugou too. He had made sure to hold your hand, while they arrived at the hospital. Not any ordinary hospital, but placing you in the best hospital known to man.

My second one-shot ever!! I ended up blending the writing and completely forgot about this in my drafts!

Let me know if there are any other characters you wish me to write about!

-Onie out!

#angst #my hero acedamia #mha boys #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #x y/n #x you #x reader #reqs open #gender neutral reader #cute #tumblr fyp

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eveningepiphany · 1 year ago

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welcome to the final show | H.S, part 2

the girlies asked so I deliver!

read part one here, or check out my masterlist!

summary: after the accidental cafe run in, harry and y/n have wound up with each others numbers. and are quick to go from casual texting to organising another time to meet up. including a cafe trip and an unexpected ice creamery visit.

warnings: fluff, swearing, minor mentions of alcohol, nothing too heavy, just our lovely italyrry who is the sweetest ever.

a/n: thank you all so so much for the incredible amount of support on the first part of this official series. and also for your patience in waiting for me to hurry up and post an update. i know it’s been like 2 weeks since the first part, but I really wanted to give you something i took my time working on <3

———

There’s a certain type of disbelief that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.

It’s the kind that you feel straight to your core. That randomly dumps on you during the day like a bucket of water, and leaves your head spinning like that very bucket came crashing down with it.

It happens in a single moment, but lingers for a long time after the fact.

That’s exactly how you felt after harry texted you first. Because not even a few hours later after you’d exchanged numbers, he sent you through, not only a message, but a photo of all things.

One that made your heart swell with its endearing qualities.

A photo of a plate, filled with the food you’d told him earlier that day was one of your favourites.

Sent with a further little message below it,

Your favourite is currently up for grabs at the family gathering. H

The way he’d signed his intial off at the bottom had you nearly throw your phone across the room at how adorable it was.

Like as if you didn’t even know who you were texting.

Again it strewn your thought— is he aware the kind of mental effect this is having on you? Because you’re borderline going to need to phone for an ambulance.

You’re a simple person. A fangirl, to say the least. This shit, despite being able to say ‘I’ve met and talked with Harry Styles for more than 10 minutes’ does not just disappear.

And you had promised yourself not to tell anyone that this had happened— or was happening? Because there would be nothing worse than this somehow ending up online.

And not to treat him like a flighty deer instead of a grown man, but you would hate for that to place a kind of distrust in his hands.

However, all of that self-agreement doesn’t take away the nagging voice in your head that just wants to tell at the very least your immediate friends and family.

But you’re proud to say— after a long 2 minutes of pacing around your hotel room— you manage to craft a reply back.

Well, only after a few rough and undeniably embarrassing drafts that quickly get deleted out of the text bar.

You’re back to sitting on the floor against the bed frame, facing the window looking out on the gorgeous colours of the evening Italian sky.

Heart pounding, and you’re sure this scene from a third person perspective would look like it was pulled from a hallmark movie.

Girl fawning over man’s simple text. Kicking her feet in the glow of Italian sun, with a glass of wine on the floor next to her.

You stared at your finalised message and decided if you didn’t send it now, you would spiral into a never ending pit of doubt. And just end up overthinking the whole thing.

So you just did it. And now on the screen, under his blue message, was your own grey one.

there’s no way. it looks so good! im gonna see if it’s on my room service menu tbh. consider me inspired.

You bit your knuckles. Acting up like a fucking teenager. Waiting for the shock to subside before you actually get up to find the hotel menu.

After you replied back, you were sweating, honestly. Anxious at the fact you had just sent a text to Harry Styles. And unlike a conversation, that shit is permanent. So too bad if it comes off embarrassing.

Which of course, it didn’t on his end. Unbeknownst to you, he almost physically gleamed at sight of your name on his screen for the first time.

You’d nearly dropped your glass of wine when your phone vibrated up on the counter of the hotels kitchen where it was charging.

It’d been about half an hour from when you replied, you’d since ordered room service and sat in your bed to watch tv.

You made sure to place your glass elsewhere as you ran over to grab your phone.

If it wasn’t already all gone I’d save you some. Any luck with the room service?

You’d replied back swiftly, disregarding any kind of waiting to text back rule. You were all too eager to wait.

i managed to score some up from the room service. didn’t look as appetising as yours, but it was still enjoyed. x

And at this, he smiled, looking at the Italian sunset as he thought of you with a curiosity he recognised as all too unhealthy.

———

If you had told yourself two days ago in that cafe, that you have had several full conversations with harry after getting his number… you probably would have laughed.

Yet its not a joke of any kind. You can pinch yourself over and over again looking at those texts, but all you’ll end up with is a bruise and they will be just as real.

But as you read over the most recently received one, pinching would have not been enough of a reality check.

Maybe a frying pan? Probably would do the trick.

You scanned over his words, rubbing your eyes like you were tired and seeing shit— even though you’d been awake since 9am, which was 2 hours ago.

Unless you have plans, I’m going to try this cafe a friend recommended me a while back, if you wanted to tag along?

[ 1 attachment link]

And there’s simply no way that this is happening? But after 30 seconds without a follow up text telling you he’s accidentally sent this to the wrong person, you sit up straight.

Well, you’re not about to ask him if he’s serious right now, so you channel every fibre of casualness left within you and use it to construct a response.

id love to! I’ll get ready to go soon if you want to meet there before 12:30?

That works perfectly. did you need a lift, or are you in walking distance. I can pick you up if you need.

You almost keel over at his offer, and the absolute gentleman move he just made.

You also realise you didn’t even look where the cafe was. Because if Harry Styles asks you to go somewhere with him the answer should always be yes. Figure out the means of getting there and back later.

Either way you open the link and get taken to google maps, and the cafe in question is literally a 10 minute walk away from you.

im in walking distance, it’s about 10 minutes away. so I’ll just make my way there at about 12:15! thank you for the lovely offer though.

And you move as quickly as possible from your bed to your suitcase, ready to tear that thing apart for an outfit.

You don’t want to be over the top, but you have to go with something on the shorter side because it’s already in the high 20’s and it’s not even afternoon yet. So you lug out the many summer dresses you crammed in there, hoping that one of them will strike your interest.

Some get tossed back into your bag as you filter through them, not making the cut for a variety of reasons— like showing too much of your cleavage.

Yea, a good few of them get ruled out for that reason.

But eventually— and thank god, because you were starting to loose hope— you find one that is perfect for the occasion. It’s all types of flowy and comfortable, but still maintains the pretty connotation that summer dresses are known for.

Before putting it on, you go into the bathroom and do your morning routine— fixing your hair as a final step, but deciding to leave it out since there is hardly any wind outside to make it a mess. Plus it will suit the dress.

You somehow managed to take long enough that the next time you look at your phone you realise it’s nearing 12:15pm a lot faster than you expected. So you hustle to get the rest of your shit together, and make your way out the door.

The walk there is as peaceful as you could imagine, just the sounds of chatter from passer-by’s and birds lingering in trees dotting the sidewalk.

But on the inside you are still panicking. The last time you’d meet him in a cafe was a total surprise. This time it’s planned, and that leaves too much room for your brain to overthink it.

As you finally push through the doors of the cafe you had found your way to, a tiny bell above jingles. But you’re hardly focused on it as you look to the front counter.

Seeing the exact person you were here for already grabbing two drinks from a barista at what you can only assume is a pickup counter.

As he spins around, he catches your momentary surprise, complimented by flushed cheeks. To this he smiles and nods you over with his head.

He looked excited to see you. Like a longtime pair of friends meeting up again after a while apart.

Your feet kick back into gear at his nod, following him over to a table that’s tucked into the corner. He had his pleasing bag slung across the top of the chair.

“Hi lovely,” he says the minute you’re close enough to hear his deep voice.

“Hi Harry.” You smile, heart still beating too fast. The words feeling different as they get spoken from your mouth.

He walks the few steps around the table, closing the gap still between you— and he doesn’t wait for you to hug him, he just pulls you straight into the warmth of his arms.

Wrapping you up in a way that you can smell the cologne lingering on the dip of his neck into his shoulder.

His accent is muffled by your hair as he talks gently, “how’ve you been?”

The common question has your head reeling. In its simplicity is still sweetness.

You pull back, his eyes training on yours, looking keenly at you, awaiting an answer from your almost shy lips.

“I— yes, I’ve been really good thank you.” You nod, how could you not be? Look where your standing, who you’re standing with.

“What about you…?” You ask, watching as the corners of his pink mouth upturn.

He’s freshly shaven, you notice, and your fingers twitch with the need to glide over the smooth skin of his cheek.

You resist as he answers, still relatively closer than you should be out in a public place.

“I’m doing well, even better now.” He raises his eyebrows, a cheeky grin coming on his face.

He revels in blood that rushes into your cheeks, reddening them up like you’ve just run a mile.

“Oh, stop it. You’re a bloody flirt.” You roll your eyes in an attempt to play it off, and you also take a step back to seat yourself in the chair at the table he’d picked.

Maybe he was a flirt at most times. But from his perspective, with you in a dress like that? Not to sound like he’s drawing on the one direction lyrics, but as if you don’t know you’re beautiful.

I mean, sure, he thinks you’re aware that you’re pretty. But in the way it’s working him up, you seem to be clueless.

Because he’s almost stumbling on his words at the sight of you, soft fabric flowing seamlessly over your tan skin, cutting off above your knees leaving him with thoughts that he should not be having in a public space.

But at the same time, he tries to convince himself it’s nothing but a wholesome coincidental friendship. Even though if at any point tabloids get a hold of this, it will be very very far from that.

You’re watching as he looks a little caught up in thought, and you chuckle at it.

The sweet noise breaks him out of it, and he’s grateful for that. It was a rabbit hole he was happy to just not go down right now.

“Can’t help it,” he shrugs, going over to his own seat.

“Now, i need the full story of what happened with your friends luggage at the Singapore airport?”

You let out a laugh, a little surprised he even remembers to bring it up. You had been texting about travel, and told him the time your friend had her luggage lost in a layover between Singapore and London last month.

“I mean, where did it leave it off?” You had explained a partial amount of the story. But told him, if you’d planned another cafe trip it would be a lot easier to explain the ins and outs.

And he was overly excited to watch you tell the tale. Watch the way your hands moved as you animatedly told the story, and the way your eyes get a little lost in thought.

He caught tiny glimpses of it the first time you’d met, but he craved to watch it happen in full. Among other things.

You told him how you’d had 12 hour layover, but that you guys didn’t want to book a hotel since they were so expensive. But you were still meant to collect your luggage— and everyone else but your friend Bonnie got it back.

“She’s Scottish, crazy red hair and she is like a fire cracker. She was actually at the last show, in the front with us, but anyway— so she’s running around Singapore airport accosting all the staff with her stressed out and angry Scottish accent.”

You went back and forth with the many fuck arounds of that day, how you went from halfway across the airport to a misplaced baggage unit per a staffs advice, only for the lady at the front desk to say it wasn’t there— and to go back to the support centre.

“It was not funny at the time,” you said, “but fuck, looking back now it’s pretty good. And it makes a fun story to tell.”

“So where did she actually get her stuff back?” He asks, frowning with a curious smile.

“Oh, like 6 hours after we originally got off the plan. They’d told us to wait up at that little customer support place and after like another hour and a half, some really frazzled guy came running up with it.”

And you laughed at the image in your head, sweaty and looked terrified he’d gotten the wrong bag, “We asked where it had gotten lost, but he just asked if it was certainly ours, then when we said yes he nodded and practically ran the other way.”

Harry was smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

“God, is that quite a story.”

“See why I said texting it would have been way too hard.” You amend, reaching for the deserted cup of tea you hadn’t even drank out of yet, taking a sip.

Exactly how you like it, and you smile. Watching him watch you drink it.

“Just how you like it, yea?” He asks to confirm. But also lost a little in the way the liquid seamlessly travels from the cup down your throat.

“Yea, perfect.” You nod, clutching the warm cup between your hands, tongue swiping out over your lips.

“Anyways, what about your own crazy travel stories. Since you’ve done plenty of it.” You prompt, unaware of his remaining gaze.

The afternoon went of just like that. Telling stories and sharing funny little anecdotes that had you laughing so hard that tears were about to spill from your waterline.

You slowly forget that it’s Harry Styles you’re sitting with. And of course that sounds weird. But it’s like there came a certain point in the afternoon where he just became simply Harry.

Nothing more, nothing less.

It had been a rather long time you sat in that same cafe with him. So much that the chairs, originally very comfortable, had started to become the opposite as time flew on.

“Are these chairs starting to hurt your ass too?” He asks, humour lacing his tone as he watches you adjust yourself in the chair for the third time in the last 10 minutes.

“Yea, the metal seats are lowkey not it.” At this he laughs, the way you word things somehow being more entertaining than most.

“Well, cmon, I already paid, we can go for a walk if you want?” He rises from his place, and you’ve never stood up quicker.

“Braving the Italian sun at its very brightest are we?” You joke, smiling as he grabs his bag and slings it over one of his broad shoulders.

“Could be a big regret, could also be very scenic.” He says as you grab both your empty cups.

“I forgot to put sunscreen on as well, so might have a different colour forehead to the rest of my body but… oh well.” he shurgs, following you over to the small bin by the cafe door.

You’re immediately thinking of the time he went to a show after going out golfing and he had a sunburnt head.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” And it takes you by surprise that the teasing words made it out of your mouth.

Yet, he seems happily indifferent to it, like it’s of course something you’d know, “Whatever you.”

Your laughing at his response as you hold the door open for him, exiting the cafe into the heat.

A tortured sigh is let out of you both at the swelter of it. The concrete pavement doing nothing but intensify it.

“I underestimate the weather every day here, I’m wearing too many layers of clothing to be dealing with this.”

“Take your hoodie off you dolt.”

He usually keeps layers on so that his tattoos are less visible. Since they’re often a dead giveaway of who he is. So his hands hesitates as they slip to the hem of his jumper.

“Don’t tell me you went out with just a jumper on, no other layers. In Italy?” You shake your head, still smiling as you slowly walk into the shaded part of the sidewalk.

“No— I did.” He laughs, “just m’tattoos usually garner some attention.”

He clarifies, “that sounded really egotistical, not the tattoos themselves, I meant people recognise me easier when they’re out.”

“Oh!” You stumble a little in your thought process. Feeling a little silly for not realising.

“I kind of like… forgot?” You say, coming to a stop as he eventually succumbs to the heat and peels the jumper over his head. Folding it up and popping it into his bag, glancing at you with a tiny breathe of relief at his new found ventilation. Hands moving to tousle with his hair in attempt to flatten it after pulling the jumper over it.

“I mean, i did. too honestly.” He agrees, continuing to walk forward.

You read into that a million different ways. But he makes sure you don’t get confused, “Y/N, don’t look so worried. I just mean you’re a very easy person to get… i dunno, lost in.”

Oh okay? How does one just casually continue putting one foot in front of the other after someone says something like that?

“You flatter me too much.” You roll your eyes, still as awful as ever at masking your shock or adoration for something someone’s said.

“Cmon, you’re just too humble i think.” He bumps you with his shoulder.

You’re laughing at him. But stop dead in your tracks as you stop something across the road.

“H.” You say, and he also comes to a halt. Taking a moment to process your use of his nickname. Like the way it so gently came from you.

Yet you sound almost dire, so he’s looking over where you are, scanning the sunny street for something that could possibly concern you?

For a moment he thinks it may be paparazzi, but this side of town is usually much better in regards to that.

He feels protective of you, “What? Are you okay?”

“There’s ice cream over there.” You say, hand coming up to cover your mouth a little.

A breath of relief fills his lungs, “i— you made it out like this was a life or death situation about t’unfold.”

Your expression turns to a grin, “no, i just love Italian ice creameries!”

“Can we please go and get some?” You glance back to him, and his own smile widens at your face. Gleaming with this unfiltered excitement over something so simplistic.

“Of course we can.” And you’re immediately grabbing his wrist to tug him across the road towards the shop.

“As if I could say no to you, anyway.” He laughs as he keeps up with your quick pace, clearly on a mission.

Once inside the store, with its pink and mint coloured walls and decor, you move to look at the collection of flavours.

The staples such as vanilla and strawberry, but then a small selection of more slightly diverse ones, like peanut butter brownie or salted caramel.

Their cookie dough ice cream looks amazing though, filled with chocolatey chunks of cookie. So you decide relatively fast that’s what you want.

And then you turn to Harry, whose eyes are still darting between flavours indecisively.

“What one do you want?” You ask, and he adverts his eyes to you.

“No I’ll order.” He shakes his head.

“No-no. Let me get this for you, please.” He goes to protest and you nudge him with your elbow, “don’t be stubborn. I want to get you something.”

“I— fine. But know you’re just as pushy as i am.” He scoffs with a laugh.

“I’ll get… maybe chocolate?” He points to it, and you nod.

The older lady at the counter is overly lovely, and you’re rattling off your order to her with a beaming smile.

Harry watches your interaction with her, and how you take a moment to compliment the heart covered apron she was wearing.

His heart trips over it’s own rhythm at the sight.

You pays and he still feels a little guilty, but figures he can make it up to you next time they go out by getting you a cookie or two with your tea.

You come back to his side with the two cones, stacked two scoops tall, and hand one to him.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to though.”

“It’s fine, Harry. Do you wanna find somewhere outside to sit?” You ask, turning to wave at the lady who served you as your slowly exiting the shop.

“Sure, i saw that little bench under a tree a couple shops down near that park.” He nods, taking his turn to lead the way there.

You shortly find the way there, sitting yourselves down on it, looking out onto a small playground with some kids swinging on monkey bars and sliding down the slide.

“Italian ice cream will forever be the best kind of ice cream.” You sigh out with pleasure, licking over the cool scoop.

He unwittingly is blushing at the sight, suddenly batting away mental images at the sight of your pink tongue jutting out of your mouth.

Shaking his head, he pushes them aside. “Definitely. You can tell it’s handmade.”

He busies his own tongue on his own ice cream, only stealing occasional glances to you at his side.

But he can’t help but tilt his cone to you, “Wanna try the chocolate?”

His offer comes as the equivalent of a brick to the head, but you’re invested in making yourself not seem psychotic.

So you nod nonchalantly, “i will, but I have a feeling that’s just because you want some of mine.”

“Mm, maybe I do a little.” He agrees, but any other coherent thought dies where it was in his head at you leaning over to his own cone. Your tongue running over the ice cream, collecting up its sweet residue.

You nod, “That’s so good.” Acting like you’ve got a normal internal monologue right now. Even though she’s hurling things at you that you can’t all process in such a short flash of time.

You just put your mouth where his has been! He is about to do the same thing! His eyes look a little blown out! What the fuck!

Pretty much what it sounds like up there, along with some alarm bells and screaming.

However you just gesture your cone to him, taking mental images of him mirroring what you did just before.

He hums a sound of enjoyment as he pulls back, glancing up at you, pinning you with his green gaze. “Good choice.”

You agree with a slight mumble, shaking your head momentarily to clear your thoughts. Ready to change the subject so you can internally recollect yourself.

“I only regret sitting out here since it’s melting so fucking fast.”

“I know,” he also settles quickly back into the normality of the moment, “i cant eat it quicker than the rate it’s melting.”

“It’s cold though, which is at least a win.”

Conversation trails on as normal while you finish off the ice cream. Discussing if biting the bottom off an ice cream cone is normal or not.

And before you know it you check your phone when you get a text from your mum, asking what time you’re able to call tonight.

She misses you heaps, you can tell. But despite the timezone difference you are making it work.

You also glance up at the time and realise it’s nearing 4pm. And you have just spent majority of the afternoon with Harry.

You also realise you’d agreed to have dinner with all of your friends in one of their hotel rooms tonight.

“Seems like it’s my turn to have to be the one to bail.” You say, popping your phone in your back pocket and looking back at Harry.

“That’s okay, love, what’s the plans for the evening.”

You explain that you’ll go over the the girls hotel room and probably just eat pizza, and then go back to your own room and call your mum for a bit.

He feels a little sad you even have to leave, which is odd, but he nods anyway, “That sounds fun. Solid plan.”

You reluctantly rise from your seat next to him. “So…” you take a tiny breath in, “am I the one picking the next cafe we go to?”

He beams internally at the fact you’re also trying to plan the next time you’re able to meet up with each other.

“I reckon so, Angel.” He stands as well, “I’m good for any day.”

Any plans he has can be rearranged for you.

“Alright!” You feel better immediately knowing you can see him again soon.

“Thanks for the ice cream too, by the way.” He says, walking back over to the pathway with you.

“It’s okay.” You smile, nervously being the one to give him a goodbye hug. A small flutter erupts in your stomach as his hands pull you flush to him around your lower back.

“I’ll see you soon, mkay?”

“Yea. Ill talk to you later.” You remind yourself that he’s easily accessible to talk to. You literally have his number.

“Bye H.” You give him a squeeze, pulling away with a smile, “Bye Y/N.” And you wave as you start the walk back to your hotel. Plenty of things to think about.

———

“Did you guys see the supposed pics of harry today on harryflorals? He was hanging out with someone apparently!” Nina asks everyone.

Only two of you hadn’t, including yourself.

She passes the phone first to you, and you frown.

“I know, looks like it’s taken on a potato.” She says, assuming your furrowed brows are due to the fact the image is really hard to get anything from.

Unless you know that park bench he’s ‘allegedly’ sitting on. And that the blurry figure next to him is almost certainly you— but no one else can tell.

“Yea… shit that is…” You pause, brain freezing a little, “bad quality.”

You hand her phone back. But caption of the post still festering in your head long after the moment is over.

HARRY *SUPPOSEDLY* WITH A GIRL IN ITALY TODAY! but this is the only pic we got 💔

———

ahh and that’s part two! I hope you guys are enjoying this, and I’m so excited to write more about these two. cant wait for you to see what’s in store for them.

thank you again for your patience while waiting for this second part, and to all the lovely people who requested this oneshot to be made into something more.

taglist:

@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @lquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss

+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love

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dedeinthewild · 2 months ago

Text

oliver bearman x reader, special encounters

-"she was so much better than a creamy croissant"

summary : Ollie’s bike ride turns chaotic when he falls and injures his leg. After a funny ER visit and a crush on a paramedic, Kimi ends up delivering an apology—and a cornetto alla crema. Ollie may have broken his leg, but he got a sweet surprise out of it.

The drivers loved grabbing their bikes and pedaling toward Italy from Monaco, with the sea on their right and the endless blue sky stretching out like an infinite expanse of happiness.

Ollie had a thing for good training sessions with his friends, always thinking about a creamy croissant to end the morning and the weekend trip ahead, where he’d visit his family. Ever since his Formula One commitments had packed his schedule, he’d made it a habit to spend time with his dad. Saying he missed his mom and Thomas was an understatement. Still, he was proud his little brother had begun his own rise with a British F4 contract, and he knew his mom kept busy with work and her new passion for sourdough baking.

“Why can’t I get ice cream now?” Ollie asked, while Kimi pedaled a bit faster to catch up with him after a stretch of road where they’d had to ride single file.

“We’ve been awake just half an hour, Ollie,” the Italian laughed, reaching him and letting go of the handlebars to grab his water bottle for a sip.

The threatening clouds they’d seen hovering over the principality began to break up as they passed Menton, nearing the Italian border.

“Can we stop?” asked the Brit in Italian, spotting a sweets stand just as they entered Ventimiglia, where they’d planned a quick break before heading back to Monaco for an evening of PlayStation.

“Cut it out!” joked the younger of the two, earning an exaggerated glare from Ollie, who turned around with raised eyebrows and an Oscar-worthy pout.

“I’ll kill myself.”

Moments later, a small rock caught under his tire, and Ollie found himself sprawled on the pavement, sitting against a signpost, clutching his scratched leg.

“I didn’t think you meant literally,” Kimi quipped, crouching beside him, noticing the grimace on his face and hoping it wasn’t a broken leg—they’d be in serious trouble if it were.

“Shut up,” Ollie replied weakly, smiling at his friend’s joke while inspecting his calf to gauge the damage, turning it to look from different angles.

“I should call Andrea.”

“No!” Ollie quickly said, grabbing a handkerchief from his cycling jacket and wetting it with water from his bottle to clean the wound of asphalt dirt.

“You can’t stay there like roadkill!”

The Haas reserve driver shook his head, settling against the post and noticing that no one had stopped to help them.

“Maybe the emergency services?”

“Who the hell made me do this?” sighed the young Italian, unlocking his phone and leaning against one of the railings overlooking the port.

Before long, just enough time to argue over whether or not to inform Andrea—one of their managers and friends—about the fall, an ambulance arrived and parked nearby.

“What do we have here?” said one of the paramedics as he approached the drivers with a kind smile, noticing they were calm and the injured one seemed more embarrassed than anything.

“We were talking, and I didn’t see the rock,” Oliver explained, setting his helmet on the ground and fully revealing his flushed face, while behind the paramedic came another woman with a stretcher and one carrying a first-aid bag.

“You’re lucky you didn’t fall into a pothole,” the two women chuckled as the man prepared for transport, and they worked to assess the situation.

“This is definitely sprained, if not broken,” said one of them, making both drivers groan. If Ollie could have buried himself, he would have done so then and there, knowing this meant his trip to see his family was canceled, and Andrea wouldn’t be thrilled. His ankle looked terrible and was already starting to swell and bruise.

“Do you usually put much weight on it?” They likely needed to know how carefully to handle it for a smoother and quicker recovery.

“We’re racing drivers,” Oliver answered with a heavy British accent.

The two paramedics glanced at the third, who was preparing the stretcher and hadn’t initially noticed who they were sitting on the sidewalk. Now she recognized them but maintained her professionalism, waiting for the others to give the all-clear for transport.

“I feel so stupid,” the driver said, staring at his ankle as they moved toward the nearest hospital.

“This happens more often than you’d think,” she smiled, sitting beside him. “I’ve mastered immobilization thanks to reckless cyclists.”

The boy chuckled softly, despite his semi-reclined stretcher feeling so comfortable it tempted him to move—though he knew that would only make things worse. Kimi stayed in Ventimiglia, sitting glumly by the roadside with both bikes nearby, dreading calling Andrea, who would undoubtedly have words with René once he heard what had happened.

“At the hospital, they’ll give you something to ease the pain.”

“But I don’t feel any.”

“You will,” she replied, taking out a form.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Ollie shook his head, grabbing his phone to check for notifications from his teammate while she filled out the hospital protocol form.

Soon they arrived at the hospital, and the three paramedics transported him to the ER. They handed him over to a doctor, who, before taking him beyond the doors to determine whether it was a fracture, noticed Ollie’s adrenaline was wearing off and the pain was kicking in. To help, they administered something, and they started walking toward the exit.

As the doctor injected the substance, Ollie felt a strange lightness and happiness, like he was in one of those cheesy teen movies that try to soften the blow of summer ending.

“Hey, yo!” he yelled, spotting a guy leaning against a column, holding a pink jacket, likely waiting for a relative.

“My paramedic’s hella cute, yo!”

The paramedics turned, eyebrows raised and amused, toward the source of the outburst.

“It’s the driver,” chuckled one of them, nodding toward the young man wildly gesturing from his stretcher as the doctor looked on, baffled at such a reaction to something far from anesthesia.

The two women smiled, and the one who had sat with him during the ride blushed slightly, knowing her colleagues would tease her endlessly about this.

Ollie was on cloud nine, smiling sweetly with dilated pupils, fist-bumping the bystander, who had put down his phone and jacket to chat with him freely. Normally, Ollie was shy, reserved, and polite, but now? He was entirely different.

“She’s hella cute! You should’ve seen her,” he said, flopping back onto the stretcher and resting his arms behind his head, gazing at the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“Hey, what’s your name?” he asked the stranger.

“I’m Andrea,” came the reply in Italian.

“My best friend’s called Andrea! He’s so funny; you’d definitely get along,” he said confidently, shaking his head as if making an unshakable proclamation worthy of a bet.

Meanwhile, the paramedic girl was amused, much like the doctor who, half-annoyed, wanted to kick Ollie out for disrupting the whole ER. The young Brit, with his Ferrari cycling jersey and dirt-smeared shorts, had his brown hair disheveled and his fair skin slightly flushed with its distinctive freckles and moles. He was a sight.

“I’m Ollie,” he fist-bumped like they were lifelong friends.

“You know, that jacket’s smooth. Give me the name of the shop.”

The stranger burst into laughter, turning away slightly not to laugh directly in his face.

“She was so much better than a creamy croissant,” Ollie added, sprawled out in contented delirium.

The paramedics shook their heads, patting the blushing girl on the back before leaving the ER for their next call.

Ollie disappeared with the doctors and nurses, while the ambulance crew resumed their morning shift.

Back in Ventimiglia, Kimi had finally called Andrea and René, taking the scolding meant for both him and Ollie. Still, with the next Formula 2 race in Qatar nearly two months away, Ollie had time to recover and get back in shape. Kimi stored their bikes at a café he knew, asking for a favor, then took a taxi to the hospital.

Walking into the ER still in his cycling shoes, he asked for Oliver, noting the nurse at the desk chuckled upon hearing the name but didn’t question it. He made his way to the casting room, where they had taken Ollie after confirming via X-ray that the bone was indeed broken.

“How are you?” he asked, sitting beside him.

“Good. Did you bring me the croissant?” Ollie replied with a grin.

“We gave him a painkiller, but he’s out of his mind,” the doctor laughed, raising Kimi’s eyebrows.

Rarely had Kimi seen his teammate act so unhinged—so unlike the reserved Brit he knew. He hadn’t seen this side of him since their laughing-filled night in Singapore when Ollie’s Italian had nearly become fluent.

A week later, as they sat in the apartment Prema provided them in Monaco, Ollie showed Kimi a video.

“This is a prank,” Kimi declared.

“I swear, I wanna kill myself after this,” Ollie groaned, utterly embarrassed.

“Should I remind you what happened the last time you said that?” Kimi teased, glancing at Ollie’s casted leg propped on the coffee table. The past two days had been an adjustment—navigating the apartment, dealing with itchiness, and Ollie’s outbursts as Kimi laughed at his struggles on one leg.

“Do me a favor,” the Haas reserve driver asked, watching as Kimi prepared lunch.

Kimi sighed, crossing his arms. “What is it?”

“Go to the paramedics and apologize for me.”

“I hate you,” the Italian grumbled, plating the omelet he’d just made. They ate together before Kimi reluctantly set off for the Italian Red Cross station where the ambulance that had picked them up was based.

Once there, he asked to see the three paramedics from that day. Only one was on duty.

“Ollie wanted me to apologize for the other day,” Kimi explained. “He couldn’t really control himself.”

“Don’t worry. He actually brightened up our day,” she replied with a smile, leaning against the wall. “Wait here a second.”

Kimi watched her disappear through a door behind her. He glanced around the station until she returned holding a paper bag.

“Maybe I’m being silly, but he kept going on about a cornetto alla crema, so I wanted to give him one.”

“But you didn’t know where we were,” Kimi said, amused.

“Exactly,” she replied with a small laugh.

The driver smiled, thanking her, knowing Ollie would definitely appreciate the gesture. And maybe Ollie had been right—under the influence of painkillers, he’d called her cute. With her soft features, honey-colored eyes, and hair tied back in a braid, Kimi could see what he meant.

“You met her?” The British driver was in shock as his teammate hung his jacket on the apartment’s coat rack. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Kimi laughed, tossing the paper bag with the cornetto inside to him.

If he could have, Oliver would’ve broken the other ankle just for a chance to see her again.

Meanwhile, at the paramedics’ station, she was sitting on a stool, preparing cookies for that evening’s meeting, a soft smile on her face and the image of the driver etched in her mind.

@charlieblacks-world and I had this idea, and we really hope you like our drugged Ollie!

not proofread, there might be a few errors :)

#f2 #f1 #motorsports #prema racing #f3 #formula racing #writing #oliver bearman #ollie bearman #oliver bearman x reader #oliver bearman x you

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 11 months ago

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I was wondering at what point do you think the Sussex’s reached the point of no return, and when the actually penny dropped for H and M (actually do you think he realises that somethings are literally unforgivable even now.) Obviously we probably know a small fraction of what was happening behind the scenes, and the beloved son making a new life is studiously polite, even if many think KC3 would have his son back in an instant.

So it's a few things for me. I think the Oprah interview and Philip's funeral got the ball rolling; the Platinum Jubilee was the "make or break" moment; and The Queen's funeral was when the penny dropped.

Here's the long version...

First, the Oprah interview and Philip's passing/funeral. Here's a super quick timeline of what happened:

2/16/21: Philip enters hospital to receive treatment for an infection.

2/20/21: Charles is papped leaving Philip's hospital looking upset and very emotional.

2/28/21: First promotions of the Sussexes' interview with Oprah debut in the US.

3/1/21: Philip is transferred to a different hospital to receive treatment for his heart condition. Paparazzi photos of him being transferred via ambulance are published, immediate criticism.

3/3/21: Philip has a heart operation. Palace says it went well.

3/5/21: Philip goes back to the first hospital. Meghan tells people she thinks the palace is making up or using Philip's health to silence them and keep them from releasing the Oprah interview.

3/7/21: Oprah interview broadcasts in the US.

3/8/21: Commonwealth Day Service; Oprah releases new clips cut from the final edit of the broadcast; the interview is broadcast in the UK.

(This is just a small piece of what was happening in those days. There was a ton of other stuff going on too.)

I think Meghan leaking to her friends, who talked to reporters, that they don't think Philip is as ill as the Palace reports was the beginning of the end for them. Okay, so maybe the palace wasn't keeping Harry fully updated on everything that was happening as it happened, but the signs were all there that it was a serious hospitalization.

(And I do believe that that leak about Philip's health is why Harry flew immediately to Charles after the King's cancer diagnosis. Karma served him hard with their public on-the-record denials of how ill Philip and The Queen were so now Harry wanted to do the right thing and go see for himself what was really happen.)

Then there's the whole Oprah interview altogether, which many in the firm - family members and courtiers alike - didn't receive well. Using today's measure of "Piers is what Camilla thinks," then if he was hopping mad over it, then she and the family were hopping mad.

Then Philip died and the way the Sussexes behaved - among them: Harry preempting much of the family with his statement about Philip, Harry's demand to wear his uniform, Harry dicking up the procession, Meghan telling everyone the flowers on Philip's casket were from her, Harry allegedly confronting William and Kate about the Oprah interview, the Sussexes using the family walk for olive branch PR, and (if Harry is to be believed) the Harry-Charles-William peace summit in the Frogmore gardens after the funeral - was the final nail in the coffin about what privileges or support the Sussexes would get from the BRF.

Especially when you consider that on February 19, 2021, the Palace announced that the Sussexes had declined to return and the one-year trial/review was terminated as of March 31st. So on April 9th when Philip passed away and the Sussexes began asserting precedence and privilege, they had no right to any of it. They were non-working royals, bottom of the totem pole.

(Then seven weeks later was the whole Lilibet fiasco and we all know how that went.)

I think the Sussexes' behavior and attitude around Philip's funeral, plus the Lilibet debacle (which we didn't fully learn about until after The Queen passed) directly led to certain decisions for the Platinum Jubilee, which became the "make or break" moment for everyone, not just the Sussexes.

The Sussexes saw the Platinum Jubilee as their chance to relaunch and rebrand as royals because they needed the royal glow to make their soon-to-be-released projects successful and well-received. The firm saw the Platinum Jubilee as a chance to rein the Sussexes in to their new status as "family members" vs "royals."

And, well, we know what happened at the Platinum Jubilee:

The Sussexes were kept away from the Cambridge family.

They weren't allowed in the Trooping carriages and the Trooping balcony.

They weren't invited to the Trooping rooftop party with the rest of the family or to the cousins' lunch afterwards.

They were scheduled to take the "Minor Royals Motorcoach" to the service of thanksgiving.

They were booed on arrival (and departure) at the service of thanksgiving.

They weren't included in the official procession with Charles and the Cambridges.

They were seated on the other side away from the working royals and demoted to the inside of the second or third row "after" Beatrice and Eugenie, instead of being on the aisle.

They were not invited to the post-service of thanksgiving guildhall reception/luncheon and had to do the walk of shame to the car by themselves. (Hence the boos.)

No one went to Lili's birthday party.

Meghan didn't get her "Lili meets Lili" picture with The Queen and Lili.

The Sussexes knew it was game over for them from there. The Platinum Jubilee wasn't the "make it" moment they needed and they didn't get anything they wanted. We know they got nothing they wanted because they threw a hissy fit and left early than planned, suggesting they felt very snubbed.

So I think that was the point of no return as far as the firm was concerned - if the Sussexes could behave themselves at the jubilee and the public was accepting of their presence, then the firm could've worked with them. But the Sussexes didn't behave (Meghan's photo stunt with Peter and Zara's girls, missing their pick-up for the service of thanksgiving, and Meghan's stunt rolling down the car window after a whole fuss about security) and the public made their feelings very, very clear.

I think the Sussexes were probably in denial with how badly the jubilee went, and that's why the interviews Meghan did later that summer were bitter and venomous towards the royal family. I also think the way they were treated at the jubilee weekend also informed some of the things they did and said in the Netflix docuseries as well.

So while the Sussexes were fully aware that they were out after the jubilee (I don't remember now who said it, but there's the famous quote "You never really know if you're in with the royal family, but if you're out, you definitely know") I don't think they understood the impact of what being "out" meant, though. I think they thought they could continue using the BRF for PR as they always did and that The Queen/Charles would always welcome them back with open arms because that's what they always did.

Which is what led to the penny dropping with The Queen's passing and funeral. It's clear that Harry thought he'd be given precedence and priority as The King's Son. which didn't happen. He made demands for it, still didn't happen. He tried to take it by force with the Netflix walkabout, still didn't happen. He caused a PR ruckus to get the public to demand it, it still didn't happen.

I do fully believe Harry was grieving at The Queen's funeral and her committal service. But I believe he was grieving the loss of his royal status a bit more than the loss of his grandmother that day, judging by his body language throughout the day. He knew it was all over then and there, and that bitterness came through in his interviews for Spare, when he demanded that the BRF needed to apologize first and his "they know what they did" comments.

I kind of feel like Harry saw the coronation as a test, where he felt "If I go and they treat me well, it'll all be fine but if I go and they treat me horribly, I'm never coming back again." And, well, the latter happened and he went straight from Westminster Abbey to the airport to go home, which was as big a tantrum as the one they pitched at the jubilee to leave early. And if Charles hadn't announced his cancer diagnosis, or if he didn't have cancer at all, I feel pretty confident saying we wouldn't have seen Harry in London until the May service of thanksgiving for Invictus Games.

#ask #brf #sussexes #in this essay i will

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augenblicklich-lila · 2 years ago

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cod incorrect quotes #4

I did warn you that I have a ton of these :D

the usual jazz, mainly Y/N/reader stuff, platonic and romantic, also some suggestive stuff but I feel like that's a given with these dummies. Also has some Soapghost!

at some point, I feel like a masterlist might be useful.

- Lila

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ ♛ （ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)つ━━✫・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨)

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

Y/N: Made you all playlists! Y/N: Ghost, yours has only heavy metal, and is dark like your soul. Y/N: König, yours has sad songs and blues to pair with your crippling depression. Y/N: And Soap has the ABBA Gold album.

Price: For self-defense reasons, I'm going to pretend to be a burglar and you guys have to act wisely. Ghost, Soap, & Y/N: Okay. Price: If you don't want to die, give me all your money. Soap: Bold of you to assume I have money. Ghost: Bold of you to assume I don't want to die. Y/N: Bold of you to assume I can die.

Y/N: Subs are so fun to play with. All you have to do is hint at what you might do, back them into a corner with a look, or grab their wrist in a certain way and they're a wide-eyed mess. Ghost: What the fuck kind of Subway are you going to? Soap: Substitute teachers deal with so much shit. Gaz: Guys.

Soap: I just found out from Gaz today that when Sheperd died and the service did the 21-gun salute at his funeral, Y/N said, “They should aim at the coffin to be sure.”

Gaz: What’s up with Ghost? He's been laying on the floor for like….an hour now? Soap: He's just a little overwhelmed. Gaz: Why? Soap: Y/N smiled at him.

Price: sees Ghost and Soap together Price: They're cute. I would put them on a boat. Y/N: You mean… you ship them?

Y/N: I am darkness. I am power. I am your worst nightmare. I could kill a man in more ways than you can imagine. I am the night. I am fury, I am a weapon, I am- Soap: A doll. Gaz: A cinnamon roll. Ghost: A sweetheart. Y/N: Y/N: …stop it.

Price, teaching Y/N to drive: Okay, you're driving and Soap and Graves walk into the road. Quick, what do you hit? Y/N: Oh, definitely Graves. I could never hurt Soap. Price, massaging his temples: The brakes. You hit the brakes.

Y/N: You were stabbed. Do you remember anything? Ghost: Only the ambulance ride to the hospital. Y/N: That wasn't an ambulance, I drove you. Ghost: But I heard a siren. Gaz: That was Soap. Soap: Sorry, I got nervous.

Y/N: That's ridiculous, Ghost doesn't have a crush on me. Price: Yes, he does. Gaz: Yes, he does. Ghost: Yes I do.

Gaz: What is it called when you kill a friend? Ghost: Homicide. Soap: Murder. Y/N: Homiecide.

König: What is love? Alejandro: An emotional minefield. Ghost: A neurochemical reaction. Y/N & Soap: Baby don't hurt me.

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛ 　 ∧＿∧ （｡･ω･｡)つ━☆・*。 ⊂　　ノ　　　・゜+. しーＪ　　　°。+ *´¨) “Hie thee home, little wanderer.”

・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.✭・♛

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deadpresidents · 3 months ago

Note

What was wrong with the Kerry Edwards ticket in 2004? I'm not really old enough to remember it properly.

Oh God, where do I start?

First of all, it was an immensely winnable election for the Democrats because there was a big segment of the country just asking for a reason to vote for someone other than George W. Bush. The Iraq War was going terribly, the Abu Ghraib scandal was very fresh, and there was very little confidence in Bush's ability to lead and possibly even tie his shoes.

When the Democratic primaries started, there was some real energy and excitement behind former Vermont Governor Howard Dean, who built an online campaign that was ahead-of-its-time and was running on a progressive platform that set him apart from many of the Democratic candidates who had long been part of the Washington establishment like Kerry, Joseph Lieberman, Dick Gephardt, etc. However, Dean's campaign was torpedoed because, in a moment of excitement during a speech following the Iowa Caucuses, Dean made a weird scream. In an example of how insane American politics has become in just 20 years, Howard Dean made an awkward noise and that basically disqualified him as a candidate for the Presidency.

John Kerry, who was extremely qualified for the job of President of the United States yet virtually nobody's first choice (or second choice or third choice or fourth choice) for the Democratic nomination, basically had an open path to the nomination from that point. As I said, Kerry was undoubtedly qualified -- and few people really wanted to vote for him. Then, Kerry started campaigning and energized almost nobody for the next 10 months. He was just not good at campaigning. He was uninspiring, he was corny, he had a record that was easy to run against because of his long Congressional career and the frequent "evolution" of many of his beliefs over the years. It wasn't good.

Kerry picked then-North Carolina Senator John Edwards as his running mate. Edwards was still in the midst of his one (and only) term in elective office at that point. Some people thought he was smooth and charismatic. But he was (and is) a piece of shit. He came across as an overly ambitious, former ambulance-chasing lawyer -- because that's basically what he had been during his legal career. He seemed like the type of guy who would cheat on his wife while she was dying of terminal cancer and then try to convince a campaign aide to tell people that the child he fathered out of wedlock (while his wife was dying of terminal cancer, in case that wasn't clear) belonged to the campaign aide, not him. He seemed like that type of guy because that's 100% what he did when he ran for President four years later. Edwards is one of the slimiest, most contemptible major party candidates for President or Vice President of my lifetime, which is really saying something. He was also utterly unprepared for the Presidency or Vice Presidency. This whole post could be about John Edwards, but I'd have to take six showers after writing it.

But the biggest problem of all was John Kerry's inability to energize voters. Most people thought that he won the three debates between him and Bush, but despite all of Bush's many, many, many faults, George W. Bush was really good at connecting with people on the campaign trail. He might have said some goofy things and usually made people think he was flat-out dumb, but he wasn't. Bush knew that people underestimated him and he weaponized that, and people forget that he was pretty solid at retail politics. Kerry was not even a little good at that part of campaigning, and it was obvious. When some Bush supporters "swiftboated" Kerry -- making an ultra-unfair and untrue campaign ad criticizing Kerry's military service during the Vietnam War -- it definitely hurt Kerry's campaign, and Kerry's communication shortcomings made it difficult to respond to such attacks.

This is just a quick overview because there's obviously a lot more that could be said about the 2004 election and Kerry's campaign, but the point is that he was the wrong guy at the wrong time and he lost a very winnable campaign.

And the crazy thing is that John Kerry still almost won in 2004! That's why it was such a missed opportunity. Bush won the Electoral College vote 286-251, and won the popular vote by just over 3 million votes nationally (still the only time a Republican has won the popular vote in a Presidential race in the 21st Century). If Kerry had won Ohio -- which Bush won by 2.1% in 2004, but Barack Obama won by 4.6% just four years later -- he would have defeated Bush and won the Presidency.

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seoksgrl · 9 months ago

Text

happier than ever, 5. : knj namjoon x reader friends to strangers to lovers

tws: alcoholism, depression, mention of attempted suicide

note: whoops in classic me fashion i accidentally took a 3 month from updating lol. well...here it is. sidenote, i did used to work in mental health, but my knowledge is a little fuzzy, so if anything is wrong or inaccurate, pls just ignore bc after all...this is just a fanfic :)

m.list prev | next

Namjoon doesn’t even think before he shrugs out of his jacket, Jooheon watching the water where you disappeared with wide eyes, lips parted in shock. It’s only when the splash and crackle of Namjoon’s boot on the ice fills the air alongside the two men’s harsh, panicked breaths that Jooheon even reacts.

“What - Namjoon you can’t go in there, let me call for an ambulance -”

Namjoon isn’t listening to his friend’s worries, his frame is heavier than your own, and the thin ice cracks under his weight before he even gets past the old pier. The frigid water takes his breath away, but he inhales a couple of deep breaths to try and keep his mind focused, to stop his body from going into shock too quick. He needs to get to you, needs to see you bob up through the choppy waves in the gap your body made through the ice.

His fist aches from where he smashes the ice, relieved at how thin it is all while his body shakes against the cold and the terror of that image locked in his mind, your tired, devastated face disappearing beneath the water. It’s a moment that will haunt him for the rest of his life, and he just hopes that’s the only image that does.

Jooheon is calling out his name on the bank in between talking to the emergency services on his cell phone, and Namjoon blocks him out, his haggard breaths forced from his tight through against the freezing lake that envelopes his body, soaks into his clothes and his bones. Once he gets close enough to where you went under, he sucks in a quick, deep breath and drops beneath the surface.

The cold, murky water of the lake burns his eyes as he fights against the automatic instinct to close them. He’s too focused on finding you to worry about whatever water parasites he might contract swimming around in this old, unkempt reservoir. His eyes squint against the darkness, various shapes and shadows under the water catch his attention as he swims deeper, long forgotten boats that had sunk long ago, or trash thrown in by people passing by. God knows this isn’t a tourist destination anymore, not that Namjoon remembers people coming to the lake when the two of you were young. It was always your safe place.

Now he wants nothing more than to get you both far away from here.

Through the misty, green water, Namjoon spots a shape that can only be you, and he prays silently to himself that this isn’t some cruel figment of his imagination. Your body drifts in the water, arms uplifted, legs bent slightly. You’re not fighting, and Namjoon screams your name beneath the water, but the sound dies in a flurry of bubbles. The taste of the lake chokes him as he rushes to you, feet kicking hard in his heavy winter boots. There’s a burst of movement as his fingers grip your arm, the soft material of your sweater sodden and heavy, his skin numb as he wraps his arm around your waist, glancing up to see the faint outline in the ice before he swims up, resurfacing with a gasp.

His eyes blink furiously, and he’s not sure if it's the lake or whether there are tears flowing down his cheeks, but his throat closes around your name, the sound escaping his lips in a ragged cry. His hands are useless, riddled with pins and needles, but he grips your cheeks anyway, shaking you, trying to do anything to wake you up. Blue and red lights beckon him from the bank, and he smashes through the ice blocking his previous path, dragging you ashore as the ambulance pulls up. His entire body shakes, and he can’t stop himself from attempting to revive you, needing to work quicker, hardly able to wait for the paramedics to get here before he’s pinching your nose, tugging your jaw open and sealing his lips over yours. He blows in a long gust of air, moving back to pump a couple times before hands are pulling him off of you.

“No! No - I have to - She needs to wake up -”

Jooheon grips his arms, pulling him back and out of the way from the paramedics, “Let them do their job, man. You need to warm up,”

Then there’s a woman surrounding him with a blanket, stepping in front of him and blocking his line of sight as he paramedics begin to pump at your chest, placing a mask over your face as one guy pumps the large, plastic apparatus. He can’t breathe, feeling as if he’s drowning along with you, and his legs give out while Jooheon follows him down to the floor, crowding him with arms that make him feel as if he’s suffocating.

“Please, please, please…” He mutters to himself, too quiet for anyone to hear. Hot tears run down his face now, and seconds turn into minutes as the paramedics continue trying to revive your cold, lifeless body.

It feels like years pass before your chest moves jaggedly, body bucking as you choke on the small amount of water in your lungs. The sound of your first hoarse breath is like music to Namjoon’s ears, and he falls back onto his ass on the soggy bank of the lake, his face in his hands as he sobs harder than he has ever in his life.

There’s soreness all over your body when you wake up, your eyes unable to open while your hazy, addled mind tries to catch up. There’s something in your throat, something around your mouth, and you begin to panic, your eyes springing open into the harsh white light as your legs thrash.

“Shh, we’ve got you, Y/N,” A soft, feminine voice, slightly muffled, comes from beside you, and your eyes roll to look up at them. Their face is blurry, half covered with a mask, and you realise quickly that you’re in a hospital room, “This is gonna be uncomfortable so just try to breathe through your nose for me,”

You try to do as the doctor says, but the instrument being slowly removed from your throat makes you gag repeatedly, eyes stinging with tears until it passes your lips. Your mouth feels dry, lips cracked and sore. There’s a familiar smell stuck in your nostrils, a natural, watery scent that mingles unpleasantly with the sterile aroma of the hospital.

“I -” You cough, swallowing hard as your bruised throat contracts, “I can’t afford this,”

The nurse looks down at you, eyes soft and full of pity, just as you hate. When they speak, your brows draw together, “The bill is covered, please try to rest,”

“But -”

The nurse doesn’t wait to hear your protests, instead leaving the room and walking out into the corridor. You look around the room, alone and confused at how you got here or what has happened in the last however many hours its been since you visited your mother’s grave at the cemetery. It’s only when you remember laying a cheap, plastic-wrapped bundle of flowers at her gravestone that you recall what your intentions had been; the lake, the ice, the wine you’d gulped at for courage, it all comes back to you in a wave of humiliation and dread.

That familiar, dark shadow raises it’s head once more in the form of a thirst for something you know damn well you can’t get at a hospital, and so you look around and down at your form, eyes snagging on the tube that’s been inserted into your arm. It’s still a little sore, as is the rest of your body, especially your chest. There are a few long, heavy minutes where you contemplate pulling the foreign object out of your arm when you feel the presence of someone enter the room.

“You’re awake,” Namjoon says, and your eyes close on impact, like the sound of it hurts. And it does, especially when you’re mostly sober. That’s why you need to numb it all, and why you need to get out of here.

“I have to go,” You say, your hand reaching for the tube and tugging. It hurts, and you wince, but carry on until a pair of warm hands cover your hand, stopping your movements.

“Y/N, please don’t do that,”

“Get off me,” You say, voice failing to hold the anger you feel towards the man before you. The feeling of his skin touching yours is almost painful, and to get away from his touch, you rip your hands out from under his, aborting your plan to pull out the tube, “I don’t want to be here. I want to go home,”

“You can’t go home yet,” Namjoon says, still standing close to your bed. You feel trapped, suffocated and completely unable to look at him, so instead you pick at a stray thread on the blanket, “they’ve arranged for someone to come and talk to you,”

This is where you look up at him, your eyes lifting to greet Namjoon’s face, concern etched into his features. It leaves you breathless and pissed off all at once, “What do you mean? I don’t need to talk to anyone,”

“Y/N,” He sighs, looking exasperated, the bags under his eyes out of place when you’re so used to seeing him upbeat, friendly, “you tried to drown yourself,”

There’s something strange in hearing the words come from Namjoon’s lips, even when it’s the truth. You had intended to do that, and you’d wanted to succeed, too. But for some reason it makes you feel embarrassed and caught out when he points out the fact.

There’s a long moment of silence between the two of you, and you can feel Namjoon’s eyes on your face, his hands still brushing the blanket where your arm had been. It’s too much, you feel naked under his watchful eye, and it’s almost as if you’re a child being chastised.

“I know you’re mad at me,” He says, voice quiet and pleading, “and I am too. I’m pissed off at myself for letting this much time get between us. I should’ve been here,”

“I don’t need anyone to look after me,” Is your reply, even when your throat tightens upon hearing the softness in his voice. Your body is simply reacting to the words you wanted to hear for years, the moment you imagined might happen five or seven years after the two of you stopped talking. But it’s been twelve years, and you’re incapable of feeling anything anymore.

Maybe if Namjoon had reached out a year or two ago, you wouldn’t feel this way, but it hurts more to think about forgiving him than it does to keep being mad, and so you do that.

“I think you’re wrong,” Namjoon replies, and it’s not at all what you expect him to say, or what you imagine most people would say in reply to you claiming your independence. Your eyes fly up to meet his and his head is tilted inquisitively, as if he’s waiting for something.

“Excuse me?”

He clears his throat, looking away when you meet his line of sight head on, “I don’t think you can always look after yourself. I think you need someone to look out for you, and for the last year, or maybe longer, you haven’t had that,” he swallows, and you wonder if he is nervous, “you’ve been alone. And that’s partly my fault,”

Even as you frown at the side of his face, you have a sense that he may be right. Maybe this last year would have been easier if he had been around, or if Seokjin hadn’t fucked your best friend during your bachelorette party, or if you had any friends left in Yeocho. After you began drinking heavily, people didn’t want to be around you, and it’s safe to say you burnt some bridges with your actions and some of the shit you said. But you’ve gotten so used to people leaving, to being alone, that the idea of letting someone in, or back in, makes you feel itchy all over. It makes you feel vulnerable in ways you haven’t had to in so long.

Namjoon turns back to look at you, then, possibly wondering why you haven’t replied. His lips part, as if he wants to say more, but someone else steps into the room, a doctor in a long, white coat followed by another person in a shirt and tie.

“Miss Y/N, I’m pleased to see you’re awake,” The doctor says, his eyes darting between you and Namjoon. He smiles warmly at you both, and for a second it actually feels nice for someone to view you with something other than pity or second hand embarrassment, “My name is Doctor Chen, this is my colleague, Doctor Ryu. We’d just like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind,”

Licking your lips, you sit up, pushing against the mattress and lifting your weakened, bruised body until you’re sitting, “I don’t believe I have a choice,”

Namjoon sighs your name, and you almost turn to him before Dr Ryu steps forward, his demeanour open and relaxed, “I understand that this probably feels overwhelming, but we truly just want to have a chat for the moment. Is that okay?”

Despite everything, your eyes find Namjoon’s, his brows lifted as he looks down at you with tired eyes, but for a moment his lips twitch into a smile, oddly comforting despite your anger with his presence.

“Fine,” You say, turning back to Dr Ryu and Dr Chen, “but I’d like to be alone,”

Namjoon nods like he was expecting the dismissal, and smiles at the two doctors before looking back at you, “I’ll go get some coffee and leave you to it,”

There’s a long moment of silence where you watch the doorway, eyes lingering on where Namjoon walked out into the hall for some inexplicable reason, and you find yourself turning away and letting your eyes land on the two doctors in front of you. Their soft smiles and penetrating stares leave you feeling naked, exposed like a raw nerve as they wait for you to talk first.

“So, what exactly do I need to say to you in order to get out of here?”

Dr Ryu is the first to react, his lips lifting a little as if this isn’t the first time he’s heard those words. Dr Chen looks marginally more uncomfortable, adjusting his watch absentmindedly. He allows Dr Ryu to answer, and you realise that of the two, he must be the psychiatrist.

“I’m sure you are aware of the gravity of your situation, Y/N. We don’t have to sugar coat it for you,” His voice is calm and cool like an early morning by the lake, and the fact that this is the first thing you think of almost has a bubble of hysterical laughter crawling up your throat. Irony at it’s finest, you suppose. “What happened at the lake was a suicide attempt, and in order for us to make sure you have the help you need, there will have to be several assessments done before we can discharge you,”

When the first few visions of your plan first came into focus, you were so sure you’d thought of everything. Seokjin didn’t need you, there were no pets to look after or give away, no job to call in sick to. All you had to do was die.

It never ever occurred to you what might happen if it didn’t work. If someone saved you. But perhaps a part of you should have been prepared for this; the worried glances, the questions, the soft, pleading stares from two men in white coats.

When you don’t answer, Dr Ryu is the first to break the silence once again, his posture relaxed as he leans back to look at you, “When was the first time you had these suicidal thoughts, Y/N? Can you tell me a little about what life has been like the last few years?”

The memories come unbidden, sober thoughts flashing behind your eyelids like the harsh rays of sunlight when someone rips the curtains away from the window to wake you up. Your sober mind can’t shake them off, can’t let them fade away, so instead you’re punished with them, haunted by the memories of finding Seokjin and Yeji after your bachelorette party, repo men carrying out your computer from the studio.

Your mother’s pale, gaunt face turned towards you as she lay dying.

Your eyes screw shut against the glare of years worth of pain, and you swallow it all down like a bitter pill, “I don’t want to do this,”

Dr Ryu doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to calm you or change the subject. Instead he leaves you to feel your feelings, to let your mind circle through the memories as you unwittingly pinpoint exactly where your life turned to shit.

“I was engaged,” You say, the words forced out of you in a shattering exhale, “and then I wasn’t. I owned an art studio, and then I didn’t. My mother was alive, and now she’s -” It’s hard to say the word, despite the fact you’ve said it countless times in drunken rambles to old school friends at the bar, even to Namjoon when he showed up in your kitchen that morning. But it feels so much harsher to say it when sober, and you stutter, frightened as if saying it makes it all the more final. “She’s dead,”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Y/N,” Ryu says, his face is soft, sincere, and you have to look away with a nod, “Is this when you began to drink?”

There’s a bolt of shame that races over your skin when he says those words, even without the accusatory tone it still feels as if you’re being judged. When you first started drinking, it was just an excuse to blow off steam, to ignore what you were feeling day to day. But then it snowballed, until it felt as if you couldn’t go a day without having a drink.

A drink became a bottle, and a bottle became two bottles. So on and so forth.

“I partied a little when the studio got repossessed. But after my mom died I…” You shrug, unsure if you can even explain your actions for the last year or so adequately, “It helps,”

Dr Chen takes over for a little while, going over the logistics, how much exactly you have on a daily basis. Then he explains the dangers you pose, the damage you could do - have already done - if you were to carry on this way.

“You’re still young, and thankfully the damage we’ve seen so far is reversible, but that would require total sobriety,” Dr Chen says, serious and stern, “We can prescribe some medication to help with the withdrawal symptoms, but these are to be closely monitored by your physician, and it would help to have someone at home to make sure you have a support system in place. Is there anyone you know who would be willing to stay with you? Or vice versa?”

“I…” It’s a lot of information to process, and you find yourself momentarily overwhelmed, those dark thoughts creeping in once more and reminding you how easy it would be if you were left at the bottom of that lake.

“Y/N,” Dr Ryu says, “we want to work with you, to get you healthy both physically and mentally. Now, I know this may be difficult to hear, but if we feel you do not have a support system in place to help you through this process, it may be best if you were to enter a rehab facility. There you would have access to psychiatrists like myself, along with doctors specifically trained in drug and alcohol abuse,”

“What’s the alternative?” You ask, “I want to go home, is there any way I can go home?”

Dr Ryu offers you a gentle smile, a hand landing atop yours, “Do you have someone back at home, Y/N?”

It's at that moment that you hear footsteps approaching the door, and you turn just in time to see Namjoon standing at the threshold, a cup of steaming coffee in his hand as he glances between you and the two doctors with parted lips.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,”

The thought pops into your head like a faulty lightbulb.

It’s hardly true, and you can always find a way out of it eventually, but you turn back to Dr Ryu and open your mouth anyway, the lie spilling past your lips before you can stop it.

Four days, and dozens of assessments later, you’re signing discharge papers and leaving beside Namjoon, his gaze steady and warm, mistakenly believing that you’ve forgiven him. That you’ll lean on him for support.

Little does he know, you just needed a ticket out of this clinical hell, and he was the first person you laid eyes on.

taglist: @maryseesthings @rkivesfilm @btsffreader92 @creolesoul2seoul @kissme-ornot @wecanpretendit

#namjoon angst #namjoon smut #namjoon fluff #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #namjoon x reader #namjoon x you #namjoon fic #namjoon scenario #purplearmynet

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girlactionfigure · 6 months ago

Text

⚠️ SATURDAY after Shabbat - ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting to Israel in Realtime

( after Shabbat summary report #3 )

📌 HEZBOLLAH ROCKET ATTACK kills 11+ children, ages 10-20, critically and seriously injured: 34+ mostly children, in Majdal Shams - north Golan Druze city.

.. IDF Spox: "All the murdered are children. (Number increased to 11) According to the investigation, it was a single rocket that was launched and the warning was too short.”

.. Among the dead are four brothers from the same family.

.. (Really?) The UN Force in Lebanon UNIFIL: "We are in contact with the authorities in Lebanon and Israel regarding the incident in Majdal Shams, in an effort to keep the peace.”

🔹DRUZE STATEMENT.. The head of the Druze community, Sheikh Mwapak Trif (sorry if error in name translation): "We are in great shock at the terrible massacre in this brutal terror attack. A functional country cannot allow continued harm to its citizens. It crosses every possible red and black line.”

🔹ARAB MEDIA.. Lebanese media emphasize that in Israel there is "significant incitement" among senior Israeli officials regarding a powerful response against Hezbollah in Lebanon.

🔹PM.. to depart US basically as quick as can be organized with the delegation, within a few hours.

🔹LEBANESE DRUZE demand an investigation.. Wiam Vahab, the Druze-Lebanese politician who is considered close to Hezbollah, tweeted incisively: "Our blood is not cheap, we demand an independent investigation. There are 200,000 Druze in Lebanon.

🔹US SAYS.. American officials to Israeli media: The Biden administration is very concerned that what happened in Majdal Shams in the Golan will lead to an all-out war between Israel and Hezbollah.

▪️PROTESTS - ANTI-GOVT.. large Tel Aviv Kaplan protest - “elections now, free the hostages now”. Large but smaller than previous weeks.

🩸BLOOD DONATION REQUEST.. MDA says over 100 units of blood used for injured in the attack, calls for blood donations. Here’s where (change the date to tomorrow) -> https://www.mdais.org/blood-donation

♦️Report in Lebanon IDF Air Force began an intense wave of flights over Beirut, Sidon, Tripoli. (???)

♦️IDF AIRSTRIKE on Shabbat in Balata, Shechem, Samaria. Terror cell hit, commander killed. During further battles, 2 terrorists eliminated, 21 wounded.

⭕ JENIN.. Shooting by terrorists at the Al-Jalama checkpoint, north of the city of Jenin, on Shabbat day. Then shooting at Israeli town of Shaker, across the green line.

🔅EMERGENCY PREP - THE BASICS

🔅via ISRAEL REALTIME - Connecting the World to Israel in Realtime

A number of people responded to a few scary-ish articles “well what am I supposed to do?”

Basic preparation:

.. Drinking water. Buy some bottled water, 9 liters per person.

.. Washing / flushing water. Have a few buckets or a bunch of used water bottles, to wash or flush with - fill buckets when emergency starts.

.. Medicine. If you take chronic medicine (every day), take the 3 month supply from your Kupah.

.. Money. Have cash on hand in case ATM’s and credit cards aren’t working.

.. Food. Canned, dry, etc, supplies on hand for a week. Baby food? Formula? Special nutrition? Pet food?

.. Light. Flash lights, candles.

.. Shelter. Make sure it is ready.

More here -> Supplies and Equipment for Emergencies. https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15903-en/pakar.aspx

❗️EMERGENCY PLANNING

Links to prepare for greater conflict. Note many of the links work on in Israel, to view from outside use a VPN (special app or program that lets you appear somewhere else on the internet).

.. Preparing your home for an emergency. https://www.oref.org.il/12490-15902-en/Pakar.aspx

.. Help Prep your Neighborhood and Family Elderly. https://www.oref.org.il/12550-20999-en/pakar.aspx

.. Know the Emergency numbers:

Police 100 emergency, 110 non-urgent situation

Ambulance 101

Medics 1221

Fire 102

Electric Company 103

Home Front Command 104

City Hotline 106

Senior Citizen Hotline *8840

Social Services Hotline 118

Cyber (hack) Hotline 119

🔸 MENTAL HEALTH HOTLINES, in case you are freaking out:

.. in English : Tikva Helpline by KeepOlim, call if you are struggling! 074-775-1433.

.. in Hebrew : Eran Emotional Support Line - 1201 or chat via eran.org.il

#Israel #Lebanon #Majdal Shams #Druze #Hezbollah #ISRAEL REALTIME

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birthfan · 2 years ago

Note

Your 3 weeks over due with twins. Your absolutely massive with babies you can’t hardly walk but when you do you have the best/ biggest waddle ever. You work for the best real-estate companies around and your the #1 Realtor at the company. On a Saturday you get a phone call from your boss begging you to work an open house because the others can get it sold even though your on leave already. You agree but are very disgruntled but you slip into a loose sundress (only thing that fits) put on your heals and go to the house open it up and start letting customers in. ****As expected the open house brings dozens and dozens of shoppers *****

"hmmm of course everyone would hnnng decide to come today" I mumbled to myself as the potential buyers kept coming in, it was to be expected on a Saturday. "mmmnn it's almost like she wants me to pop out hnnng this baby in front of them" I thought to myself; my boss had called me up that morning offering triple my month's salary for working on this open house, apparently no one else was available but the overdue woman who was going to be induced the next day, whatever, I needed the money for the hospital expenses.

"excuse me miss, about the second floor.." a customer approached making me put on my customer service smile as I held my contracting belly, I'd been having contractions all day and they were starting to get closer and stronger, but I tried my best to keep a straight face, if it all went well I could just drive to the hospital once everyone left.

"well it's better if I show you" I said leading the customer towards the stairs, every step made me want to push, the baby felt so low and heavy and the pressure was unbearable; we finally reached the top of the stairs.

"huuu as you can hmmm see th-the s-second floor ba-haa-bathroom is..." I tried my best to best to describe the house as the contractions were now on top of each other making me pant and wince as I talked.

"Ma'am I'm sorry are you alright?" The customer asked worriedly "ooh d-don't you worry about me, I'm fi-" I was unfortunately interrupted by a loud splash as fluids gushed of my womanhood soaking the carpet beneath my feet.

I squatted deeply as I could feel the baby's head passing through my cervix causing me to push "hnnnnnng haaaa" the customer freaked out and yelled "OH MY GOD!" Catching the attention of everyone in the house.

My face turned a deep red as I turned towards the stairs to see that almost everyone had flocked at their base where they could see my soaked panties under the skirt of my sundress.

I pushed again feeling my lips bulge under the now almost see-through panties "hmmggaaah" I groaned as I slowly stood back up and asked the customer that I had accompanied "huuu c-could you lower m-my underwear haaa?"

They blushed deeply as they lowered themselves in front of me, went under my dress and lowered my drenched panties down to my ankles "th-thank you" I pant out before I hear someone say "Call an ambulance!!!".

Another customer went up the stairs "I think it's best if we get you down miss" he said as he reached me and the other customer "Y-yeah th-that seems like a good idea" I wrapped my arms around both of their shoulders as they helped me down.

Every step was torture as the movement of my legs caused the baby's head to slowly open me up, by the time we reached the bottom of the stairs another contraction hit me "mmmmmmnnnnnggggggghh" I grunted as the baby almost crowns.

"quick get her to the couch!" a customer yelled as my two helpers lead me to the expository couch. As I sat one of the customers opened my legs up and made me put my feet on the coffe table.

"She almost to a full crown I don't think the ambulance will make it in time" she said with a soothing calmness in her voice "alright hun listen to me, the next push is going to hurt like hell, but I need you to keep going until you can, okay?" She said.

I nodded as I tried not to think at all the people watching me in this sorry state. I felt a powerful contraction and began pushing "hnnnnnnnn" "alright good keep going" "nnnnnhhhhhaaaaaaa" "the head is at a full crown, keep pushing" "aaaahhhmmmmmmnnnnggg" I moaned as my pussy felt like it would split apart in front of everyone as I pushed.

"gggggggAAAAAH" "alright nice job miss,the head is halfway out, with the next push it should come out no problem" the woman said smiling softly at me as she lead my hand towards the top of my baby's head to feel it.

As my fingers felt my baby's hair and wet head I could feel myself begginning to cry from joy "oh my god that's my baby" I said tears streaming down my face.

The woman smiled "yes it is and in a minute you'll finally be able to hold them in your arms" she said, her fingers helping my lips stretch, as my body prepared fr another contraction.

As soon as it hit I pushed "hmmmmggaah" I grunted as the head popped out spraying fluids on the couch "amazing hun, let me just check for a cord" she said, all the other customers looking amazed at the head dangling in-between my legs.

"hmmm quick I gotta push" I whimper as the woman checks my baby's neck "alright you're good to know, push to your heart's content" as soon as I heard those words I pushed as hard I could, feeling the shoulders stretch my vagina again as they slowly came out, with my baby sliding out of me into the woman's hands.

"haaa haaa haaa" I panted, my body exhausted from having to birth my child. The woman handed my crying baby to me "it's a boy, how do you want to call him?" She asked as I began nursing my baby as the remaining fluids still leaked out of my sore womanhood.

I look at the woman and ask "what's your name?" She looks puzzled "huh Jessica" she answers, I smile to her and answer "then I'll call him Jesse"

#birth kink #giving birth #birth #fpreg #i wish that were me #lovely anon #public birth #sorry if this is a little rough #got hit with sudden inspiration and wrote it in one sitting lol #any constructive criticism is appreciated

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digenerate-trash · 4 months ago

Note

May I pretty please get some yandere Sam stuff? I love your stuff and I love a man who can cook, I wish there was a way to at least get to know Sam a little bit in the games but there isn't much.

What I wouldn't do for the bakery man.

TW customer service | TW abusive customers

AMAB Sam | GN PC

"Still cleaning up?" Sam says as he puts the last of the menus away in the cupboard. You wipe down the counters giving Sam a nod Meticulous in your work.

"There's still some cake left if you want it.-" he adds as he flips the sign on the door so it reads "closed"

It's a kind offer but you know you can't stay. You can't keep staying late when you have shit to do as much as you like Sam you can't risk falling behind on rent or anything else...

"I can't..." you mumble as you Finnish up your cleaning. Sam counts the bills in the cash register before stuffing your share into an envelope and placing it on the counter.

"... I know things are tough for you right now... but I can give you more hours." Sam offers but you shake your head. Your life is perfectly balanced. Stressful... but balanced.

"... please... at least consider changing your mind?" Sam asks. You slip the envelope off the counter and count the bills inside. "Maybe.." it's a half-hearted response. And Sam knows it. But there's still hope at least.

As you leave you can feel him watching you. Like a sad dog at the window, you ignore him so as not to let his eyes draw you back in.

Work is more awkward now. You and Sam working in silence. Cleaning waiting tables attending to customers and brewing coffee. You know Sam is there for you.. and you feel bad for turning him down so often.

He never stops offering you extra breaks. Free coffee or even the leftover baked goods. You feel bad for taking them but the breaks are good for a quick nap, and the other orphans don't get treats very often. Sam seems happy too even if you refuse all his other charity.

Today is particularly rough though. You're pretty sure not even a nap and coffee will get you through the shift as you drag your body from table to table. You have to ask customers to repeat their orders, you've gotten several things wrong, and it's not even halfway through the shift.

You place an order on the table and the customer grabs your arm yanking you down to his level. "Does this look like a coffee to you?!" He shouts. And notably. The cream bun you've placed down isn't coffee...

"...no..." tears well up in your eyes as you're forced to confront your mistake in the most vile manner.

The customer grips your arm tighter as he continues to yell. "Then why don't you get your ass back to the fucking kitchen and get me what I ordered?!"

He lets go finally and you dust your apron off. You've been through everything in this shitty town. And here you are trying to make an honest living. To get out of debt so your shitty caretaker can get off your back so you can finally move out and ditch this place. You've been through hell and back and back and how dare this asshole grab you and demand anything-

"Out!" Sam's voice cuts through the silence of the Cafe. "Get out. You can't talk to my staff like that"

Sam comes over to the table and steps between you and the customer. The man tries to say something else but Sam holds his hand up. "One more word and I call the cops. Anything after that I call an ambulance."

The customer just glares before he gets up from the table. He tosses the cream bun to the floor before storming out.

Sam sighs noting how childish the exchange was before he leads you to the kitchen. You sat down with a dessert and a coffee before Sam went to clean up and work through the rest of his shift.

You're still in shock by the time Sam comes back for his break. He takes a seat beside you. Quiet and gentle as always. "Feeling better?" He asks. You nod a bit. Sam seems to let out a sigh of relief. It's a long drawl of silence before Sam speaks again "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you"

#sam the cafe owner #dol #littraly no one writes about my bakery man.#afraid of his power i asume.#yandere x reader #yan dol #tw customer service #tw abusive customers

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fruitless-vain · 3 months ago

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There’s a black lab SDIT on my bus home, and he has a sign on him saying “I’m in training! Ignore me!” Of course, I instinctually go with “read the sign on the dog to see what I’m meant to do with the dog”, so it’s a bit too late to ignore dog. I’ve taken to nodding at the handler as I walk past, but I wanted to ask you since you’ve talked about wanting people to ignore dog better. Is this a good approach, or is there something else I should be doing? I cannot train myself out of “read sign on dog” being my immediate response, so anything before or after that part can be tweaked but I know from experience that that one can’t.

Every handler will be different on what their preferences are so this is just really my personal preference here, for me the signs are on a dog To Be Read so definitely don’t feel like your quick glances to read are in any way an issue. The sole purpose of the words on the dog is to communicate to the public, to tell people how they want to be engaged with as well as important warnings or medical details like - I faint, don’t call an ambulance, allow some extra room for us, or hey there’s emergency medications in this pocket

As a service dog handler it’s expected that people will look at the dog, even if you’re out on a random walk outside and see a pet dog you’re going to get excited and go “oh my gosh look! It’s a cute puppy dog” and share the joy of seeing a cute dog with the people you’re with.

Quick glances, reading the vest, honestly even hearing people talk to eachother like “did you see that SD? It’s so cute!” Doesn’t bother me or impede my dogs ability to work. And that’s really the key thing here, as long as you aren’t impeding the dogs ability to focus on their task, or overstepping personal boundaries// basic respect we’re not going to be upset with you!

I almost prefer when people acknowledge that they’ve seen Yoshi in one way or another because it tells me they know to watch where they’re stepping. Even for larger breeds it’s so common for their tails to get run over because people aren’t accustomed to watching where they step inside stores. If I see someone glance at her and smile I know they’ve seen her and are now more aware of their body to not step on her. Doesn’t impede Yoshi’s ability to work, lets me know you know she’s there.

When we have signs like “ignore” or the icons of “no touch no talk no eye contact” it really breaks down to just “be respectful, don’t deliberately distract me”.

No touch- don’t actively reach for me, pet me, grab me, or attempt to move me.

If you walk by and accidentally graze the side of your leg against her it’s not a big deal, if your shopping bag accidentally taps her it’s not a big deal. They’re not purposeful actions, they’re not trying to get my dogs attention

No talk- don��t bark at me, don’t make kissy noises at me, don’t try to call me, don’t speak directly to me

If you almost step on her and briefly go “oh sorry!” Towards Yoshi it’s not a problem, your goal is to rectify an accident not to catch her attention. It’s also typically an instinctual response, you’re not cognitively going “oh hello service dog I nearly stepped on I must get down to your level and speak to you about my misdeeds”. That brief response of “sorry!” Isn’t going to distract a working dog and I won’t be mad at it. If you see her and choose to talk to me to compliment her, that’s also fine! You can totally spot her and then tell Me that she’s cute or you think her training is doing well! (Happens all the time and usually makes my day) You Can discuss her Existence just the same as you can tell someone you love their shirt or the paint colour on their wheelchair. Just talk to me about it, don’t talk to her. Again the focus here is, don’t make it hard for her to do her job. You talking to me about her doesn’t make her job harder, Talking directly to her in baby talking tones aimed to capture her attention does.

No eye contact- don’t stare at me.

Quick glances and vest reading are totally fine! Again the vest is there to be read, spotting a cute dog and smiling bc they heckin cute isn’t distracting or rude. Following me down aisles to watch her, standing a foot away from me with your eyes bugged out, gawking and pointing like we’re a circus act here for your entertainment is rude as hell. I will not be enthused. (Yes all those things have happened)

And also, a child pointing going “look a puppy!” Is a valid reaction for a child to have, a parent stopping with their kid to watch and take the opportunity to explain what a working dog is isn’t an issue, it isn’t rude, and it doesn’t overstep boundaries. They’re kids, they don’t know, and id much rather hear someone take the time to educate in that moment over the “oh god don’t point at the disabled, kid Ruuuuuuuun”.

What isn’t appropriate is when the Parent grabs their kids attention and the parent stops and points and says “look at the puppy!”. Going out of your way to draw attention to us, modelling piss poor ways to act around a working dog and generally just rude as hell. Imagine spotting someone with a limb difference, grabbing your kid, pointing, and going “look kid they’ve got no arm!!!!!!!” Like? Rude as fuck. Similar concept.

Tldr: you can read the vest, you can smile when you see a cute puppy, you can tell the *handler* their dog is doing a great job! Just try to avoid going out of your way to catch that dogs attention. If you’re not sure you can ask what their preference is

We’re all just people trying to get through our day, you treat us with respect and we’ll respond with the same

#Yoshi #working

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