#preparing for some labour-intensive note taking

[literaryvein-reblogs]

do you have any resources on writing about pregnancy? thanks!

Writing Notes: Pregnancy

No two pregnancies are the same.

Some women have few or mild symptoms during pregnancy.

Many women work their full term and travel while they are pregnant.

Others may have to cut back on their hours or stop working.

Some women require bed rest for a few days or possibly weeks to continue with a healthy pregnancy.

A pregnancy is divided into 3 stages.

These are called trimesters.

Each trimester has its own major milestones.

The first trimester is the most fragile period.

It's when all major organs and systems are formed.

Most birth defects and miscarriages happen during the first trimester.

In the second and third trimester, the fetus is fully formed and grows and matures rapidly.

The trimesters are divided as follows:

First trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

Second trimester is 13 to 28 weeks.

Third trimester is 29 to 40 weeks.

Some experts use the 42-weeks method divided by 3 trimesters:

The first trimester is 0 to 12 weeks.

The second trimester is 13 to 27 weeks.

The third trimester is 28 to 42 weeks.

Early Signs & Symptoms of Pregnancy

The earliest sign of pregnancy is a missed period for women who have a regular monthly menstrual cycle.

Sometimes, implantation bleeding can occur. This is a bleed very similar to a light period or spotting. Though this is completely normal, you should check with your health-care provider if you experience any bleeding during your pregnancy.

You may also begin experiencing a handful of the symptoms below early on in your pregnancy such as fatigue, nausea or more frequent urination.

Common Pregnancy Symptoms

Morning sickness (nausea or vomiting)

Breast tenderness

Extreme changes in mood

Backaches, leg pain, and other aches and pains

Fatigue

Weight gain or loss

Headaches

Problems sleeping

Problems with urination

Skin and hair changes

Vaginal bleeding in early pregnancy

Vaginal discharge

Constipation

Heartburn

Nosebleeds and bleeding gums

Swelling, varicose veins, and hemorrhoids

Breathing problems

Lower back and pelvic pain

Foot and ankle swelling

Food cravings or food aversions (some foods taste awful)

Read details of these symptoms here.

Second Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your second trimester include:

Carpal tunnel syndrome — numbness, tingling or weakness in your hand

A line on your skin running from your belly button to your pubic hairline

Patches of darker skin on your face

Lower back and pelvic pain

Darkening areola

Stretch marks along your breasts, abdomen, buttocks and thighs

Third Trimester. While no two pregnancies are the same, some symptoms you may experience during your third trimester include:

Acid reflux (heartburn)

Haemorrhoids

Shortness of breath

Breast tenderness

Protruding belly button

Difficulty sleeping

Swelling in your fingers, face and ankles

Braxton Hicks (false contractions). During your third trimester, you will also experience contractions, which can be a sign of real or false labour. “False labour” pains are called Braxton Hicks and are your body’s way of preparing you for actual labour. They may feel similar to menstrual cramps or a tightening in the abdomen.

There is no medical treatment for Braxton Hicks, but there are some things you can due to ease discomfort, including:

Drinking water

Changing your position (if you are lying down, try going for a walk, and vice versa)

Relaxing by taking a nap, reading a book or listening to calming music

If these do not lessen the pain and if you notice your contractions becoming more frequent or intense, contact your health-care provider.

Multiple Pregnancy

A multiple pregnancy is a pregnancy with 2 or more babies. Some names for these are:

Twins for 2 babies

Triplets for 3 babies

Quadruplets for 4 babies

Quintuplets for 5 babies

Sextuplets for 6 babies

Septuplets for 7 babies

Multiples make up only about 3 in 100 births, but the multiple birth rate is rising. According to the National Center for Health Statistics, the twin birth rate has risen 70% since 1980. It is now 32.6 per 1,000 live births. The birth rate for triplets and other higher-order multiples rose dramatically. But it has slowed since 1998.

Symptoms of Multiple Pregnancy. Women who are pregnant with multiples may have more severe morning sickness or breast tenderness than women who are pregnant with a single fetus. They also may gain weight more quickly. Most multiple pregnancies are discovered during an ultrasound exam.

Common Complication. The most common complication of multiple pregnancy is preterm birth. More than one half of all twins are born preterm. Triplets and more are almost always born preterm.

Preterm: Less than 37 weeks of pregnancy.

Each woman may have slightly different symptoms. But the most common symptoms of multiple pregnancy are:

Uterus is larger than expected for the dates in pregnancy

More morning sickness

Greater appetite

Too much weight gain, especially in early pregnancy

Babies' movements felt in different parts of the stomach at the same time

Going into Labour

Most women give birth between 38 and 41 weeks of pregnancy, but there is no way to know the exact moment you will go into labour.

When labour begins, the cervix dilates and the muscles of the uterus begin to contract at regular intervals and will get closer together over time.

Contractions will feel similar to menstrual cramps, but more intense.

As your uterus contracts, you may feel pain in your back or pelvis and your abdomen will become hard.

When your uterus relaxes, your abdomen will become soft again.

In addition to contractions, some other signs that labour is beginning include:

Lightening (the sensation that the fetus has dropped lower)

Loss of the mucus plug (you will notice an increase in clear or pink discharge)

Water breaking (rupture of membranes)

It is important to note that you might not notice some of these changes before labour begins. If you think you are in labour, contact your health-care provider.

Possible Pregnancy Complications

Common complications include:

Diabetes during pregnancy (gestational diabetes)

High blood pressure during pregnancy (preeclampsia)

Premature or preterm changes in the cervix

Problems with the placenta. It may cover the cervix, pull away from the womb, or not work as well as it should

Vaginal bleeding

Early labor

Your baby is not growing well

Your baby has medical problems

It can be scary to think about possible problems. But it is important to be aware so you can tell your provider if you notice unusual symptoms.

Foods to Avoid During Pregnancy

Unpasteurized milk and foods made with unpasteurized milk (soft cheeses, including feta, queso blanco and fresco, Camembert, brie or blue-veined cheeses—unless labeled “made with pasteurized milk")

Hot dogs and luncheon meats (unless they are heated until steaming hot before serving)

Raw and undercooked seafood, eggs and meat. Do not eat sushi made with raw fish (cooked sushi is safe).

Refrigerated pâté and meat spreads

Refrigerated smoked seafood

Guidelines for Safe Food Handling

Follow these general food safety guidelines when handling and cooking food:

Wash. Rinse all raw produce thoroughly under running tap water before eating, cutting or cooking.

Clean. Wash your hands, knives, countertops and cutting boards after handling and preparing uncooked foods.

Cook. Cook beef, pork or poultry to a safe internal temperature verified by a food thermometer.

Chill. Promptly refrigerate all perishable food.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 Pregnancy Slideshow ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

You can find more information I wasn't able to include here in the links above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[bandhearthmoving]

Digging Deeper: The Benefits of Professional Earthmoving Services

In the realm of construction and land development, the importance of earthmoving services cannot be overstated. Whether you're embarking on a residential project, commercial development, or landscaping endeavour, the process of moving the earth efficiently and effectively is crucial.

While some may attempt to tackle earthmoving tasks on their own, there are significant advantages to enlisting the expertise of professional earthmoving Adelaideservices. Let's delve into the reasons why opting for professional assistance can make all the difference in your project's success.

Precision and Expertise

When it comes to earthmoving, precision is paramount. Professional earthmoving services bring a wealth of expertise to the table, honed through years of experience in the field. These professionals are adept at operating heavy machinery with finesse, ensuring that excavation, grading, and levelling are executed with precision.

By entrusting your earthmoving needs to experts, you can rest assured that the job will be done accurately and efficiently.

State-of-the-Art Equipment

One of the primary advantages of hiring professional earthmoving services is gaining access to state-of-the-art equipment. From bulldozers and excavators to graders and dump trucks, these companies invest in high-quality machinery designed for optimal performance.

Such equipment not only enhances efficiency but also enables the completion of earthmoving tasks safely and swiftly. With the right tools at their disposal, earthmoving professionals can tackle projects of varying scales and complexities with ease.

Time and Cost Savings

Attempting earthmoving tasks without the assistance of professionals can quickly become a time-consuming and costly endeavour. From renting equipment to labour-intensive manual labour, the expenses can add up. Conversely, opting for professional earthmoving Adelaide services can result in significant time and cost savings.

These professionals work swiftly and efficiently, completing projects in a fraction of the time it would take amateurs. Moreover, their expertise minimises the risk of costly errors, ultimately saving you money in the long run.

Safety and Compliance

Safety should always be a top priority on any construction site or earthmoving project. Professional earthmoving services adhere to strict safety protocols and regulations, prioritising the well-being of their crew and clients. These professionals are trained in proper operating procedures and safety measures, reducing the risk of accidents or injuries.

Additionally, reputable earthmoving companies ensure compliance with environmental regulations, mitigating any potential impact on the surrounding ecosystem.

Versatility and Adaptability

No two earthmoving projects are exactly alike, and professional earthmoving services understand the importance of versatility and adaptability. Whether you're excavating a foundation, clearing land, or creating drainage systems, these professionals possess the skills and knowledge to tackle a diverse range of tasks.

From residential developments to commercial projects, they can tailor their services to meet your specific needs and requirements, ensuring optimal results every time.

Enhanced Project Efficiency

At the heart of every successful construction project lies efficiency, and professional earthmoving services are adept at maximising efficiency every step of the way.

By streamlining earthmoving processes and employing strategic planning, these professionals optimise project timelines and workflows. From initial site preparation to final grading and landscaping, their systematic approach ensures that every aspect of the project is executed with precision and efficiency.

Ending Notes

The benefits of professional earthmoving Adelaide are clear and compelling. From precision and expertise to time and cost savings, these professionals play a pivotal role in the success of construction projects, large and small.

By enlisting the assistance of experienced earthmoving professionals, you can ensure that your project is completed safely, efficiently, and to the highest standards of quality. So, the next time you find yourself in need of earthmoving assistance, don't hesitate to reach out to the experts.

[lemonsqueezedwhump]

sick prince at sea

{notes: im back! and with a sickfic with my boi's! sorry for being gone for so long! my reqs are open! and im gonna try to write some oc storys and some ones with no names} Pairing -poly pirates {mintaka x Morrígan x atlas} Summary - Mintaka, a young man, is boarding a ship with Atlas and Morrígan, who are worried about his safety. They offer to help him recover from his exhaustion and take care of him.-

Wordcount - 1036

"I don't need to be babied," Mintaka said. Minaka had just come back from a small quest, which he insisted on doing himself. Atlas and Morrígan didn't want Minaka to go alone, but he insisted.

Morrígan was bridal-carrying Minaka down the stairs to their room on the lower deck, her worry evident in her eyes. "I understand your need for independence, Mintaka," she said softly, "but we just want to keep you safe, love." Atlas had found Minaka boarding the ship. Shivering and wheezing from exhaustion, Mintaka had insisted that he was fine and didn't need any help. However, before he could get fully on the boat, Mintaka's weak legs gave out.

Morrígan softened her grip and carefully lowered him onto the bed. "I know you're strong," said Atlas, concern lacing his voice, "but sometimes even the strongest of us need a helping hand. You really scared the men, Seaweed." Seaweed was a cute pet name Atlas had been using for Taka for a bit. It made him feel all fuzzy inside. Or maybe that was his fever rising. As Mintaka lay on the bed, his breathing laboured and his body trembled, and Atlas couldn't help but worry. He had seen Taka so vulnerable before, but it was never this bad.

Morrígan gently brushed the hair away from Mintaka's forehead, her eyes filled with worry. "We'll take care of you, Taka," she whispered, her voice softer than her tough exterior would suggest. Atlas nodded, grateful for Morrígan's presence. He knew that together, they would do whatever it took to help Mintaka recover.

1….2…..3…..that's how many "escape plans" taka had made. He loves her partners, but this was nothing for him! Sure, he couldn't see right... and he could move without the world spinning, but he was fine!

Morrígan had taken the crew out to a local town for supplies. She got annoyed by the group's constant worry for their so-called "mother," so she “wanted to make use of them," or at least that's what she told Atlas. And the ship's captain needed to do some much-needed paperwork. It was a perfect time for Taka to sneak out of bed and get some work done. Make sure to clean up a bit. Make some food for the crew. Anything to make himself useful.

The hardest part of it was standing up to get out of bed. Taka's body ached from the pain, making it even more challenging to muster the strength, but he pushed through the discomfort and forced himself to stand up. As he stood, the world started to sway and shake. Taka steadied himself against the wall, his vision blurring for a moment. He took a deep breath, determined to ignore the dizziness and focus.

He had managed to get to the top deck of the ship with only a few bups on the walls. With each step, he could feel his muscles protesting. As he reached the top deck, a sense of accomplishment washed over him, overshadowing the lingering dizziness. His headache grew more intense, throbbing behind his eyes. Despite the pain, Taka started to grab the bucket and mop.

Deck: clean

supplies: organised

making food for the crew: just started

Taka had made a mental list of what he needed to do. He knew that cleaning the deck was just the beginning of his responsibilities. He also needed to ensure that all the supplies were organised and ready for use, and he had only just started preparing food for the crew. Taka was determined to complete his tasks, despite the growing headache and dizziness. 

Taka wasn't sure if it was him or the boat swaying anymore, and the heat from the stove didn't help. It only made his fever rise. As Taka continued to work, he could feel his body growing weaker and his vision becoming blurry. He knew he needed to take a break and rest. With every passing minute, the weight of his exhaustion became harder to bear. 

"mintaka?! What are you doing out of bed?!" 

Well, shit….he forgot Atlas was still on the ship. 

Taka turned around to see Atlas standing there, concern etched on his face. "I...I couldn't rest," Taka admitted, his voice weak. "There's still so much to do." Atlas sighed and gently guided Taka towards the sleeping quarters. "You need to take care of yourself," he said firmly. "The crew can handle things for now. You've done enough." 

"B-but I need to-" "Don't make me get Morrígan..." She wouldn't let you leave this ship for a month." Taka hesitated, realising that Atlas was right. He needed to prioritise his own well-being and trust the capable crew to handle the remaining tasks. Reluctantly, he allowed Atlas to lead him towards the sleeping quarters, knowing that he couldn't afford to push himself any further. 

The blanket was nice and soft. Taka sank into the cosy bed, feeling the exhaustion wash over him. He closed his eyes, grateful for Atlas's and the reminder to take care of himself. He was about to drift off when the slam of a door jolted him awake. Startled, Taka sat up and listened intently, his heart pounding in his chest. Just as he was about to look over at the door, a person he knew all too well pulled him into a tight hug.

"TAKA! How dare you! I've been worried sick about you!" The voice belonged to Morrígan. Taka could feel the mix of relief and anger in Morrígan's embrace. Taka's exhaustion instantly faded as he melted into Morrígan's hug, feeling a rush of emotions overwhelm him. He knew he had some explaining to do, but in that moment, all he could feel was the warmth and love radiating from Morrígan's embrace.

"Morrígan! Please! Takas is trying to sleep!!" Atlas had ran into the room after Morrígan , his voice filled with concern. Taka tried to pull away from Morrígan's embrace, but instead was pulled back into a hug, with Atlas now dragged into the hug. As Atlas joined the embrace, Taka couldn't help but smile at the unexpected reunion. The trio sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, finding solace and comfort in their shared love and support.

[ripgray-moved]

𖤐  ⸻ As she guides his head up, Peter prepares himself to be told off. There's already a deeply ashamed 'sorry' perched on the tip of his tongue, though when she doesn't open her mouth to speak he finds himself stalling too. Though not an overly opportune time to take note of it, he can't help it; the warmth seeping from her palms as she all but cradles his face, it soothes him from the inside out.

Though fully prepared for her to pull away, he wishes desperately that she wouldn't.

He gets his wish, though in perhaps the most astonishing twist of fate he could ever imagine. Her lips are warm and soft against his, and while her eyes have fallen closed, his own are blown wide with evident surprise.

He wants so intensely to say that he did the right thing in this situation— that he resisted her advance with an iron will, eased her off of him with a sense of forlorn duty, but come the end of things, Peter is a teenager. Just a miserable, suffering teenager.

The sound that churns in his chest as he cups her cheek and tilts his head in a way best labelled as responsive is unintended; a quiet, powerless utterance of relief. For all the reasons he's already explained to her, this is absolutely wrong of him. In fact, he's so aware of this as he hopelessly leans into a second kiss that he huffs out a pathetic little 'sorry' milliseconds shy of when their mouths meet.

His hands are trembling. In fact, all of him is, set alight by her tender embrace, but it's the most evident in his hands. Especially the one at her back as it slides to the bottom of her spine and gently presses inwards, bringing their already flush bodies even tighter together. His heel connects with her calf, wanting every part of her touching him in some way.

         If he may only have this moment with her, then a moment he shall make it.

When Peter pulls back to breathe, he doesn't go far— breathing laboured and hot as his thumb strokes gently over her cheekbone.

❛ Oh fuck, Lily... that was— ❜ Amazing. Heart wrenching. The most pleasant thing he's ever experienced and the most painful one, too. With almost no real conviction: ❛ We can't... ❜

♥ ⸻ It's all so bittersweet. This moment that she's sharing with him? It should be filled with excitement and anticipation, but instead it is laced with something more sombre, as if this is the last time they'll see one another and they're collectively grieving the time that will be stolen from them.

And it is made only worse hearing his whispered confession that he's finding the experience to be nice.

She wants to wrap her arms around him, pull him close and tight and swear to him that nothing bad is ever going to happen to him, that she'll keep him safe no matter the cost. All that dies before it has a chance to reach her tongue, to become action, when she feels that barely there kiss upon her flesh.

If it wouldn't completely sour the mood she'd be in tears by now, wailing how unfair it is that life has dealt them both this hand. That he is cursed by some... thing, and she is powerless to do anything to help him, powerless in the wake of her feelings for him. Oh, it would be so much easier if she could turn them off, convince herself that she didn't feel so intensely about him. But she can't —she's never been good at pretending she doesn't care.

❝ Peter, I— ❞ He's talking now, unintentionally cutting her off with his confession that he'll miss her, that his opinions on death and what comes after has been forever changed. She doesn't blame him of course, how can a person deny something when it is right in front of them? Or in Peter's case, right inside of them.

Still, she doesn't like the way he's talking, doesn't like that he feels she has to know that he'll miss her. It all feels so final. ❝ Peter... ❞ Her hands move so that they can take a gentle hold of his face, guide him to look at her. Lily wants to say so much to him, tell him that everything will be okay and that he'll never have to miss her.

❝ Oh... screw it! ❞

Instead, she presses her lips to his, letting her actions speak louder than words ever could.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Could I request a Dick x wife!reader? They’re newly married and just had a baby. They make it a competition to take care of the baby when it cries. So much so that Dick pulls his wife out of the way to run to the nursery. It’s all fun and games

The Baby Race

Dick Grayson x plus size reader

Dickie and Dove are always competing on who gets to take care of the baby.

Warnings: Fucking all the fluff, some references to sex, talks about boobs/breastfeeding

WC: 557

A/N: I loved this idea so so much and I fell in love with our little Alice so… here’s the start of the Grayson’s universe! Get ready for more stories involving our perfect little family!

Minors DNI

The cry came through the baby monitor’s speaker a mere ten minutes after silence had settled over the small apartment. There was a brief moment of quiet as you and your husband looked at each other, tensing in preparation for the argument about to ensue. 

Another wail shattered the tension and you both made a break for it. “Don’t you dare go near my baby, Grayson!” You scrambled on the hardwood floors, your socked feet not getting proper traction.

“Don’t you mean our baby, I did have a hand in making her!” Dick taunted, vaulting over the couch he was just laying on to make a mad dash towards the nursery. As delicately as he could, he pulled you to the side as he slid by, forcing you back down onto his recliner. You landed with a grunt, taking only a second to right yourself before you were back on your feet and chasing your new husband.

“I don’t think a five minute workout gives you the right to claim that you made her, especially since I was the one growing her for 9 months!” You darted forward, only just fast enough to grab the back of Dick’s shirt and yank him backwards, sending him flying past you.

He huffed in frustration before overtaking you once more. Damn his vigilante strength, you cursed to yourself. “It was six minutes and you know it!” He left into your daughter’s bedroom and slammed the door, the distinct sound of the lock clicking into place following. You had lost but, you were smiling, like an idiot in fact.

Dick was an incredible father, doting and kind, with a sense of humour that never failed to cheer you up, even in the middle of a difficult labour. With a bit of a struggle, you fished the key for the door off of the frame and quietly entered the nursery.

Alice was fully awake and staring at her father with an intensity that rivaled Tim and a cup of coffee. Her little hands were balled up into fists, her brows furrowed, her lips puckered as she grunted. You knew that face very well. “Unless you have a pair of boobs under that shirt, you better hand her over to me.” 

Your husband looked at you briefly, then turned away. “How do you know that I don’t?” You sighed and made your way over to them, wrapping your soft arms around his torso to rest your chin on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen you shirtless hundreds of times Dickie, I think I would know that.” You could feel the sadness radiating from him, disappointed that he couldn’t feed his daughter. With a small peck to his clean shaven cheek, you briefly cupped the back of Alice’s head. “I’ll go get a bottle ready for her but I’m feeding her next time.”

“Yeah sure.” He said absentmindedly, his gaze fixed upon the perfect little life in his arms. But you didn’t take any offense to his dismissal, knowing that you did the same thing. When you had her in your hold, it was impossible to look away from those big eyes that looked so much like yours. “Hey Dove?” You looked back at your husband. “Thank you.”

You shrugged and walked out. “I’ll beat you one of these days Grayson!”

“Don’t count on it Grayson!”

The Grayson's Masterlist | DC Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist! (as a side note, if you want to be added to the taglist for this series but have already filled out the form, just shoot me a message or an ask and I'll add you so there's no need to fill it out again)

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[winterlinksandotherlinks]

Local Cryptid Loves His Wife

Time and Malon feel like one of those couples that, even though they're not technically canon, a lot of people have a very set idea of — especially if we look at them individually

Here's my current take on them (minor changes may still occur):

TIME

Weird relationship with Wars and Linkle — during the War, Wars was very much a paternal figure (thought Time, then called Mask, didn't always appreciate that), while Linkle was the fun aunt — meeting again, with Time now being the older one, they'll have an interesting time figuring out their new relations (though they're definitely still fond of each other);

feels responsible for Twilight and Wild, like he should be parenting them? but has no idea where to start with any of this, so he does his best, and tries to take notes from Wars (who actually does know what he's doing);

kind of wants children of his own? maybe?;

doesn't think of himself as a leader, but is very good at listening and making decisions;

feels an intense kinship to trees, especially the old ones;

gets weirdly well along with Wild (even Twilight is concerned);

chaotic at heart;

prayed to every deity and goddess he could think of that, around the time of his and Malon's wedding, a portal would bring Wars and Linkle there, so he could have the closest he could get to "his own" family there;

Loves His Wife Very Much;

improved Malon's archery and taught her basic sword fighting skills;

after Termina, he spent several more years travelling, mostly through woods and woodlands, and lost track of time — he genuinely doesn't know how old he is anymore, but guesses he's about thirty;

returned to Hyrule in his mid-teens, spent some days drifting about Castle Town, and eventually made his way to Lon Lon Ranch to ask Talon for a job;

had to basically relearn how to interact with people, and became close friends with Malon in this period;

didn't realise he had a crush on Malon, and thought he was ill (Malon had to explain it to him, and she has yet to let him live it down);

they only got married some 3-4 years before the Links Winter AU takes place;

moves soundlessly;

has used the Fierce Deity mask enough to absorb the powers of the Fierce Deity (which is why the mask is more or less empty in Wild's era) — the scar is from the last time he wore the mask, when it refused to release him and he ended up slicing it in half to get it off — the personality died with the mask, but the powers stayed;

looking at him, you wouldn't think him married and living at a ranch (imagine a younger smilier version of LotR's Aragorn);

if you're out for a walk in the woods and encounter a tall soundless humanoid with glowing white eyes who moves at an even pace, run;

has Cryptid Status

MALON

Seems like a Mature and Collected Woman, but very much enjoys playing up her husband's Cryptid Status (she may even be partially responsible for it, but he also finds it hilarious);

has now become better at archery than Time;

keeps all the stories he has told her of his adventures tucked away in her heart;

likes her tea with a hint of brandy (as opposed to Time, who thinks it's too bitter and is very much a lightweight);

keeps track of the Ranch's finances, what time of year they need to hire additional hands, where to deliver their products and when, and is overall a good business woman;

merchants fear her haggling skills;

taught Time everything he knows about looking after the animals, keeping the house and property in order, and cooking — they generally divide the labour according for the week according to what needs to be done when, but as a rule of thumb, Malon takes care of the animals while Time makes deliveries, and the rest is fitted in around that;

will get very well along with Linkle and Legend;

will also get surprisingly well along with Ravio (they enjoy swapping stories about their husbands while preparing dinner, and Malon very much enjoys babysitting Mitchi — Linkle is sometimes included in the group, since she knows both Ravio and Time from the War);

wants children, but is determined that Time will handle his fair share of the childrearing;

often sings while she works;

is a fearless woman who would march into battle at Time's side;

part Gerudo (half? a fourth? not decided yet);

wears trousers under her skirts and ties her skirts up when needed;

skilled horserider — up there with Twilight and Wars;

knows her card games (and isn't above cheating at them);

physically strong (if she wanted to, she could probably wrestle with any one of the Links — without their magical items — and have a fair chance of winning, though Twilight is up for debate — she's not overly fond of wrestling, however, so she doesn't really bother)

[kechiwrites]

tension headache

Ground Zero x Publicist!Reader

wc: 2.2k

“Being Ground Zero’s publicist comes with its own set of challenges, luckily there are quite a few benefits to sweeten the deal.” warnings: anal play, dirty talk, light degradation, light spanking, d/s undertones (or overtones w/e), bakugo being the king of bullies

author’s note: i’ve been writing this since august and it’s finally done. special thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​, @some-kindofgnome​, and @nightly-tales​ for betaing! 

Your head is throbbing. The sort of building tension headache you became most familiar with in high school; the kind that starts in the morning and gets stronger with every little irritant. You’re sure it's a tension headache from having your shoulders hunched up to your ears most of the day, a seemingly ever-constant by-product of trying to keep Pro Hero Ground Zero from biting a journalism student's head off. The obscenely large TV hanging above the receptionist’s desk plays Ground Zero’s greatest hits on mute as your heels click-clack towards the steel and glass elevators. 

It’s almost the end of his patrol and you know he’ll be up soon, sidekicks and assistants (two this month, because the first had the good sense to resign soon, lucky bastard) in tow. Four consecutive texts rattle your phone in your pocket to confirm this. Each one an iteration of “on our way up!.” Waving at his secretary, you let yourself into his office setting your purse on the floor. Further behind you can already hear the clamor of voices and activity that announces Ground Zero’s arrival, people no doubt scurrying out of his warpath lest they incur his wrath. He pushes open the heavy door and says nothing to acknowledge your presence. 

Your forehead throbs with irritation at the snub. You know it’s only a matter of time before either of you begin to push the other’s buttons but your employer seems to have a secondary quirk he uses only for you.

You like to call it Extreme Irritation.

“Would it kill you to be nicer to the press?” You give first, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch pushed against the easternmost wall underneath a frankly, unnecessarily large, framed photo of U-A’s graduating class. “Why do you insist on making my job so hard?”

“Can’t pay you for fucking nothing,” he scoffs, leaning against the desk in the center of his office. Carefully he divests himself of his gauntlets, handing one to his senior assistant, and placing its twin onto the desk next to his big gaudy nameplate, muttering; “Take this to Yumikawa, I think I broke the fucking thing.” When he’s halfway past the threshold, Ground Zero adds, “And tell her to do better with her shitty paint jobs!” His gaze snaps to the newest recruit, a tiny shivering thing who looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, “What the fuck are you standing there for? Go with him! Do I have to fucking tell you everything?”

She practically leaves a dust cloud in her wake. You roll your eyes and begin reading through news updates on your tablet, nails clicking lightly against the screen. Tweet after tweet and article after article summarize Ground Zero’s latest exploit, every title and byline more sensational than the last.

“Ground Zero Overshadows Daring Rescue with Another Tirade!”

“Is Ground Zero the Meanest Pro-Hero Ever?!”

‘imagine ground zero calling you stupid 🥴 #imahole’

You could almost laugh if it weren’t for the startlingly large amount of retweets on that last one. Finally, the pro hero deigns to address you; “I did as you asked, I smiled, I laughed, I didn't blow anyone up.” He actually sounds proud. You blubber in shock. “You called the reporter a fuck wit! They can't even air that!” For good measure you hold up the tablet to replay a heavily edited fancam of Ground Zero sneering at some poor junior reporter. “Isn't that what you wanted? Less of my insults on TV?” He is so smug, it drives you crazy. “Not like that!” You toss the tablet onto the couch beside you and stand, stomping towards Bakugo, who’s leaning against his desk, clenching his jaw, arms crossed, as if he didn’t spend the entire morning making you wish you’d never laid eyes on him. The two of you are growing more and more irritated with each other and it’s evident in the rapidly rising volume of your conversation.

"I'm serious, if you want to be ‘Number One’,” you stress through your teeth, “people have to like you, at least a little bit. That. Includes. The. Press.” Every word is punctuated with a strong poke to his sternum, and you try to ignore the pain of jabbing your finger into his brick wall of a chest. It feels as though the pristine white collar of your button-up shirt is digging into your throat while you try to restrain yourself from biting his stupid, perfect nose off.

Now it’s Bakugo’s turn to roll his eyes, “People like me.” He looks to his sidekicks for confirmation and you pointedly ignore them bobbing their heads in unison.

“Who?! Who are these people that like you?”

Bakugo gestures wildy at his sidekicks, “They like me!”

“They’re afraid of you! They respect you but they don’t like you!” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You like me!” He barks at you.

You almost choke on your surprised laughter. He really was absolutely ridiculous.

“I have to like you, you pay me!”  

“That’s right. I sign your cheques, you deal with all the media bullshit and make me look good.”

“You make it impossible for me!” If it weren’t for the intense tunnel vision your arguing was giving you, you would have seen Ground Zero’s sidekicks inching slowly towards the door.

“Well maybe you’re just shit at your job!” He turns away from you to push papers to the side of his desk, the gesture a clear dismissal that only serves to rile you further.

“Oh fucking bite me, Katsuki!” As soon as it’s out you slap your hands over your mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

You were exhausted and tense and so mad but it’s not what you agreed on, never at work and never in front of subordinates. In an instant it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Bakugo’s expression is furious when he whirls on you. You chance a look over at his assistants and all colour has left their faces, ‘Impressive,’ you think idly, ‘Considering Haruto is literally purple.’ 

“Out. Now.” He growls, and his teeth are clenched together so hard you think they might shatter, his throat is rapidly turning red and his hands are clenching and unclenching around nothing. The sidekicks hesitate and you’re a little grateful for their loyalty. 

“Fucking out. NOW!” He yells, and they nearly fall over each other trying to get out the door. 

“And there goes the loyalty,” you murmur while you watch their hasty retreat. “I’m sorry,” you say, turning to face him head-on, apology punctuated with the slamming shut of his office door. You focus on the wall of windows behind him, the city skyline slowly lighting up in the nighttime, preparing for an infamous Ground Zero meltdown. “That was inappropriate, especially in front of subordinates.” Idly, you wonder what the theme this time will be; Disrespect? Insubordination? Or just a good old-fashioned dress down? He’d become quite wordy over the years, you were almost beginning to enjoy them.

While you muse Bakugou inches closer to you, cheeks a mottled red. His shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, like he’s bringing himself down from the peak of his anger. For a moment you think he’ll just outright scream in your face, but when he pulls you, first towards him and then past him until your stomach presses against his desk, you realize quickly what he’s planning. 

His forearm presses against your back until you’re bent over his desk, your hands palm down between the wood and your chest to prevent your face meeting the cool oak. It’s bordering on humiliating how easy he can manipulate you. But they don’t teach hand to hand combat in the business sector, and although you’d toyed with the idea - being in a high-risk industry and all - you never put stock in seriously learning. 

The blond’s hand snakes over your shoulder, slightly damp palm advancing until it’s pressed against the smooth flesh of your throat. Katsuki pulls you towards him this way, and for a short moment breathing is a laboured task. The other hand makes quick work of divesting you of your skirt and underwear, coming down in an instant to make contact with your bare ass. He rubs at it covetously, a shallow attempt at soothing your stinging skin. 

There’s no formality when he thrusts into you, only a few seconds between feeling  the head of his cock parting your embarrassingly slick folds and him being fully seated within you. You grit your teeth against a whine, fingers scrambling for purchase when he withdraws and fucks into you again, and then again, pace slowly gaining momentum until you can swear the heavy oak desk (and seriously that thing weighs a fucking ton) is shifting with the force.  Your stomach presses painfully into the gilded metal decorating its edge but it’s good. Katsuki is so fucking good at taking you apart with every inch he drives into you. Above you he mutters lowly about how fucking wet you are, how eager you must’ve been all day, waiting for him to fill you. It goes on like this for a while, you bouncing between his hips and the desk, him whispering filthy, untrue shit in your ears that makes your nipples hard and your breathing shallow. 

He places his free hand on your back, first up under your shirt, then slowly slides it down, until it’s resting on the roundness of your ass again. You don’t know what he’s planned till his thumb’s parted you, sliding softly over the clenched furl of muscle above your stretched open cunt. 

“Bakugou, no!” you whisper hoarsely, your voice just edging on hysterical as you struggle against his hold. 

“Excuse me?” He hisses between his teeth, thrusts not slowing for a second. The hand around your throat tightens and when he pulls you closer so his sneering mouth is brushing the shell of your ear, you unwillingly tighten around his dick in response. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is almost pleasant, and had you not been split open on his cock in his office, you’d ask him who taught him an ‘interview voice’. 

“Can you tell me who's name is on the building?” While he teases you, you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, thighs tensing and relaxing with the sensation of being spread open beneath him.

“Yours.” You wish you could fall through the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry?” His thumb presses a little more insistently against your pucker. The pressure is foreign, but not at all bad. Dear God, you’re really about to let him do this to you.

“Yours, sir.” You pant, the burning sensation in your cheeks and neck a mix of exertion and shame.

“Fucking say it,” Katsuki tightens his hold on your throat and your whimpers are barely audible over the sound of his hips brutally meeting your ass.

“G-Ground Zero.” you choke out through your clenched teeth. 

“Oh good, so you can read!” Katsuki releases you from his hold and you fall forward. With every thrust, your feet lift off the floor, and you lurch forward like a ragdoll. Katsuki pushes his thumb further inside you, belly-laughing when you cry out in pleasure.

“Where’d all that resistance go, sweetheart?” His digit fucks in and out of you in tandem with his cock, keeping you full constantly. “You know what? Next time, I’m gonna take my time stretching you, keep you wide open, maybe you can wear a plug for me, huh? And then after you’ve been soft and needy all day, I’ll slide right into you, fuck you till you gape for me.” 

You’re incapable of firing back, mouth occupied with moaning incoherently while you drool against the desk. Katsuki chokes off his own moan, using his unoccupied hand to hike up your leg so he can have easier access to your clit. The calloused pad of his fingertips press hard against you. He goes so slow, pushing and nudging at you until your entire body feels feverish and your climax takes you by surprise, forcing a yelp from your lips when your legs begin to shake. 

“That’s it. Come for me. Come on my dick.” Once he’s sure you're done, he pulls his finger from your ass and releases your leg, blanketing your back with his chest. His hips are quick to lose their rhythm as he fills you, ropes of his spend coating your insides. Katsuki shudders against you, hands running a course along your hips. He pulls away, the evidence of your time together sliding down the inside of your thigh without Katsuki’s cock to hold it in.

“I’m going back to working for Hawks.” Your voice is hoarse when you can finally speak again and levering your chest up off the desk onto shaky knees only serves to make your head spin more. You glare at your boss your boyfriend as he dresses.

Katsuki’s grin is derisive while he tucks his softening dick away, “Like fuck, you love working for me way too much to work for that fuckin’ pretty boy.” He leans down in front of you and slides your underwear up from your ankles back into place, followed by your skirt before pressing soft lips to your forehead, smoothing his hands over your cheeks. 

At least your headache is gone.

taglist: @enjifuckersupreme @pleasantanathema

[mcybank]

bandana blindfolds ✃ one

co-authored with @popcsheyward​ ｡.｡:+*

read the prologue

summary jj stumbles upon y/n at a party, and, intoxicated, their conversation leads to them exploring several kinks.

word count 3k+

warnings this is only and i really mean only smut so,,

author’s note we’re posting each chapter alternatively on our accounts so make sure that you’re keeping up with both our accounts!!

check out my masterlist | check out gracie’s masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

JJ Maybank would’ve never thought he’d manage to get you in bed — not even after the conversation on the beach, not even after you first pressed your lips to his two days ago. You, out of everyone on the island, were possibly the least likely person for him to have in his bed. But here he was; his hands roaming your almost-bare back as his lips connected to your jaw, pressing soft, sensual kisses against it. Your hands were wrapped around his neck, your legs straddling his waist, a breathy moan escaping your lips. 

It was a rare feeling. The feeling of being in somebody’s embrace, it was long overdue. But JJ didn’t need to know that. He didn’t want to know that as his hands sauntered their way to your bra clasp, undoing it with utmost ease. On any given day, you would’ve questioned him about it, about how much experience he has had in doing something like this, but today, JJ had you wrapped around his finger, unable to form a coherent thought while pleasure took over you. As the straps of the lace bra fell down your shoulders, the heat had begun to grow around the two of you, sticky and sweaty, but only a hint of what it was going to become.

His kisses were filled with lust and intimacy. His hands scoured your body hungrily, growling into your ear due to the growing pleasure within his body. The warmth of his breath lingered on your skin as he continued peppering your neck with longing kisses. 

The party had passed by a few days ago — five, to be exact. The same party where you and JJ engaged in a questionable conversation which also happened to be one of the first interactions between the two of you, that led to this. Each time he called you, he couldn’t help but ask you if you were ready for what he had planned even though you didn’t have the slightest clue as to what it was. Of course, you were curious. But the entire point yourself and JJ were in this position was to show him that you’re far from scared.

So, when he reached for the bandana he placed on your nightstand, you would’ve never thought that it was going to be wrapped around your eyes in the coming minutes. “You ready?” JJ questioned, distancing his lips from your neck that was already blossoming love bites. He stared into your eyes intently, wanting to make sure there was not a hint of uncomfortableness in them. You dodged his gaze, and for a split second he thought that meant you wanted him to stop.

JJ had noticed how you had been rather quiet, only an occasional moan passing through your lips as he hit a sweet spot, sending shivers down your spine. But when you eagerly nodded in anticipation of the forthcoming events, he knew that you weren't longing any less for him than he was for you. Tenderly pushing your figure off his lap before standing on the cold floor, JJ held up his bandana in front of your eyes, a smirk plastering his lips. “Where— Where does that go?” 

“Over your eyes, dumbass,” he smirked, retorts still on the tip of his tongue even when his mind was clouded with thoughts of her blindfolded and squirming beneath him. “Didn’t you say you were kinky?”

She decided to ignore the second part of his comment, shooting back: “The first time we fuck, and  I won’t even be able  to see you? I didn’t pin you for the self conscious type, Maybank.”

He rolled his eyes, though he was still smiling as he brought the bandana over your head, blocking your vision as he tied it up securely. He brought you back to sitting on his lap, pressing his lips to yours. It was an odd sensation, having to feel where he was moving because you couldn’t see it — every soft brush of his fingertips down your back felt a thousand times more heightened, every needy press of his lips against yours sending goosebumps across your whole body, static seeming to sparkle between you as you kissed.

You could feel his smirk widen with each long moan that fell from your lips like a sinful chant, and his lips left yours to press themselves back onto your neck, already littered with faint hickeys that would only darken as time went on. He flipped you over so you were laying with your back pressed against the bed as if you weighed nothing, and you could feel his tall frame hovering above you before his lips continued their teasing descent down your goosebump-littered skin. One of his hands snuck up to pinch your nipple harshly, and you jumped, a short but high-pitched squeal slipping out of your mouth. He pulled his lips from your chest, leaving you feeling cold without the contact, and you let out a whimper. You could practically feel the ego boost that gave him, imagining his cocky grin in your blindfolded state.

“You like that, princess?” he teased, and you whined again, drawing a chuckle from his lips before they were pressed down on your nipple, taking it between his sharp teeth and sending pinpricks of pleasure shooting through you. God, if that boy didn’t hurry up and touch you you didn’t know what you’d do.

“Shut the fuck up, JJ,” you hissed, and he seemed to get the message as he pressed his lips against your hot skin again, kissing around your nipple teasingly before you let out a needy whine and he smiled, kissing your nipple softly — this only sent another whine falling from your lips, and he finally sucked on it harshly, drawing a muffled moan from your lips. Your hand had come up to your mouth in a disastrous attempt at keeping you at least slightly grounded. With JJ’s hand creeping up your thigh and his mouth creeping down your torso, you should’ve known that was never going to happen.

His lips continued down your stomach slowly, before finally reaching your waistband. He paused momentarily, unsure of whether you wanted him to continue — you bucking your hips towards his face desperately was all the confirmation he needed as he pulled your shorts and panties down quickly.

Your pussy was soaked, and that sight alone was enough to make him realise how painfully hard he was, having been too focused on pleasuring you to notice how much he needed some friction. He ignored the urge to rut his hips into the mattress, though, as your fingers weaved their way into his hair, pushing his face towards where you needed him so badly. You could feel his breath fanning across your clit, a teasing sensation that did nothing to ease your throbbing desperation.

And, fucking finally, his tongue ran a long stripe up your pussy. JJ revelled in the way you squirmed, needing more, as he did so, the way you were gasping for breath, hands so tightly clutching his hair it almost hurt. He pressed his lips to your clit gently, and the feeling was so sensual you didn’t notice his fingers inching closer and closer to your pussy. You probably should’ve. Mumbling soft profanities under your breath, slight uncomfortableness kicking in due to the loss of one sense. But that feeling was washed away quickly as his lips continued teasing your clit, tongue slipping out to flick it quickly, and you could barely process anything other than the intense feeling of pleasure that felt like flames over your whole body, only increased by the bandana shielding your vision. You’d never expected not to be able to see to make you feel so much more, but here you were, practically a mess and he’d barely even started.

And then his finger slipped inside you, and you suddenly wondered how you could ever consider what you’d been experiencing before to be intense when, as his finger immediately started relentlessly pounding towards your g-spot, it was nothing in comparison to this. Holy fucking shit. You could already feel the edge approaching when he slipped in a second finger and his mouth began working that little bit harsher to match the pace his fingers had set, and you tugged on his hair a little, squirming desperately beneath him as you let out moan after moan.

Your moans only spurred the boy on, and his fingers picked up the pace, wanting to get you to the edge almost as much as you did. It wasn’t long before you were coming undone with a pornographic, lewd groan, hips bucking up into his mouth as he continued to finger you through your high, a smirk on his face as he felt himself twitch at the sinful sounds you let out, the way you looked from his angle, mouth fallen open and unable to make use of your eyesight, hair messy and chest heaving, body glistening with a thin layer of sweat as you struggled to regain your breath.

You knew that the blond who was ahead of you had a way with girls— it all but startled you that he had managed to make you feel as pleased as he had, especially with a makeshift bandana covering your eyes. However, you couldn’t help but think that this was just the beginning to the long, long night.

JJ knew better than anyone that whilst asserting dominance, he had to make sure you were in the correct position for him to do so. And whilst you attempted to ease your laboured breathing, he engaged in the pursuit of preparing himself for the same, but even better pleasure than he had provided you with. In fact, he couldn’t do otherwise. The feeling of his cock rock-hard, tucked in his shorts yearning to be freed had become unignorable. 

“JJ?” You managed to call out, your soft voice laced in lust. And if JJ had let himself continue palming his member, his eyes set upon your dainty figure, a canvas strewn with red and purple stains curated by himself, he would’ve cum in a matter of minutes, if not seconds. 

“Yes, love?” his voice was tender as he responded, soothing every disquiet nerve in your body.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. “N-Need. You.” Your stuttered, broken words inviting him were enough for him to let a groan of pleasure as he paced towards the bed. The view of your legs wide open for him, the white fluid dripping down your pussy was one he could never get enough of. 

Unsure of how he should approach you without startling you, he decided to kneel on the bed between your legs. You felt the bed dip at his presence, your walls quickly tightening up instinctively. His body hovered over your own, his hands placed on each side of you as he leaned in closer to your lips before pressing a sloppy kiss against them, merely to make you feel safer. 

It wasn’t long before you felt JJ’s tip over your clit for a quick second causing you to squirm at the divine connection. You had near to no idea how big JJ was, the bandana tied around your eyes shielding any possible way you could’ve caught a glimpse. 

“You ready?” He questioned once again, your response being a subtle nod as your teeth bit into your lower lip, your stomach churning as you didn’t know what to expect. And God, was it fruitful. Midst a thought, you felt his cock slide inside you.

“Christ, JJ—ah!” you cried out, shuddering at the instantaneous rush of pleasure through your veins. He began gently, thrusting in and out with ease as his hands encircled your waist, your hips slightly bucking inviting him even more. He let out a beatific moan, nearly melting your insides at the sound, as he pushed himself into you, already nearing you to yet another orgasm. 

The effect of the bandana had begun to kick in at the particular moment. You tightly shut your covered eyes, your neck arching back partly due to the deprivation of one of your senses, and  partly because the feeling of JJ’s cock twitching inside you was heavenly. “You like that, princess?” 

As soon as the words left his mouth, JJ felt your walls tighten around his cock followed by a hypnotic moan from his end. It was like a gift that kept on giving. He moved  his hand up, beside your head, before stilling himself inside you in order to press yet another kiss against your lips, but this time, it was prolonged. As soon as his lips parted with yours, you could feel his warm breath tenderly dancing on your skin. “Harder, please.” you requested, a moan in the midst of your words. 

And before JJ delivered, he allowed himself a few more seconds in you, remaining immobile as he took in the warmth around his cock provided by you. “You think you can take this?” JJ asked, thrusting his cock slowly once again, his voice becoming more and more ascendant each word. You didn’t know the answer to his question. You couldn’t muster a single word to respond to the blond, but the feeling of your hips pushing themselves towards him was the only response he needed. “Everything I’ve got?” JJ continued, growling into your ear — the sound was almost enough for you to let out a moan as you flailed your hands around his neck, urging him to go further. 

And he did. JJ’s thrusts quickened each second. Your hands found their way to JJ’s blond, disheveled hair, tugging on the locks  as you let out a cry of pleasure which only seemed to rouse him even more. You felt your head spinning as JJ continued to let out ravenous moans that were enough to bring you to the edge on their own. 

JJ had a sudden urge to rip  the bandana off your head, just so he could look into your teary eyes whilst he pounded himself into you relentlessly. But he contained the urge. The feeling of spreading your folds enough to send him into a state of dreaminess, his eyes closing as you continued to tug on his strands of hair. 

“I’m— JJ, I’m going to cum.” You managed to let out as JJ continued filling you with pleasure, even by his animalistic ways that excited you further. 

“Fucking hell, please,” he responded, a loud moan following as JJ felt your walls clench around his cock, deepening his please. “Please fucking cum.” 

That was enough for yourself to let yourself loose for the second time within the space of an hour to JJ. It displayed the kind of effect the boy had on you, even when you couldn’t see him. “Oh, my fucking god, Y/N,” JJ breathed out, slowing himself down as he inched an orgasm. His gaze was set on your half covered face as you bit your lips so ferociously that they could bleed. The feeling of your cum all over his cock made his mind go into a whirl.

And he came. His hips holding still as he filled your pussy with his cum before pulling out, pressing a long, chaste kiss on your temple. You whined at the empty feeling once he pulled himself out of you, feeling his warm cum dripping down your folds just like your own was a while ago. 

JJ, before focusing on himself, walked to the side of the bed and guided you to sit up, a groan leaving your lips in the process of doing so due to the numbness between your legs which was indefinitely going to increase tomorrow morning. His hands undid the bandana, uncovering your doe eyes that stared into his soft, blue ones that were filled with some sort of ferocity a few minutes ago.

“T— That was in me?” was the first thing you could manage to say as soon as you were exposed to the dimness of your room and JJ. Pointing towards his cock with wide eyes, you were genuinely surprised at the boy’s length. And there it was, the snarky smirk that indicated the boost of ego he had received, one of many from this night. 

A few minutes passed, JJ had cleaned himself up and placed himself beside you, under the covers on the bed. It wasn’t difficult for him to notice your body still, slightly trembling due to the past events and that made him push himself even closer to you, weary of any contact he makes. 

“Enjoyed that?” he spoke, his voice was soft as his thumb grazed your cheek tenderly. 

“Yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy this more,” you smirked, rolling over so you were straddling him, taking the bandana out of his hands and tying it around his face quickly. His body tensed, not expecting that, but as you pressed your lips to his, you felt him slowly ease into the situation beneath you.

 You grinned against his mouth, tongue running along his bottom lip. He didn’t bother battling for dominance, knowing there was no way he’d win when he couldn’t see. Letting you lead him was an odd sensation, though, one he wasn’t used to but was in no way opposed to. Honestly, having you be in total control was turning him on a bit more than he’d expected it would. You seemed to notice this, because your grin widened as you tangled your hands in his hair, slowly rolling your hips and revelling in the long, guttural moan JJ let out.

“You like that, JJ?” you mocked, and JJ let a laugh fall past his lips, broken only by a gasp of breath as you pushed your bare pussy more into him, grinding against him in long, slow motions. You could feel him getting harder and harder beneath you, already turned on despite having had sex only minutes ago. In all honesty, you couldn’t say you were surprised.

He was kissing you needily, his body beginning to ignite as he felt your up-and-down motions against his hardening cock. “Fuck…” he trailed off, savouring every moment as he remembered that you were in his position just a few minutes ago. 

He felt your body lift itself above his, the sound of your footsteps against the floor echoing throughout the room being intervened with his heavy breathing. You kneeled onto the floor, your hands circling around his cock, gently palming it which instantly caused JJ to feel weak in his knees, a weak moan confirming the brand new feeling of excitement he’d never felt before. 

You sauntered towards him on your knees, still palming the boy, pressure almost torturously soft because he knew if he just pressed his cock a little bit more into your palm the throbbing would ease a little, but he had no doubt in his mind that if he did that, you would immediately pull away just to tease him that little bit more, and you’d never let him forget the needy, submissive whine he’d let out at the feeling of your hands leaving him while he was so desperately hard. So, instead, he sat still, breathing laboured and heavy as he tried to keep his instincts under control while your fingers were wrapped so delicately around his cock.

You spat on your hand and began slowly pumping him, smirking as his cock twitched in your hands at the new feeling, and revelling in the way he threw his head back as he let out a quiet moan. You leant over slightly, taking just the tip of his cock into your mouth, and you could see him tense up in an attempt to stop himself from bucking his hips towards your mouth. You grinned, slowly lowering your head. With each little movement you made, JJ could feel pleasure running through him, and he suddenly realised why so many people liked wearing blindfolds — having one of your senses blocked heightened all of the others, meaning he felt like his whole body was on fire every time you did even the slightest thing. You could tell this from the gasps he let out as you pressed your tongue against him very slightly, something that would’ve been almost unnoticeable if he’d been focused on anything other than you.

You bobbed your head a little lower, tears springing up in your eyes as he hit the back of your throat. He seemed to sense this, because his hands found their way to your hair, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail as he drew your head back a little, before pushing it back down just as slowly as you had been.

You had to admit, you were surprised he wasn’t trying to set a faster pace — you’d expected him to be almost fucking into your mouth when he’d taken your hair. However, JJ was trying to savour the feeling of your mouth around him, not wanting to go too fast for fear he wouldn’t be able to commit every little sensation to memory. And it wasn’t as if you minded the slow pace — in fact, you probably preferred it, because he wasn’t bringing your head low enough to make you gag or bring tears to your eyes, and you much preferred that to the alternative.

Your hand pumped what you weren’t taking in you mouth at the same pace he was pushing your head, and JJ wished so desperately he could see you as you sucked on his cock so fucking perfectly, wondering if you’d be looking into his eyes with that same teasing glint because you knew you’d proved him wrong about being a prude and you knew how fucking much he was enjoying this, eyes rolling into the back of his head under the bandana and mouth fallen open in a silent moan as he gasped for the breath he couldn’t seem to get.

You pulled off of him, looking up at his face and knowing his brows would be furrowed under the bandana if you could see them, confused as to why you’d stopped and trying so hard not to pull you back for more. “I want to hear you, JJ,” you stated simply, and JJ could've come just  from those words leaving your lips that had just been wrapped around his cock. He groaned a little as you continued pumping him, and you smirked, bringing your lips back down to press a kiss to his tip before licking up the underside of his cock and taking him back into your mouth.

It wasn’t long before JJ stammered out: “Y/N, I’m gonna— I’m gonna come.”

You kept bobbing your head down his cock, and JJ’s eyes widened, not having expected you to keep going. The thought just pushed him closer to the edge, and with a low groan, hot cum was spurting down your throat. You swallowed the sticky substance, and JJ flopped back onto the bed, equally as fucked out as you had been not long before. He gasped for breath, pulling the bandana off of his head and looking at you with a small smile. You laid down beside him,  and he pulled you closer, resting his head on your bare chest and wrapping an arm around your waist, your legs intertwined.

“Did you like that, JJ?” you teased.

He nuzzled a little further into your side, eyes shut peacefully, as he mumbled: “Best head I’ve ever had.”

You grinned, joking: “Good boy.”

You didn’t expect the muffled moan you got in response, and decided to stay silent about it, wanting to tease him about it when he was properly awake. So, you laid in a tranquil state of silence for a few minutes, before JJ opened his eyes and looked up to see you looking at him with a small smile.

His cheeks burned, displaying a rosy blush of red as he muttered: “Don’t tell anyone about that.”

You grinned. “What, that you’re my good boy?”

He shot you a glare. “Y/N, we’re never doing that again.”

“That’s not something a good boy would say,” you retorted, a smirk on your face.

“I hate you,” he stated, and it wasn’t long before he was drifting off, a blush still coating his cheeks because he knew he was never going to live that down.

tagging @moldisgoodforyou​ @milamaybank​ @babypogue​ @teamnick​ @k-k0129​ @rudyypankow​ @obxmxybxnk​ @tragicmisfits @poguemacking @baby-iyania @baby-bearie @2ndrain @sarcasticbean05 @psychicforest @wambach1 @conniehellard @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @euph0riafilms @decap-quadrant @calumbroutledge @thelocalpogue @lovingxjj @shawnssongs @jayjaymaebank @dontjinx-it @ilovejjmaybank @thesweetlifeoflaney @rudethdrew @yelyahryan @bxbyyyjocelyn @laheyparadise-blog​ @fanficscuziranout @maebanks @drew-starkey @thenameishayley248 @shoppingcarthappiness @aliciamarie515 @write-from-the-heart @redstarryskies @may8ank @sexytholland @bxmaaa @dpaccione @elisemurphy08 @serrendipiity @suemesabby @drewstarkeyobx @outrbank @talksoprettyjjx @yeslifeofateen @johnbenderrs @starlightstarkey @anonymous0writer @suckitsu​ @sunwardsss​ @glux64​ @x-lulu​ @stilinskingongo​

[sweetandsourfics]

Baby Widow Two

Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant Reader | SFW | 2 out of 3 | NEXT  》

Summary: A quiet day at home for Natasha and her girlfriend has turned into the most exciting day of their lives.

Warnings: Labour, explicit language.

Author's note: Part two! I have another part planned, but I am more than happy to extended on Mama Natasha as we all deserve more Mama Natasha. I would love to hear your thoughts on the story! Please enjoy!

Baby Widow One

»———————————————————————«

Natasha's trained eyes never leave you as you waddle around the living area. Your sweatpants ride low on your hips like every mother, in her last trimester, you feel heavy, sluggish and big.

Your due date is only two days away your stomach has dropped. Your hips, back and pelvis hurting more with each day and Braxton hicks are becoming a daily thing.

You hand Natasha her bowl of ice cream. The Avenger takes the bowl only to put it to the side, her hands landing on your hips. She draws circles with her thumbs and kissing your stomach.

She rest her forehead against you. Natasha could feel the gentle movements of the baby, and you comb your fingers through her hair.

"I love you and your mama more than anything in this whole world." She whispers, pressing another kiss to your stomach.

"And we love you." You slowly lower yourself into your spot. Looking at Natasha with a goofy grin on your face. You pull her into a passionate, loving kiss.

Natasha sits with the exercises ball under her legs. Getting her use out of it. Each day the two of you were trying to do something that you wouldn't be able to do as often as you would like once baby Romanoff gets here. Today was movie day.

"I'm going to miss having my own personal table." You say causing Natasha to shift her attention. Your bowel of ice cream sits on your baby bump.

She laughs, kissing your temple. "You'll have your personal table back one day."

You raise an eyebrow at her, trying your hardest not let the smile break out. "You mean..?"

"Baby one isn't even here yet, so don't go thinking of baby number two." She teases. Your smile broke free a giggle following shortly.

Your giggles were cut short when a sharp pain shot through your body. Letting out a noise of pain one hand holding on to your ice cream and the other on your stomach.

Natasha watches wide-eyed. Her heart in her throat, body tense and ready to pounce. "You okay?"

Your hair bounces as you nod. "Can you help me up?"

She doesn't need to be told twice. Natasha holds you as you try to keep your breathing steady.

"I need to move around..." you breathe slowly, "think it's just a Braxton thingy."

"Okay, do you want the ball?" She asks, her heart racing.

"Yeah. Please." You sigh softly swaying side to side.

Natasha slowly lets go of you and rolls the red excise ball over. She ushers warmly "come here."

Once you were sat and Natasha sits on the coffee table hands on top of you're thighs. One of your hands supports your stomach and the other lay on top of her hand.

Natasha goes through her mental checklist. The hospital bag is packed and ready by the front door. She remembers the birth plan and everything thing she's learnt in the past nine months.

Her thoughts must have reached her features because you give her hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey, we are more than prepared for Baby Romanoff. We'll be okay, you'll be okay."  You say with a reassuring smile.

How the hell did she get so lucky?

Natasha lets out a small nervous laugh. "You're right."

"Aren't I always?"

"Don't get cocky." she teases kissing you.  

You moved from couch, floor, ball and standing until you had eventually fallen asleep on the couch. Natasha had paused the movie and shifted to the dining table where she could get some work done. She'll rejoin you once you're awake.

You woke up an hour later with a dull pain ringing through your body. Not thinking much of it, you rub your eyes and sit up. Natasha still sits at the table busy with her work.

Make your way over to her the pain doesn't go it just lingers.  She kisses you hello before asking. "How are you feeling?"

"The usual." You smile. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I'm okay. I'll just finish this then we can continue the movie." She explains, turning her attention back to her laptop screen.  

You hum out a yes and shuffle into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. As you wait for the kettle to boil, you feel the pain growing, tightening.

You groan out hands massaging your stomach. Natasha's sharp hearing picks up on your discomfort.

"Hey, you okay?" she calls her voice full of concern.

You let out a shaky breath "Y-yeah just a little pain." The pain died down to a period cramp level pain.

You manage to make your tea and move out of the kitchen, but you were met with the intense stare from Natasha.

"What?" you question.

"You sure you're okay?" She fires back.

You cross over to her, her emotion written clearly on her face. "I'm sure. I'll let you know if I wasn't." You rub her shoulder affectionately "Shall we finish the move?"

You're grip on Natasha's shoulder tights as pain ignites every nerve in your body. "Shit..." you hiss out between clenched teeth.

"You're going to labour," Natasha states as she jumps to her feet. She checks the time 5:38 pm.

`"Movement and excises will help the baby move down." She says aloud for both of you. You nod your head as Natasha slowly walks you over to the ball.

Being who she is and what she does for a living. Natasha works well under pressure, and you were so lucky to have her.

6:20 pm

You've done several short sets of different positions on the ball.  Natasha holds your hands as you rotate your hips. Your grip tightens on her hands you grunt in pain as a contraction hits.

"Breathe," Natasha says softly and checks her watch.

"Fuck!" You curse.

"Ten minutes apart and lasting for twenty seconds." She kisses you softly. "Do you want to have a warm shower?"

"Please." You say, your voice wobbles as a sob threatens to bubble up.

Natasha leads you to the bathroom, sitting you down she starts up the shower. She helps you out of your clothing.

Natasha doesn't need to be asked. She strips down and joins you.

She kisses the top of your head. You hug her tightly, the warm water numbing out some of the pain. "We going to have our baby girl in a few hours." You mumble against her skin.

A large smile settles on her face, "we certainly are." Natasha hooks a finger under your chin, lifting your head so she could kiss you. "You are absolutely gorgeous." And just like that, the spy had you blushing like a lovesick high schooler.

You giggle shyly, hiding your face in the crook of her neck. Natasha smirks at you, hands on your hips as she gently sways both of your bodies.

Natasha feels your body tense against hers. Pushing your full body weight onto her, you cry out in pain.

Natasha whispers words of encouragement, mentally counting the seconds that go by.

7:48 pm

Natasha had gotten you out of the shower. You're dressed in grey sweatpants and a black tank top. She's made sure you have eaten and that your water bottle is never less than half full.

Natasha also has been on and off the phone with your midwife, letting her know how your progressing.

Natasha sits next to you on the floor, rubbing you back as you cry. You're on your knees with your arms and chest resting on the ball.

"In and out, that's it." She coos softly eyes glued to her watch.

"It hurts!" You sniff, turning your head to look at her. "I knew it would hurt but fuck it hurts..."

Natasha wipes the tears from your cheek, kissing your nose then your lips. Your contractions are getting longer it wouldn't be too much longer till you have to go to the hospital.

8:15 pm

The hospital bag, car keys and shoes sit on the coffee table ready to go. You squeeze the plastic water bottle in your hand and try to breathe through the pain.

Your whole body feels as it's on fire. Pain and hot flushes have been drowning you for hours now. Natasha holds you tightly as you shake in her arms. You have found comfort in semi-sitting and squatting positions.

Your contractions are now 4 minutes apart and lasting for 55 seconds. Active labour, it's time for the hospital.

4:02 am

After 9 hours of labour Widow Ellie Romanoff was brought in the world at 2:38 am. Natasha held herself together through labour and delivery. It wasn't until the nurses had left your little family be that Natasha let the first tear roll down her cheek.

She sat in the stiff hospital chair her daughter cradled in her arms. The scene made you cry. It's rare to see Natasha cry. Happy or sad tears seeing her cry always made you cry.

"Hey, hey. You've cried enough today." Natasha teases with a light sniff.

"Oh, shush." With the back of your hand you wipe away the stray tears.

Natasha leans over, kissing your cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[adam-t-cox]

Self Publishing Overview

Alrighty,

Time to talk about self-publishing. What is it? How do I start? And why on earth would I want to do all that work?

In self-publishing you are going to wear all the hats. Every. Single. One. unless you pay someone else to wear one for you ie. a professional cover artist or designer. So, this will be very labour intensive for you and take a lot of your time. If you are working full-time like I was going into this, then be prepared for a lot of late nights or very early mornings to get the work done.

You are responsible for every step through the process and the very first one might seem like a nonstarter for most of you, but I’ll explain why its very important later in this post. Here’s the list of steps:

1. Read and understand the legal agreements for each service of each platform you are planning on publishing on!

2. Commission a professional copyeditor.

3. Commission a professional artist or cover designer, possibly both. And get the process started, this could take a month or more to complete.

4. Create accounts with all of your platforms.

5. Create an account with your countries ISBN regulatory body.

6. Get the ISBN numbers.

7. Format your paperback and save it as a print-ready PDF.

8. Order proof copies of the paperback version of your book.

9. Format your eBook and compile it into a .ePub file.

10. Make sure all of your materials for publishing are ready. (All artwork, covers, and text files)

11. Review and make any necessary changes on each format.

12. Publish your work and celebrate all of your hard work. You’ll deserve a weeklong vacation by the end of it.

13. Apply for your copyright! it’s cheap and easy compared to the alternative legal fight you may have if you don’t!

Now I’ll be going into more detail on each of these (excluding #1) in later posts but for now I’ll give a brief overview of what to expect from each one.

First, reading that damned legalese. This is something you want to do with a large pot of coffee, and a giant bag of peanut M&M’s. I won’t sugar coat it, reading this crap sucks. I hated it, but I’m glad I did read it. This is the binding agreement between you and the platform you will be using. It details the terms of the agreement, the rights and responsibilities of each party involved in the agreement, and any penalties that will be incurred if the agreement is broken. The penalty part is for you, none of these entities are going to be held liable for anything that happens to you or your work. Read these agreements carefully! The three platforms I used have agreements that were easy to read, understand, and had nothing I didn’t expect to see in them. One platform, who I won’t name because their legal department can be a bunch of dicks most of the time* was super sketchy in their agreement. It was about three times the length of the others, and basically gave them a lot of rights they shouldn’t have when it comes to your work.

On the positive note, there was some great stuff in there detailing DRM or Digital Rights Management and how each platform would take steps to ensure your work is protected online. Two of the platforms also have programs in place to ensure your book is accessible to libraries around the world, which is pretty cool and great because who doesn’t love libraries. They’re awesome.

Next a copyeditor. This one is easy. You suck at editing, admit it, and move on. Hire a professional and your work will be 10x better.

Probably at the same time as the copy editor, commission a cover from an artist or designer or both. I’ll go into more detail later, but this is important for obvious reasons as it’s the face of your book. Its going to take a while to make so start the process early on.

Next, while you are waiting, create the accounts with all of your chosen platforms. It may take up to two weeks for your account and banking information for payments and tax forms to be processed and approved. So again, get this done early.

Also find your country’s ISBN regulatory body. US: Bowker. Canada: Library and Archives Canada. Create an account and wait for it to be approved. Again, this can take you to two weeks. When its approved request (Canada) or buy (US) your ISBN numbers. You’ll need one for each format you publish your work in. Hardcover, paperback, and eBook all need their own numbers.

Now onto formatting. This is easily a weeks worth of work for each edition (I’m talking outside of your normal life responsibilities here work, family, sleep etc.). My suggestion is once you get back the copyeditor’s notes start this for your paperback version first.

Once the paperback is formatted you’ll need to submit your PDF’s for the cover design and body of the book and order proof copies so that you can check the look. Artwork brightness or colour profile might need tweaking, or the margins may need adjusting. Depending on which country you are in this can be a hassle. Thanks to Covid and the Canada-US border being shut down it took nearly two weeks to get my copy whereas someone in the US could have theirs in two days.

While you wait for the proof copies you’ll need to format your eBook. This process is complicated, and a total pain in your butt, be prepared for the suck. I’ll have a very detailed post on this later on. Long story short: Use Scrivener it’s the cheapest option to get the job done, they have good articles, and the finished product looks great.

Now let’s say you didn’t snap your laptop in half and throw it over a bridge after all of those frustrations and what is now probably months of work. You’ve got everything organized, and ready to publish. What’s next? What are you forgetting? What do I do now?

PUBLISH IT!

Your work will be up for review on each platform, some will go live before others, but it’s done. Congrats. Apply for your copyrights update your ISBN logbook and call it a day. Take a week off, you deserve it.

Now after all that you might ask: Is this really worth it?

Yes, yes it is.

At the end of the day, I am biased on this subject. I loved and hated the process of getting this thing done, but I was so happy when I was holding a copy of my book in my hands after eight years of work. If you want specific reasons how about these:

1. Full Creative Control:

You are in charge and have full rights to do whatever you want with your work. You get to publish it with every little amazing thing you put into your book, and no one can tell you to change it. Your cover art is your choice, the fonts are your choice. This book will feel completely and wholly yours from cover to cover.

2. Bigger Royalties:

As a self-published author you set your prices for each of your works. You also get a bigger share of the profits. Traditional may give you up to $1 if you are lucky and a damn good author. Self-publishing even with your prices sitting well below sale prices in brick and mortar stores you’ll see a bigger margin then that.

3. Bragging Rights:

Self explanatory really, at this point you are amazing, no one can deny that. If they try, stuff a copy of your book in their mouth.

And again, that’s enough typing for one afternoon.

Hope this enlightens you a bit, more good stuff to follow in later posts,

-Adam

P.S. The next post will be focused on starting the search for a literary agent.

P.P.S. *Hint: it rhymes with schnapple.

[steampoweredshow]

Dr. Elanor Bell is a senior research scientist at the Australian Antarctic Division where her role combines a passion for conservation and the polar marine environment, with her experience of coordinating multi-national research and translating the outcomes to policy. Throughout her career, Elanor has wintered twice in Antarctica studying some of the smallest organisms on the planet (microbes) and now works on the largest creatures on the planet, Antarctic blue whales.

In our conversation, we talk about microbial ecology, seahorses, whales, and working in Antarctica.

Watch this episode on YouTube. Listen to it on Spotify, Stitcher, Apple Podcasts, Google Podcasts, Breaker, Castbox, Overcast, Pocket Casts, RadioPublic, or  RSS.

Show Notes

[00:00:45] Elanor's interest in environmental biology. [00:00:57] Wanting to make a difference. [00:01:22] Combining her love of marine biology and plants. [00:02:48] Field work in Scottish woodlands. [00:03:28] Envisioning a future in the tropics. [00:04:11] Discovering the beauty in microbiology. [00:05:46] Discovering polar ecology. [00:06:07] Unexpectedly ending up doing a PhD in Antarctica. [00:07:50] Being far from home in an isolated environment. [00:09:00] Preparing to go to Antarctica. [00:09:07] Intensive scientific training. [00:09:37] Intensive field training for working and living in Antarctica. [00:11:00] Elanor's outdoor passion and the Duke of Edinburgh's Award providing foundations. [00:11:33] The psychological and interpersonal training. [00:12:58] Elanor's experience on her first deployment. [00:13:54] The cold and being out on the ice. [00:15:30] From lakes in Antarctica to seahorses. [00:16:41] Coming time to write up the PhD. [00:17:20] The struggles of writing a PhD. [00:19:03] Needing a literal sea-change from pure science. [00:19:31] Looking for conservation work, something more applied. [00:19:57] An opportunity to work with seahorses in Canada. [00:22:07] Taking chances with new experiences. [00:22:57] Project Seahorse. [00:23:31] The various aspects of conservation work. [00:24:39] Conservation is more than just the message, it's giving back to the communities involved. [00:26:07] The purposes seahorses have been fished for. [00:28:03] Returning to microbial ecology. [00:29:02] Taking a chance on a postdoc in Germany on extremophiles. [00:32:00] The opportunities and flexibility to explore different work. [00:32:50] On the scope and flexibility of postdoctorate work. [00:34:48] Being able to design a marine conservation course incorporating Elanor's past work experiences. [00:35:36] The desire to pursue more applied sciences. [00:35:53] Needing to solve the two-body problem. [00:36:27] Relocating the family to Australia. [00:36:36] Submitting a manuscript as she went into labour. (!!) [00:38:26] Returning to the Australian Antarctic Division to study whales. [00:38:49] Wanting to do research that would contribute to conservation. [00:39:27] Writing job applications with a baby sleeping on you in the middle of the night. [00:41:08] Balancing field work with young children. [00:41:45] The struggles of breastfeeding while travelling for work. [00:42:51] Being able to see the science applied at a policy level. [00:43:09] Timing the longer journeys and being selective about the work related travel. [00:43:28] Combining eco-tourism outreach with research. [00:45:02] Communication with Antarctica is so much easier than it used to be. [00:45:56] Researching minimally invasive techniques for studying marine mammals. [00:46:53] Using sonobuoys for scientific research purposes. [00:48:22] Other methods and technologies used to collect data about whales. [00:49:28] Learning about the populations and population health through biopsies. [00:50:52] Getting a picture of Antarctic Blue Whale population health. [00:52:09] The project is a multidisciplinary study: The whale/krill relationship. [00:53:15] Socialisation and feeding behaviours. [00:54:38] The impact of the krill industry on whales. [00:55:19] How all that ties back in to conservation. [00:56:16] Everything you wanted to know about whale toileting behaviours but were afraid to ask. [00:57:21] The sampling process and analysing the impact of fertilisation. [00:59:27] The cycle of productivity. [01:00:21] The impact of smaller whale populations on local productivity. [01:01:11] Bonus Question 1: What hobby or interest do you have that is most unrelated to your field of work? [01:02:37] Bonus Question 2: Which childhood book holds the strongest memories for you? [01:02:40] Elanor's father reading to them at bedtime. [01:03:07] Elanor's relationship with The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. [01:05:00] Bonus Question 3: What advice you would give someone who wants to do what you do? Or what advice should they ignore? [01:05:09] You don't need a plan, but you should enjoy what you do. [01:05:27] Gone is the ivory tower. [01:06:31] Find a mentor and a support network. [01:07:41] Finding mentors. [01:09:52] Finding out more about Elanor's work.

Topics/Resources/People Mentioned

St Andrew's University

Gatty Marine Laboratory (wiki)

Daintree Forest

Diatom (wiki)

British Antarctic Survey

La Trobe University

Australian Antarctic Division

Duke of Edinburgh's Award

Nottingham University

Project Seahorse

McGill University

The Shedd Aquarium, Chicago

Extremophile (wiki)

Heliozoa (wiki)

Potsdam University

Two-Body Problem (wiki)

Life at Extremes by Elanor Bell (BookDepository)

International Whaling Commission (IWC)

Commission for the Conservation of Antarctic Marine Living Resources (CCAMLR)

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkein (GoodReads) (BookDepository)

The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkein (GoodReads Book 1) (BookDepository)

Additional Information

Life at Extremes by Elanor Bell (BookDepository)

Connect with Elanor

Australian Antarctic Division

Facebook (@AusAntarctic)

Twitter: (@AusAntarctic)

Instagram: (@AusAntarctic)

Follow STEAM Powered

YouTube Facebook Instagram Twitter Patreon Ko-Fi

[ibelieveinharrystyles]

Chapter Five: Daisy Darling

Forever? Masterlist

Ashley wasn’t keen on the sticky and sweaty British summer, and it wasn’t much easier being thirty four weeks pregnant. Her regular scans had shown that the baby was developing at a more regular rate, she was still smaller than average, but she was a healthier size now. Ashley only had three weeks left at work before her maternity leave started, she was pretty much prepared, Harry had helped her put the cot together before he left for filming in France, which was an absolute relief. She was spending her Tuesday morning the way she did every week, eating her way through a packet of biscuits, with the help of Toby and Roman when he walked past her desk of course. “Ro! please save me from myself, finish these biscuits off please! I beg you!” Ashley called across the office as she noticed Roman leaving the studio. 

He made his way over to her desk, “Okay if you insist,” He took the biscuits from her, and began munching on one, “Do you fancy a brew?”

“Alright then, I’ll come with you actually.” She stood up from her desk and waddled over to the small office kitchen. 

As she leant against the counter in the kitchen Ashley felt a sharp pain in her stomach, she winced gripping onto the counter. “You alright?” Roman asked, pouring milk into their mugs.

“Yeah it’s probably just braxton hicks,” she assured him, but then she felt a pop, that told her these weren’t just braxton hicks, “Oh shit Ro, I think the baby’s coming.” 

“Oh God, what do you want me to do? Shall I call Harry?” He flustered, dropping the teaspoon on the floor in panic.

“No, he’s in France filming, it’ll only worry him,” she whispered, breathing through the pain, “My phones on my desk, I need you to call Gemma and tell her to meet me at St Thomas hospital, and ask if she can get my hospital bag on the way.” Roman ran off to her desk trying to find her phone and gather her things, she started panicking remembering that the doctors said it was extremely important for her to get as close to full term as possible. She began to tear up thinking about how Harry wouldn’t be there, they both knew there was a chance he wouldn’t be there, but he was meant to be on a filming break in the week of her due date, but this wasn’t what either of them had expected, “I’ve got your stuff, I’m going to drive you, I don’t want you getting a cab by yourself, Gemma’s going to meet us at the hospital.”

The journey to the hospital felt like a lifetime, as Roman pulled into the drop off point, she saw Gemma waiting armed with a wheelchair and her baby bag. Roman jumped out the car, helping Ashley out of the car and into the wheelchair, he exchanged thank yous with Gemma, wished Ashley well and left the two of them to find their way to maternity. “I’m scared Gem,” Ashley whispered to her.

“Hey, we’re going to be strong together aren’t we? We’re going to get through this, us three girls.” Gemma assured her as she wheeled her into maternity.

“You two alright there?” A passing midwife asked.

“Her waters have broken, she’s thirty four weeks, she was at work when it happened so this isn’t the hospital she’d usually be at, that’s alright isn’t it?” Gemma replied on Ashley’s behalf.

“That should be absolutely fine, we’ll have someone send your notes over, right let’s get this show on the road.”

Ashley has been changed into a gown and was now lying on a hospital bed, waiting for the midwife whilst she breathed through her next contraction. “Hello, I’m Dr Stevenson, I’ve been sent your notes from your usual hospital and I’m aware the baby is a little smaller than we’d like.” the Doctor explained as she entered the room, “I've spoken to Maggie the midwife who checked you over and she said baby is breech, meaning she’s foot first, and due to her size we think it’s best to do an emergency cesarean section, we don’t want to put her through the stress of natural labour.” 

“Is she going to be okay?” Ashley asked.

“Trust me, this is the best thing for both of you to keep you both safe, the nurses will be along soon to prep you for theatre.” Dr Stevenson explained before leaving her be.

“It’s happening Gem, it’s really happening, she sighed.

“Do you want me to call Harry?” Gemma asked.

“No, I’ll tell him when she’s here.”

Ashley lay on the operating table, Gemma sat beside her, wearing scrubs as she stroked her hand through Ashley’s hair. The surgeon had made the first incision and was doing her very best to keep the baby safe. “Not long now Ashley, we’ll have her out soon.” Dr Stevenson assured her, “She’s here, we’ve got her.” Dr Stevenson held up the tiny baby, cutting the umbilical cord and taking her over to the side.

“She’s not crying, she’s meant to be crying, what’s going on?” Ashley cried, her voice wavering with anxiety.

“Sometimes the little ones need a helping hand, Dr Stevenson’s just warming her up.” A nurse explained.

“Come on love, stay strong.” Gemma whispered, stroking Ashley’s hair, the painful silence was interrupted by the baby’s high pitched scream, “She’s okay Ash, she’s a fighter.” 

“Is she alright?” Ashley asked Dr Stevenson.

“We’re going to take her to ICU, to minimise risk of infection, and make sure she’s stable, the surgeon will stitch you up and then you can come down and see her.” 

It had reached the early hours of the evening, golden sun was streaming through the windows of the hospital, Ashley lay in bed, the majority of the anesthetic had worn off now. “How are you feeling?” a new midwife asked, checking Ashley’s notes.

“Good, thank you.” Ashley replied.

“If you’d like to I can take you to see your baby.” 

“Yes please.” with the help of the midwife and Gemma she got into the wheelchair successfully as they took her down to the intensive care unit. 

“Here’s your little lady, I’m afraid you can’t hold her yet, but you can put your hands in and she’ll clasp onto your finger, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Hello beautiful, did it get too boring in there petal?” Ashley reached her hand inside the incubator, letting her baby hold onto her finger, “We’re going to have to give you a name little lady, how does Daisy sound? I think it suits you perfectly. It’s a scary world out there Daisy darling, but we’ll get through it together.”

Gemma entered the room, armed with cups of tea, “She’s perfect Ash, you did so well in there.” Gemma whispered, handing Ashley a cup of tea.

“Thank you for sticking with me through all of it. If you need to get home I’ll understand, I think I owe Harry a call.” Ashley told her.

“Alright then, I’ll see you soon, if you need anything, let me know.” Gemma replied before quietly leaving the NICU room.

Ashley pulled her phone from the pocket of her dressing gown, dialling Harry’s number, who picked up almost instantly, “Hello movie star, how are you?” 

“I’m good, it’s been busy today, I’m back at the hotel now, how about you?” he replied, sitting on the end of his hotel bed.

“Pretty uneventful,” she grinned, “Someone’s decided to say hello to the world six weeks early.”

“Wait, you mean-”

“My daughter was born at 2pm today.” She told him.

“Are you okay? Is she okay?” Harry asked frantically, “If you need me to come back early I can.”

“I don’t need you to do that H, she’s little so they’ve put her in an incubator, just as a precaution, until she’s stronger.” Ashley explained, Daisy still clutching onto her finger.

“You weren’t on your own we’re you?” Harry worried.

“No, Roman drove me from work, Gem met me here and stayed with me throughout, she’s gone home now though.” Ashley explained.

“That’s good, have you given her a name?” 

“Daisy, Daisy Alice Hanson.” Ashley replied, unable to wipe the smile off her face as she admired her newborn baby.

“I miss you, I’ll be back mid august though so I’ll see you then.” Harry explained.

“We look forward to it, at least by then you’ll be able to hug her, at the moment she can only hold onto my hand.” 

“Well I look forward to my first hug from her, and you of course.” Harry replied.

“We’re so lucky to have you Harry.” Ashley told him.

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one.”

The following morning Ashley stirred from her sleep thanks to the sound of familiar voices beside her bed, she opened her eyes to see her mum Linda and Anne sat beside her. “Hello love, how are you?” Linda whispered.

“Stiff, I’ve been in this bed for a solid twelve hours, I’ve been wheeled everywhere,” Ashley told them both, shuffling to sit herself up properly, “Anne, you have raised two absolute angels, Gemma was incredible yesterday, and speaking to Harry on the phone last night made my heart feel so full.” 

“I’m just glad to see you’re alright sweetheart.” Anne told her.

“How was the journey down?” Ashley asked them both.

“It was good, we got the train down, and we stopped off on the way to get some bits for you and the baby, I imagine all the baby grows you’ve got are going to be a bit big at the moment so we bought you some premature ones.” Linda explained.

“That’s lovely mum thank you, would you both like to meet Daisy?” Ashley asked.

Ashley wasn’t wrong when she said she was stiff, she had managed to change into a hoodie and joggers, but walking was a bit difficult at first. She led Anne and Linda into NICU, “Mum, Anne, this is baby Daisy.” She showed them the incubator where Daisy lay sound asleep, a tiny hat covering the top of her tiny head.

“She’s beautiful,” Linda whispered.

“Perfect.” Anne agreed.

“I’m already so in love with her, I can’t quite believe she’s finally here.”

One Week Later

“I’ve got some good news for you Ashley.” The midwife told Ashley who was sat feeding Daisy, who was now strong enough to be held, “The doctors think Daisy’s made enough progress in the last week for you to take her home.”

“Really? Do you mean today?” she asked.

“We’ll have to do a few checks beforehand, but I don’t see why not.” She explained.

“Hear that Dais? We’re going home today.”

Once the doctors had done their relevant checks, they agreed that Daisy was healthy enough to go home, Ashley placed a peacefully sleeping Daisy into her pram, her fingertips just about poking out of the sleeves of her baby grow that was way too big for her. “Right my love, it’s time for you to face the big wide world.” Ashley pushes the pram out to the waiting area where Gemma was waiting with all the bags.

“You ready?” Gemma asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

[laura-elizabeth91]

FROM 2019

Matt Chorley: behind the scenes at 10 Downing Street

Times political expert Matt Chorley speaks with former prime ministers, senior civil servants and spin doctors to find out what the new inhabitant of No 10 can expect in his first 48 hours in office (whoever he may be)

Not many people get to do it. In the past half-century, more people have walked on the Moon than across the threshold of No 10 as a new prime minister.

When the new prime minister stands on those famous steps next Wednesday afternoon he will find it a daunting prospect. They always do. Sir John Major felt it had come too soon. When he was confirmed as the new PM in 1990, his wife, Norma, turned to a friend and asked, “Is it going to be all right?”

Britain’s political system does not allow for a slow and careful transition between administrations, as in America. Some, like Gordon Brown, have years to prepare. Others, like Theresa May, a matter of days. This time, the new prime minister will be named on Tuesday and he will take office the next day, stepping on to a nonstop treadmill charging at 100mph.

“You’re never ready,” says Tony Blair. “The one thing you realise the moment you come into government is that campaigning to be the government is completely different from governing as the government.” Was he frightened? “Yeah, I was … ‘Frightened’ is perhaps not the right word, but I was somewhat overawed, yeah.”

Recalling that night in May 1997 as he willed the Tories to win more seats, fearing a New Labour landslide might spark some kind of constitutional crisis, he adds, “I think I was one of the very few sober people around that night and I was very sober and very, very conscious of the responsibility.”

For David Cameron, there was the psychodrama of five days of coalition talks, before it became clear that he would indeed be PM. Sitting in the leader of the opposition’s office in the Houses of Parliament, he called his wife: “Sam, love, you’d better get your frock ready. We’re going to see the Queen.”

And that is the first thing that happens even before you get to Downing Street: a trip to Buckingham Palace.

The Queen After PMQs on Wednesday, May will formally resign as PM, recommending to the Queen whom to summon as her successor. May will arrive at the palace in her prime ministerial limousine, but be driven away in a private car. The trappings of power fall away quickly.

The audience with the Queen can be a daunting moment, not least because she will remind the new PM that he is the 14th of her reign. Winston Churchill was her first.

Blair was waiting in a Buckingham Palace anteroom for his first audience with the Queen when an official approached to explain, “You don’t actually kiss the Queen’s hands in the ceremony of kissing hands. You brush them gently with your lips,” as he recalls in his memoir. This left the PM-in-waiting baffled, wondering if this meant brushing like a pair of shoes or the very lightest of touches.

Before he had time to work it out, he was ushered in, tripping on a piece of carpet and almost falling directly upon the Queen’s hands – “not so much brushing them as enveloping them”.

Margaret Thatcher insisted her audiences with the Queen were “quietly businesslike”, although she said stories about tensions between the two women were simply “too good not to make up”.

Cameron had a habit of blurting out details of his conversations with the Queen – famously that she “purred” down the phone to him after Scotland voted no to independence.

The speech From the palace it is a short mile and a half car journey down the Mall and Whitehall to Downing Street to address the nation. This speech matters.

“The new PM must first write notes only to be opened in the event of an apocalypse

It has grown in significance. For Thatcher quoting St Francis of Assisi (“Where there is discord, may we bring harmony”), it was a few snatched words to a huddle of cameras. These days it is a big lectern moment. As with May’s “burning injustices”, those first words on the steps of No 10 can set the tone for a premiership, and come back to haunt you.

With the world’s media gathered opposite No 10 and news helicopters hovering overhead, the narrow street creates a cauldron of noise.

It was easier for Blair – Labour apparatchiks had packed the street with Union Jack-waving party supporters. A decade later Brown took no chances. On the morning he became prime minister he went into a room in the Treasury with his gatekeeper Sue Nye and spin doctor Damian McBride to practise delivering his speech without notes – “I will try my utmost” – while his two aides played the role of protesters.

“Boo!” shouted Nye. “You’re a bad man!”

McBride got more into it: “Why did you sell the gold, Gordon? You ruined my pension! You’ve got blood on your hands!” At this last insult Brown stopped mid-speech and demanded to know, “Why is there blood on my hands?”

Some are more memorable than others – Cameron declaring, “This is going to be hard and difficult work,” had the hallmarks of a speech written in haste. It was also delivered in the dark, thanks to the Dark Lord of spin, Peter Mandelson. He advised Brown to leave in the early evening, still in daylight, knowing that by the time Cameron reached Downing Street the gloom would have descended.

The door Having delivered the speech in a blaze of flashbulbs, the new prime minister will turn and walk towards perhaps the most famous door in the world. This is the moment he will have fantasised about.

Waiting behind the door will be Sir Mark Sedwill, the cabinet secretary, at least for now. There has been speculation he could face the chop, although the new PM might soon realise they have bigger things to worry about.

The cabinet secretary, the most senior civil servant in the country, welcomes the new prime minister and their spouse (if they have one) before the couple walk towards the cabinet room, down the corridor lined with Downing Street staff who just an hour earlier will have waved off Team May. Lord O’Donnell, former cabinet secretary under Blair, Brown and Cameron, says, “You’ve got a very frenetic hour when you’re rearranging the furniture. You’re trying to work out precisely what our new prime minister might want. It’s horrible. It’s … barbaric, actually, is the word I would use.”

The changeover is brutal in its speed and efficiency. On the night in 2010 when Brown left Downing Street he was barely out the door when Jeremy Heywood, the No 10 permanent secretary, told staff to “snap out of it. We have a job to do.” And so they dried their eyes and prepared for Cameron’s arrival.

“It’s a bit mawkish really,” says Baroness Bertin, who entered No 10 as Cameron’s press secretary. “You can still, you know, smell them. They’ve only just left. The pizza boxes were still in the bin. We all trooped into Gordon Brown’s office and the table had scratch marks and indentation marks where we imagined mobile phones had been smashed into it.”

The civil servants will line up, clap and smile and make their new boss feel welcome. This tradition is born not out of servitude to new masters but a more practical purpose: in the pre-television age, it was a chance for Downing Street staff to see the new PM and their team up close so they could recognise them about the place.

“It’s very noisy,” recalls Katie Perrior, who entered No 10 in 2016 as May’s director of communications. “There’s lots of back-patting and people are realising, ‘We’re here now.’ ”

Anji Hunter, Blair’s adviser, says this moment illustrates the professionalism of the civil service. “They don’t display their political affiliations. That same group of people had been there an hour before we were there, weeping as Major left with Norma. They had clapped out John Major and they clapped us in, beaming, literally beaming and delightful.”

Blair arrived deeply suspicious of the civil service, believing they were beholden to the long-running outgoing Conservative administration. The same was true of Cameron when he moved in after 13 years of New Labour. “Actually, within almost hours that’s completely gone,” says O’Donnell.

While the clapping and smiling have been going on, the cabinet secretary has run round the back corridor to be waiting for the PM outside the cabinet room.

The cabinet room Stepping into the famous cabinet room can be an emotional moment. Blair said he pictured “a thousand images fluttering through my mind” of Disraeli and Gladstone and Asquith, Lloyd George and Churchill and every other great statesman who had held court and power in this room.

David Cameron, alongside wife Samantha, is ushered into the cabinet room for the first time by cabinet secretary Gus O’Donnell, May 11, 2010ANDREW PARSONS/I-IMAGES

A photographer captured the moment Cameron had his head in his hands as he entered the room, as the enormity of it all dawned on him. O’Donnell was to his left, while to his right was his wife, Samantha, pregnant with their daughter, Florence, who was allowed to enjoy the private moment of history before being whisked off.

By tradition all the chairs around the cabinet table are neatly pushed in; the prime minister’s seat is at an angle. It is also the only chair with arms.

The PM sits. Waiting on the vast coffin-shaped table is bottled water, still and sparkling, and a small dish of mints. It is going to be an intense first meeting. After all the euphoria, the applause and the smiles, it quickly gets serious. Really serious.

The letters One of the first jobs is to write letters to the UK’s Trident submarine commanders giving targeting instructions only to be opened in the event of a nuclear attack where communications with London have broken down.

“Cameron held an ‘Ibiza-style rave’ at Chequers for his wife’s birthday

The chief of the defence staff, General Sir Nicholas Carter, is likely to be on hand to offer advice. However, nobody knows what the PM puts in the letters, which are sealed and taken to the Clyde naval base in Scotland where the submarines are based, with whichever boat is at sea having its letter on board.

The PM must also name a dozen ministers and advisers who would be given a space in the underground nuclear bunker, alongside their families, in the event of Armageddon.

Joining them around the cabinet table might be the heads of the security services. There will be a fast update on the most pressing issues of national security: live counterterror operations, imminent threats and urgent decisions delayed by their predecessor.

“This isn’t exactly an easy first couple of meetings,” says O’Donnell.

“It’s incredibly scary,” agrees Lord Wood of Anfield, a foreign policy adviser to Brown. “It’s a particular kind of torture to make the first act of a prime minister, literally within 30 seconds, this extraordinarily dramatic act of handwritten notes only to be opened in the event of an apocalypse.”

That moment encapsulates the feeling of loneliness that so many prime ministers have spoken of. There is no one to share it with, nowhere to turn. The buck stops with you and you alone.

The team While things are calm but serious in the cabinet room, outside all hell could be breaking loose as the PM’s political team get to meet their new colleagues, tour their new office and try to grab the best desks.

In 2007, while Brown was at the palace his team had a 2pm appointment at the “link door”, a Star Trek-like glass capsule door that connects the cabinet office with the rear of No 10.

“You walk into the pod,” recalls Wood. “It shuts behind you and then hopefully opens in front of you. There was a line of women on the other side who were the PAs, the Garden Room girls and assistants. And we were kind of matched one a piece, a bit like Strictly.

“And the thing I remember is that they all looked very red-eyed. And I only realised three years later when I left, they were crying because they’d just said goodbye to the Blair team. Within half an hour they were hoovering the floor and then lining up waiting for their new team.”

Once through, the political team will rush through the corridors of No 10 to be there to greet the new PM as he walks through the door.

Some teams are better prepared than others. Jonathan Powell, Blair’s chief of staff, held talks with the civil service and even trained frontbenchers in how to be a minister. “I remember Tony not wanting to know anything about that,” Hunter recalls. “Superstitious is the word.”

Keen to make a first impression in 2016, Perrior made a speech to civil service press officers about the importance of loyalty. “Don’t screw me over and I’ve got your back.”

For aides and advisers, the first days will also mean detailed security checks, especially for those covering foreign affairs, defence and national security.

Wood says, “My understanding is that the inquiries have evolved from questions about sexual and other matters to questions about money. I think they care much more now about financial exposure than private life exposure.”

The incoming team will also be warned against using their personal email addresses for government business, and to be wary when travelling abroad, to assume that foreign governments are listening in.

Sue Nye gave Brown’s team some extra advice: always carry your paperwork in a folder (to avoid official documents being snapped by photographers waiting in Downing Street). And never run.

“I was with the prime minister quite a lot, travelling around the world,” says Wood. “If you’re caught on camera running, it looks like something’s gone wrong.”

The house It is a strange quirk of British politics that the entire country is run from three terraced houses knocked together to form the office, state rooms and home of the prime minister.

O’Donnell calls it a “Tardis”. Wood says it is like a “slightly run-down Georgian country hotel”. Bertin remembers “being so overwhelmed really by No 10, the actual presence, actually being in that building, the smell of it. It just was like a sensory overload.”

If changing jobs is hard enough, becoming prime minister also comes with one of life’s most stressful experiences: moving house. The flat over No 11 Downing Street is slightly bigger and has in recent years been taken by the prime minister. At the end of a long day they can head to one of the small lifts that takes them to the top floor. Although in time prime ministers often make a habit of taking the stairs, the only form of exercise they get during an office-bound day running the country.

“Brown struggled to relax at No 10. ‘He didn’t enjoy living above the shop’

New PMs routinely try to suggest they might like to stay in their own home, before security becomes too much. Security arrangements for children and wider family will also have to be agreed. O’Donnell jokes, “We all know from Bodyguard what that can lead to.”

For new prime ministers not used to the increased security, this can come as a shock. On his first day in office, Major went to walk from No 10 to the House of Commons for lunch, but was stopped by police who made it clear this would be impossible for as long as he was PM.

For PMs with young children, working below the flat could be a blessing, allowing them to slope off for an hour. The Cameron children would often be seen playing in their pyjamas as dignitaries visited.

Brown, by contrast, struggled to relax. Wood says, “He didn’t enjoy living above the shop.” Home remained in Scotland, while the Downing Street flat “felt a little bit like a place you were staying in for a long weekend with a few Sainsbury’s bags full of milk”.

Discussions will also have to be had about the position of the new PM’s wife or girlfriend, whether they plan to play a visible role, and whether their own job or interests present a potential political conflict that could derail a premiership in its infancy.

There will be questions of changing artworks, even redecorating, but they can come later.

The new PM has not just one new home, but two. There is also the grace-and-favour country retreat at Chequers, where they are likely to head to for their first weekend.

May used to enjoy using the pool. Thatcher was so concerned with the electricity bills she had the pool’s heating switched off. Blair added a tennis court and invited celebrity friends to stay. Cameron held an “Ibiza-style rave” for his wife’s birthday.

When Major became prime minister he inherited a Chequers reception from Thatcher, but had no guests. So he asked O’Donnell, the PM’s press secretary at the time, who to invite. He replied instantly, “Well, Bobby Charlton ...”

“We just reeled out these people that we’d all love to meet,” says O’Donnell. “We had Jenny Agutter and a whole bunch of cricketers.”

The reshuffle Before unwinding in the Buckinghamshire countryside, there is the small matter of putting together a government.

If the updates on the state of the nation’s security are sensitive, the details of the reshuffle require perhaps even higher levels of secrecy. A small office just off the cabinet room is used for reshuffles, which means the door can be locked so ministerial posts are not spotted by prying eyes. “You need to make sure that you can’t have someone going in moving the names around,” says O’Donnell.

In comes a whiteboard to write people’s names on with magnets. In 2010, as the coalition government was being put together, disaster struck. “For some reason the magnetic thing stopped and all the names dropped off,” Bertin recalls. “I’m sure some people got different jobs as a result.”

The number of ministerial jobs is limited by law to 90 MPs, and a total of 109 paid posts including 22 paid cabinet positions. Downing Street staff are tasked with finding out where key people are in preparation for them to be called in for a job – without letting on why.

Both May and Major were propelled into No 10 with such haste they had given little thought to their top team. Brown, by contrast, had been planning it for months, perhaps years, right down to every junior minister and aide. “As with all these things, it goes well until it doesn’t, and then like dominoes you’ve got to rebuild the whole thing,” recalls Wood.

Margaret Beckett was let go as foreign secretary, making way for David Miliband. “It went down like a ton of shit,” says one of Wood’s former colleagues. “She has never forgiven Gordon.”

“Of the many gifts she received, May chose to keep only hosiery from a firm called Luxury Legs

In addition to the rather quaint idea of choosing the right person for each job, other considerations are also taken into account: in the New Labour years it meant balancing Blairites and Brownites; the coalition had to have the right number of Tories and Lib Dems; since 2016, balancing Remainers and Leavers has been seen as critical.

It is likely that only the very top jobs – chancellor, foreign secretary and home secretary – will be announced on Wednesday night. The rest of the cabinet will be rolled out on Thursday, with more junior jobs to follow.

Where the coalition had got into the habit of announcing reshuffles on Twitter, Team May thought this too Cameroon and opted for formal press releases with the Downing Street crest on.

Would-be ministers are brought into Downing Street through the front door or via the cabinet office and left in a small waiting room just off the main entrance to No 10.

“You know what I’ve got, don’t you?” a nervous Boris Johnson asked Perrior on the evening of July 13, 2016. “Yes,” she replied. “But it’s not for me to tell you. It’s for the prime minister. So you just have to wait a little bit longer.” He was then summoned to the cabinet room to be offered the job of foreign secretary, before returning to a makeshift photographer’s studio in a side office where portraits would be taken to mark the occasion.

A slick operation. But not perfect. At one point George Osborne, still resident in No 11, walked past just as someone was shouting, “Can you just repeat that? Philip Hammond is the new chancellor?” Osborne winked and carried on. Perrior explains, “George Osborne got fired via someone shouting in a corridor a little bit loudly.”

The switchboard For new arrivals into Downing Street, “Switch” is about to change their lives. The Downing Street switchboard is staffed around the clock by a team of crack operatives able to get anyone on the phone anywhere at a moment’s notice.

Technology has obviously changed its role. Major and Blair didn’t have a mobile phone. Brown was less of a stickler for process, and would text and email at all hours. These days a prime minister could bypass Switch by whatsapping their ministers, advisers or other world leaders. They could also bypass their press teams by firing off tweets, creating the havoc that Donald Trump seems to thrive on in the White House.

“If Donald Trump were prime minister,” says O’Donnell, “I would have kittens, because that’s just not the way our system works.”

The first job for Switch will be to co-ordinate the congratulatory phone calls. Traditionally, the president of the United States is the first wellwisher to get through.

George W Bush was the first to call Brown. Three years later the White House was on the line again. “I’m speaking to you now from No 10 for the first time,” Cameron told Obama, with a wink to his team.

Expect President Trump to be first on the line next week, too. Or perhaps he will just tweet. Might an early call from Germany’s Angela Merkel or Ireland’s Leo Varadkar help to oil the wheels of a new Brexit deal? Also listening in to those calls will be the chief of staff, special advisers, foreign policy experts and press aides charged with briefing out (some of) what is said.

There will also be hundreds, if not thousands, of calls from friends and family. O’Donnell says, “These may be the extended family that the prime minister’s forgotten all about. They may feel that now their third cousin twice removed has become prime minister, they really need to congratulate them.”

The gifts For some, phoning is not enough. Gifts, many terribly expensive, are dispatched. Anything worth more than £140 is seized by the cabinet office, and if the PM wants to keep it they have to pay for it. In July 2017 May was sent shoes, clothes and make-up. She chose to keep only hosiery from a firm called Luxury Legs.

And then the flowers. Thatcher joked in her memoirs that so many bouquets were sent to No 10 during her final days that “you could hardly move down the corridors for a floral display that rivalled the Chelsea Flower Show”. And they all had to go before the new PM arrived, with even more blooms.

Perrior says, “The place looks like someone’s died. I feel for anybody who has hayfever.”

The office Blair found Downing Street so cramped he considered moving the office of the prime minister to the QEII conference centre. Cameron toyed with moving upstairs to one of the grand state rooms looking out over Horse Guards Parade, where Thatcher had worked, before discovering there were no phone or IT connections. Instead, he chose the room used by Blair, then known as the “den”.

Bertin was not impressed. “It was a bit of a mess, if I’m honest. It was tiny. There were sort of, you know, stains on the carpet.”

When May, who inherited Cameron’s office, visited Perrior in her oak-panelled corner room overlooking the garden, she remarked how nice it was. “I said something along the lines of, ‘Keep your hands off … You are not taking this office.’ ”

In most workplaces having your own office would be a sign of status, but in Downing Street it can leave you cut off from the action.

Chiefs of staff position themselves right outside the prime minister’s office, deciding who gets in and who doesn’t. Everyone insists that the prime minister wants them to be in the room, closest to them, at all times.

“May’s thank-you party for staff came many weeks later, highlighting early on the lack of people skills that would bring her low

“You felt sometimes that you should hover,” says Wood. “Hopefully you caught someone’s eye and then they’d say, ‘Oh, you’d better come in.’ Proximity was everything.”

Under May there was to be no hovering. A sofa outside the PM’s office, used by hoverers, was removed. “It was made clear that you do not linger in this office,” Perrior recalls. “You are only to come when you are invited.”

In the early days of the May regime a small side office was commandeered by her chiefs of staff, Fiona Hill and Nick Timothy.

It became known as the “bollocking room”. “You knew that if you were asked to go in there … it was not going to be necessarily pleasant,” says Perrior.

Cameron had formality forced upon him: the coalition meant Nick Clegg (and his Lib Dem team) were squatters in No 10. Decisions had to be taken formally by both parties, not by a select clique. Conservative spin doctors and policy advisers were told to share offices with their Lib Dem opposite numbers. “I can remember being pissed off about that,” says Bertin, although she now admits it was the right way to ensure the coalition worked.

The night On Wednesday night civil servants will be encouraging the new PM to go to bed early, knowing what onslaught awaits the next day.

In 2007, at around 9pm, Brown went back to his flat – handily for the former chancellor, just upstairs – where his wife, Sarah, cooked dinner and close friends celebrated with champagne.

Next week, the new PM will likely head to their own home, because the Mays will not have moved out. But that does not mean time to switch off. They will have their red boxes of papers to work through, covering everything from a draft speech to a natural disaster or a parliamentary crisis. There is also the black box, known as “Old Stripey” due to its red stripe, that contains the most sensitive material, which even as foreign secretary Jeremy Hunt or Boris Johnson might not have seen.

Before heading off, it is probably wise to gather people for a pep talk, bringing together political advisers and civil servants to begin to cement them into a team. In 2007, Brown told the assembled workers in the Pillared Room, “It’s not every day you meet the Queen at 1.30pm, become the prime minister at 2.45pm, speak to the president of the United States at 4pm and get told by Sarah to put the kids to bed at 7pm.” Cameron made a speech joking about how he and Nick Clegg would get on better than Blair and Brown, which went down badly with those who’d spent years working for the Labour PMs.

May’s thank-you party for staff came many weeks later, highlighting early on the lack of people skills that in the end would bring her low.

The next day All prime ministers have a habit of starting early, and for May’s replacement time will be of the essence. On Thursday teams will be assembled early, at around 6am. The reshuffle will have to be completed, and the new prime minister is expected to make an appearance in the Commons before parliament rises for its six-week summer recess.

The diary will already be filling up. And it will be nonstop and baffling and relentless. Wood explains, “At 7am, you’re meeting with the Scottish Bagpipe Association, who’ve got a problem with tax treatment, and then at 8.15am you’ve got a phone call with the Armenian president ’cause there’s a problem on the border, and then at 9am you’ve got a policy meeting about long-term health policy. And you’ve got to fight against this tendency always to put aside the long-term stuff because there’s always enough short-term stuff to really consume you.”

The departure Like all good things, premierships come to an end. A new arrival in Downing Street means there has been a departure. Out with the old and in with the new.

In 2016, moments before Cameron went out to make his final speech, Bertin caught him just behind the No 10 door to tell him how proud she was of what he’d achieved. “Please don’t,” he said. “You’re going to make me cry.” When he came back in there were more tears, though he held it together. Just.

Leaving the building, and the power and influence it gives, is a wrench. Wood says, “It’s like handing over your most precious possession to someone else and resenting the fact that it’s not yours, but you want them to treat it well.”

Wood left a note to Bertin in 2010. When Bertin came to leave six years later she wrote a note to her children on No 10 paper, saying, “This is what Mummy did.”

And so it ends as it began, with letters. Before leaving Brown wrote three letters: one to Cameron (left under a bottle of whisky), one to Nelson Mandela and one to Aung San Suu Kyi. Most prime ministers leave their successor a note, knowing they are one of just a handful of people alive who know what the job is really like.

Brown had a well-worn joke about this. He used to say that when you finish in your job and your successor is taking over, you hand them three envelopes. When there’s a crisis (and there always is), they open the first letter and it says, “Blame your predecessor.” The next crisis, the second letter says, “Blame the statistics.” And finally the third envelope says, “Prepare three envelopes.” To find out more about what happens when you become PM, listen to Matt Chorley’s Red Box podcast special on iTunes, Acast and Spotify

UK politics

David Cameron

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Comments(84)Newestuyjujy yujuyjujyU

SShayeWestL24 JULY, 2019This was just riveting. Thanks Matt, brilliantly put together.ReplyRecommendReport

JJohn Must21 JULY, 2019EditedDon't fret. Trump will sort it all out for you during the 4PM phone call.ReplyRecommendReport

JJohnny C20 JULY, 2019Great article!ReplyRecommendReport

DDuncan Bell20 JULY, 2019Great piece, except maybe for the photos. Very insightful.ReplyRecommendReport

JJohn Noel HUGHES-WILSON20 JULY, 2019Of course the incoming PM could say , 'No, I am not going to be told what to do by you lot. This is what I want to happen. Now do it.' The idea that the civil service dictate the handover merely hands them power. Who controls the agenda? Sir Humphrey or his boss?ReplyRecommendReport

MMatt - Not the other one20 JULY, 2019According to the Bible of political processes - Yes, Prime Minister - an incoming PM is only applauded if they've won an election. Whoever goes into No. 10 won't have. So, like Jim Hacker, he'll be met with silence.ReplyRecommendReport

HHelsinki20 JULY, 2019Mr Johnson : DON'T BOTHER UNPACKING You won't be there long enough.ReplyRecommendReport

Rramtops20 JULY, 2019I truly cannot envisage Johnson being up to the relentless pressure and grasp of detail required for this job. I'm really quite fearful.ReplyRecommendReport

MMr Malcolm Speirs20 JULY, 2019I do hope The Times hold on to Matt, and that he does not end up at Sky News (where many excellent print journalists have headed of late).ReplyRecommendReport

DDave20 JULY, 2019He will find an empty box labelled “Brexit Britain’s bright sunlit future” and a full waste basket labelled “Brexit Promises”ReplyRecommendReport

MMichael Rose20 JULY, 2019John Noel HUGHES-WILSONYou really have no idea about the workings of government, do you? I doubt that Boris Johnson can tie his own shoelaces, never mind tell them what the civil service should be doing.ReplyRecommendReport

JJohnny C20 JULY, 2019John Noel HUGHES-WILSONMy father was a senior civil servant. He always said, Sir Humphrey ran the country. Yes Minister was how it really worked, most legislation is via Statutory Instruments penned by civil servants and signed into statute by clueless ministersReplyRecommendReport

MMichael Rose20 JULY, 2019Matt - Not the other oneOr hopefully a slow handclap.ReplyRecommendReport

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[fieryanmitsu]

Operation: No Curry | A3! Week 2020 – Day 3 (Tsumugi/Izumi)

The rest of my A3! Week entries are very late! But here’s my piece for Day 3! It’s just something light and silly this time, but please enjoy~

OPERATION: NO CURRY

PROMPTS: Summer|Dorm Life/Roommates|Confession

CHARACTERS: Tsumugi Tsukioka, Izumi Tachibana, Sakuya Sakuma, Tsuzuru Minagi, Tenma Sumeragi, Banri Settsu, Taichi Nanao, Hisoka Mikage

PAIRINGS: Tsumugi/Izumi

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

“Hot… it’s so hot… I’m going to meeeeelt!!” Taichi lamented from his spot on the floor of the Mankai Company’s lounge. The redhead was already wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt, but sweat still covered his entire body.

“Damn Sakyo! I can’t believe that cheap old man won’t let us turn on the aircon!” Banri growled from his spot at the table, fanning himself desperately with a paper fan. “And I can’t believe I have to use this stupid fan!”

The fan was one of many that Sakyo had asked Sakoda to prepare for them. The kanji for “Simplicity. Frugality. Temperance.” were emblazoned on the plain white fans in Sakoda’s calligraphy. They had only cost 800 yen for a pack of 20, and Sakoda’s labour was free.

“Well… Sakyo did say he would turn it on when it hits 35 degrees at least…” Sakuya replied, looking up from the script he was reading with one hand – the other also limply held a fan. Even the ever-chipper Spring Troupe leader sounded less enthusiastic than usual.

“It’s freakin’ 34 degrees!! We’re only one degree off, but he still won’t turn it on!” Tenma cried, lifting his head up from where he had laid it on the table. After his outburst, he immediately dropped it back on the table, all energy drained out of him. “Banri… fan me too… I can’t move…”

“Maybe we can ask him to count the humidity level… It’s 87% humidity after all… that’s got to count for an extra degree, right?” Sakuya suggested with a chuckle.

“I’m going to dieeeeee, it’s too hooooot!!” Taichi wailed.

“Shut UP, Taichi!! You’re making me feel even hotter!!” Banri snapped.

Suddenly the door to the lounge slammed open and Tsuzuru practically collapsed into the lounge.

“It’s an emergency!” the older boy exclaimed, his face pale and dripping with sweat.

“Tsuzuru?! What happened?”

“The director… I just saw her walking back from grocery shopping with Tsumugi. And I overheard that… that… that she’s making extra spicy curry for dinner tonight!!”

The lounge was silent for a moment as the gravity of what Tsuzuru just uttered sank in. Then, the room immediately erupted into a flurry of panicked voices.

“E-extra spicy curry?!”

“GYAAAAH!! It’s too hot for curry!!”

“IS SHE FREAKIN’ CRAZY?!”

“NOOOOOO! We’re going to dieeeeee!”

“GUYS! Pull it together. We just… we have to stop her!” Tsuzuru interrupted, hauling himself back onto his feet.

“How do we do that?!” Taichi moaned.

“Don’t panic! I have a plan!” Banri replied, his brain already churning. “Taichi! Go get Omi! Make him take over dinner duty to make something normal to eat! Sakuya, you and Tenma intercept the director and distract her while she’s putting away the groceries. Make sure she doesn’t start prepping those ingredients! Tsuzuru, you’re with me! ‘Operation: No Curry’ officially starts right now!”

“You’re the boss, boss!” Taichi responded, jumping to his feet with a salute. Despite having been glued to the floor in exhaustion mere moments ago, it was as if the thought of eating hot and spicy curry in the heat had shot energy through his veins. A second later, he was dashing out of the lounge to hunt down his roommate.  

Almost immediately afterwards, Izumi and Tsumugi walked through the door, hands weighed down with numerous shopping bags.

“We’re back!”

“D-Director! Let us help you with those groceries!!” Tenma exclaimed, scrambling off his chair.

“You should sit down, Izumi! You must be tired!” Sakuya said, taking the grocery bags from her arms and passing them to Tenma.

“H-Huh? Oh, you don’t have to do that—Whoa!” Izumi started to protest, but a moment later, Sakuya had already forcibly pushed her to sit down on the couch.

“TSUMUGI! We need to talk to you!!” Banri jumped in immediately.

“Th-That’s right! It’s urgent!” Tsuzuru added, taking his cue from Banri. He took the bags from Tsumugi and dropped them on the table before joining the Autumn Troupe leader in pushing Tsumugi into the hallway.

“W-Wait, what’s wrong, you two?!” Tsumugi exclaimed in confusion as the two younger boys jostled him out of the lounge.

As soon as they were in the hallway, Banri and Tsuzuru cornered Tsumugi against the wall.

“Tsumugi…” Banri’s voice lowered as he stared intently at the older man. “How could you betray us?”

“B-Betray?” Tsumugi gasped, looking back at Banri with wide eyes.

“You went grocery shopping with the director. It was your duty to stop her from buying ingredients for curry,” Tsuzuru added in an equally grave voice.

“Huh? Is this what this is about?” Tsumugi said with a chuckle.

“This is no laughing matter! It’s so DAMN hot!! How could you let her make curry for us in this heat?!” Banri responded, shaking Tsumugi by the shoulders.

“Ahaha, er, well, she was really gung ho about it. Saying how the best way to beat the heat was to overpower it with more heat. Something about sweating would cool your skin off?”

“We’ll die, Tsumugi. If we have to eat extra spicy curry in this heat, we’ll literally die,” Tsuzuru responded bluntly, his eyes already looking half-dead.

“Look, Hisoka’s already dead from the heat – we’ll be next,” Banri stated, suddenly pointing down the hallway. Sure enough, Hisoka was splayed out face down on the floor in the middle of the corridor.

“H-Hisoka?! Maybe we should check on him?!”

“No, we’ll take care of him later. You have something more important to do,” Tsuzuru replied, waving his hand casually.

“I do?!”

“You need to get Izumi out of the dorms so that she can’t cook dinner,” Banri responded. “We need her far and away from here. Distract her for the next two or three hours while we get Omi to cook instead. He isn’t a curry freak and will make us something normal to eat.”

“But, why me? I’m actually fine with eating curry—”

“No, it’s your responsibility. You have to atone for your crime.”

“What crime?!”

“Let’s go!”

And in another whirlwind of limbs, Tsumugi was suddenly shoved back into the lounge and pushed in front of Izumi, still seated on the couch where Sakuya and Tenma were bombarding her with (fake) questions about the script in Sakuya’s hands.

“Izumi!” Tsuzuru hollered.

“Tsumugi has something to tell you!” Banri announced, clapping Tsumugi on the shoulder with an iron grip.

“Hmm? What is it, Tsumugi?”

“Uh… Umm… I… I…” Tsumugi stuttered – what exactly was he supposed to say?!

His eyes flickered from Izumi’s face to Tenma’s, and then Sakuya’s, and then landed on a magazine on the coffee table before them. Flustered, Tsumugi snatched up the magazine and pointed to the cover without really reading it.

“Th-This! I-I need to go here. With you. Right now!”

Everyone froze as they all stared at the front of the magazine. It was a bridal magazine, probably Yuki’s for costume design inspiration if the bear-shaped sticky notes sticking out of the pages indicated anything. The front-page splash was a photograph of a church with bright and bold words written across that read: ‘Top 10 Churches in Tokyo to Hold your Summer Wedding!’

No one seemed to know what to say. A cold bead of sweat dripped down the back of Tsumugi’s neck. Finally, after what felt like ages, Tsuzuru was the first to recover.

“Th-That’s right! This is for that… that guest performance that you have tomorrow right, Tsumugi? You were telling me about how you had to play a groom!”

“Y-Yes! I… I just realized that it would be good to get in some last minute practice! I figure this would really immerse me in the role – being at an actual church!” Tsumugi ad-libbed, working off of Tsuzuru’s line.

“H-Huh? B-but why do you need me there?” Izumi asked, stunned.

“Well, it would be better to practice with an opposing actor, wouldn’t it?” Banri replied.

“In that case, I should definitely not go with you – you know I can’t act,” Izumi dismissed breezily. “If Tsumugi needs someone to practice with, why don’t one of you go? It’ll be good practice in case any of you play a female role in the future! Anyway, I need to get started on dinner—”

Banri suddenly elbowed Tsumugi in the ribs and the older man, literally spurred into action, fell to his knees and grabbed Izumi’s hands in his own. Suddenly, it looked like a switch had been turned on, and his expression changed completely.

“No, it has to be you, Izumi,” Tsumugi said softly, his face serious and intense. His hands grasped hers tighter, gently drawing them closer to his chest, and he leaned his upper body closer towards her. “I want to make my practice as realistic as possible – to be as immersed in the scenario as much as I can. I could only do that with you as my practice partner. As my bride. After all… you’re the one I love, Izumi.”

For the third time within the past ten minutes, the entire room fell silent. They had all unconsciously been drawn into Tsumugi’s performance, and his sudden confession had been so heartfelt that every one of them had stopped breathing. Izumi could only stare back at Tsumugi with a slack jaw, wide eyes and bright red cheeks.

“Won’t you come with me, Izumi? Won’t you be my bride?” Tsumugi asked softly, one hand reaching up to cup her cheek tenderly and his eyes looking up at her imploringly.

“O-Okay,” Izumi answered, half out of shock.

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me, Izumi! Let’s go then – the boys will take care of dinner,” Tsumugi replied with a wide, toothy grin.

He gently tugged Izumi to her feet, intertwined their fingers and swiftly led her out of the lounge by the hand. As the door closed behind them, the remaining actors could only look at each other in disbelief.

“Tsumugi… He was acting just now, right?” Sakuya asked.

“Wow, he seriously is a pro when it comes to those subtle emotions – He hooked me right in…” Tenma responded with a shake of his head.

“No kidding… But, well, that’s that! Let’s go check on Taichi and Omi and get this non-curry dinner started! I’d say ‘Operation: No Curry’ is a grand success,” Tsuzuru added, clapping his hands together.

“Of course it was a success – I was the one who came up with it, after all,” Banri boasted, already heading towards the dorms.

“Hey! Somen! I want somen! Do you think Omi would make somen tonight?!” Tenma exclaimed excitedly.

“Oh yeah, someone needs to go check on Hisoka… I think he’s still sleeping in the hallway,” Banri remarked, suddenly remembering the older man.

“Uh, I hope he’s just sleeping…” Tsuzuru muttered, causing Sakuya to whip his head to look at him in alarm.

“Wait, what?! What happened to Hisoka?!”

Outside of the Mankai Company, Tsumugi led the still-dumbstruck Izumi up a side street, distinctly aware of the feeling of her hand held tight in his. They proceeded in silence for a few minutes until they arrived at a nearby park, where Tsumugi finally slowed down their steps.

“Izumi, let’s take a quick break here,” he said, sitting her onto a bench under the shade of a nearby tree.  

“Oh! Ah, sure, sounds good,” Izumi responded, finally recovered from her stupor.

“I’ll be right back!” Tsumugi said, before he quickly jogged over to a vending machine. Pulling out his wallet, he counted out a few hundred yen and bought a bottle of cold green tea. Returning to Izumi, he suddenly dipped himself into a bow and proffered the bottle to her.

“I’m sorry, Izumi! I tricked you just now! I don’t have any guest performances tomorrow – I don’t need to practice anything! Please accept this drink as an apology!”

Izumi stared owlishly at the drink floating in front of her face. A moment later, after Tsumugi’s words sunk in, she let out a laugh.

“Oh man, you really surprised me earlier! We had just been together too, and you didn’t mention anything about a guest performance, so I was so shocked when you came out of nowhere and said all of that!” she replied, taking the drink out of his hands. “And, of course you’re forgiven – though there’s nothing to forgive, really. But, why did you trick me anyway?”

“Ahaha… Well, I’m sure it’s obvious in hindsight, but Banri and Tsuzuru asked me to do it. Er, well, maybe that’s not quite right. Rather they asked me to distract you and get you out of the dorms,” he responded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand.

“Huh? Why did they want you to do that?”

“Errr, something about wanting to make dinner… or something,” he responded evasively, his eyes glancing away briefly before returning to her face and crinkling into a mischievous smile. “But, well, since we’re already out here, why don’t we honour their wishes and go enjoy ourselves for a bit? We could go somewhere with aircon, since we don’t have it on at home.”

“Oooh, that’s actually a great idea! Let’s go to the shopping mall, then! I haven’t had a chance to browse around for a while!” she replied.

“That sounds good to me,” Tsumugi agreed, falling into step beside her as they started walking again. They were only a few inches apart, and Tsumugi felt his hand twitch, wanting to reach across the short distance to grab a hold of hers again.

“But you know… you never cease to impress me with your acting, Tsumugi,” Izumi said suddenly, turning her head to give him a smile.

“Oh?” Tsumugi prompted. He could feel his heart rate quickening.

“When you grabbed my hands and confessed that you loved me… I couldn’t tell you were acting at all – it felt so real. You seriously made my heart beat so fast! My face felt like it was on fire! I’m so embarrassed!” Izumi responded, looking away shyly. She held the bottle of tea up to her face, trying to cool off her flushed cheeks.

“Ah, that’s probably because I wasn’t acting…” Tsumugi muttered quietly, half hoping that the woman next to him heard.

A second passed by without a response. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Izumi continued to walk without having missed a step – still smiling normally as she held the bottle to her cheek – and he knew that his words had been drowned out by the call of the cicadas.

This ended on a much more wistful note than I had intended, haha. But, maybe that’s just how it was meant to go since I was working with Tsumugi! Precious Tsumugi is my second favourite A3! boy, so I’m happy to write something where he gets a bit more of the spotlight! I also had a lot of fun writing the silly, overdramatic Mankai teenagers (and poor Tsumugi who got roped in), so hopefully you all had fun reading!

A3! Week 2020 is almost over at this point, but I will still be putting out content for the rest of the prompts that I haven’t gotten to yet! Please stay tuned if you’re interested, and likes and reblogs are always appreciated! Thank you~

-Anmitsu

[ofgoodmenarchive]

Blighted Empire: Ch. 3.5

Despair

Dorian Pavus still held his hand when he awoke.

Evallan experienced gratitude and mortification in equal measure as he stared at the arch of the tent above, mentally rehashing the nights occurrence.

The Tevinter could not have known physical contact would interrupt the channelling, nor could he have known to maintain his grip throughout the night. Yet by some instinct, he had realised what was required for Evallan to sleep undisturbed.

Painfully conscious of every restless finger, he pressed them astride the other mage's knuckles as he'd wanted to in dream. Since there was no reaction he gathered more nerve, gingerly rubbing his thumb along the curve of his hand. His heart hammered in his ears and his chest constricted, but he couldn't help himself.

Dorian's hands were softer than his, he noted, much less assaulted by their environment- he likely made more effort to care for them than Evallan. The few notable imperfections were recent, from their sparring. It was strange to think of his existence as something abraded into the man's flesh, but the thought was unavoidable.

   I could lay here for a while.

  I could lay here and pretend it is normal for us to do this.

He forced himself to sit up, freeing Dorian with a reluctance that gouged his heart- this was inappropriate.

It was also inappropriate to observe him as he slept but Evallan found himself doing that too. Not for the first time- he remembered the first, when the foolish Tevinter wandered to their aravel years ago. Even then he could not help seizing the opportunity to admire without witness- the subject of his admiration included.

And now with no one there or conscious to scrutinise, it was impossible for him not to extend his fingers, brushing against the Tevinter's jaw.

 It is true that you are quite handsome.

Dorian stirred as if sensing his thoughts. Anxiety fractured his musings and he retracted, hastily exiting the tent.

They would have to discuss the issue of Lightbringer- perhaps it was not awful Dorian knew. He had watched over Evallan before and his own clan-sister attested to the man's reliability. Evallan simply had to be careful.

Careful not to turn the situation into something it was not.

Some of the Tevinter's behaviour implied he might not even mind if it were otherwise- but Evallan minded.

 We are not really the same.

 He cannot understand the responsibility we have.

 What has been lost, or what must be regained.

 He has his own responsibilities- his own losses.

 He will not walk with us.

While he agonised over his thoughts, he prepared a campfire. Sky still untouched by day, the temperature within their tent would drop with only Dorian inside. But he couldn't bear to be enclosed with him any longer- at least not while he was unaware and Evallan's thoughts were permitted to drift.

There was nothing for him to do but prepare a cleansing potion for Dorian and appoint himself sentry-duty until the Templars roused. His first task took hardly anytime- they had most of the ingredients, and spindleweed was easily located nearer the Deep Roads entrance

Fortunately the Templar Commander was one of the few who kept similar hours to him, and he would know to expect Lavellan alert and awaiting direction. On his third or so lap of the area, Marcus stood outside a shelter, waving him over.

The commander was swift in reciting duties and strategies, the handful that made up his usual crew present. Some yawned inattentively but if Marcus smacked the war table or barked their names they responded without delay.

More often than not Evallan strived to be attentive but as he'd told Dorian Pavus- he was prone to distraction. While Marcus spoke he gestured with a fist clenching a half-eaten apple and this usurped Evallan's gaze. Fresh food was not commonplace, fresh fruit even less so. He tried to process the Templar's words but his eyes pinned the ruby sheen, wondering where it could have come from. He personally found it vulgar of Marcus to consume it so blatantly in front of his men.

 “Are you listening, Lavellan?” Marcus snapped, slamming apple and knuckles onto the Deep Roads map between them.

 “Yes.” He stated automatically- untruthfully.

 “Then what in all of fucking Thedas did I just say?” The Templar rasped. Evallan fought to look at the man's face and not what he held.

 “Something I have heard countless other times, and that I do not need to hear again?” He matched the commander's impatience.

 “Where's your blighted head at, Lavellan?!” Marcus spat, eyes narrowing, searching his face.

 “It is nowhere!” Evallan snarled. “I have heard this before!”

 “You're not looking at my Maker-damned face.” His worn brow punctuated his stare. “What are you looking at?”

 “Nothing!” Hands became fists, glowering as much at the man's face as he could.

There was a strained silence between them as they glared and the group of Templars spectated, likely mystified.

Marcus began shaking his head, angling his hand upwards, the true point of Evallan's focus catching the light.

 “It's the void-damned apple, isn't it?!” He accused, baffled and infuriated- which enraged Evallan in turn.

 “It was not!” He went so far as to stamp his foot, only realising how childish it must have looked a moment later. Evallan tried to will the humiliated colour from his face while grinding teeth but Marcus merely turned away, muttering.

 “Can't fucking believe the blighting shitting nonsense I have to put up with-” He wrestled something from a pack hanging in the corner. “Ten fucking years of this shit, Lavellan! Like looking after a blighting kid!”

Turning, he slammed an apple onto the table.

 “Take your fucking fruit and listen!” He bit out the words. “And don't say I never fucking give you anything!”

Evallan plucked the offering and cradled it in his grasp but must have eyed Marcus strangely, thoughts written on his face- at least to the Templar.

 “What now?”

He bit the inside of his cheek, hardening features but aiming to speak demurely.

 “May I have two?”

 “You may not have two!” Marcus spluttered, incredulous. “I'm not shitting apples, Lavellan!”

 “Where did they come from?” Evallan hazarded, causing Marcus to sneer- but still he replied.

 “They're doing some regenerative thing on the lower levels, the garden crew. These came from the first edible batch but they don't have seeds, so they're spoils of war now.”

 “You speak of Fila, she leads that research,” His head tilted. “She is a Lavellan. Technically those apples are mine.”

The Templar's chest quaked with tearful, agitated laughter, pressing a hand to his forehead.

 “Did I ask for a fucking lesson in Dalish property law?! You're not getting another blighting apple!” His boot assaulted the table-leg. “Why are we arguing about fucking apples?! Is this what I called you in here for?! To give me an apple-lecture?!”

Lips thinning, Evallan lowered his head and considered whether or not to share this 'spoil of war' with Dorian Pavus. The Tevinter could probably use the nutrition after his night of drinking and in a way he had as much right to the rewards of Fila's labour as Evallan.

He pondered this more than he listened to Marcus but was still the first to leave when dismissed.

On his way to collect morning rations he was stopped by a voice that was only vaguely familiar.

 “Lavellan?”

He halted reluctantly, peering over his shoulder at the Templar and recognising him as the most junior of Marcus' crew. Though anyone could surmise as much; his features lacked visible scars and were slightly rounded from passing youth.

 “What do you want?” He saw no reason to mince words- though the young man was likely harmless, he still fulfilled a role that put him at odds with Evallan. That he was lower in hierarchy than Marcus only meant Evallan felt less keen to humour him.

 “Um...I'm Bauer- Jordan- do you remember me?”

 “I asked what you wanted, not who you were.” He said tersely.

At this the young Templar beckoned for patience with a nervous gesture. A hand slipped into his cloak and when it was unveiled, extended a new apple towards Evallan. The Keeper studied it, then scrutinised the Templar's face with as much visible disdain as he knew how to communicate.

 “What is this?”

 “...An apple?” The Templar reproached, blinking in a way that suggested he was truly vexed. This incensed Evallan, his study of the man evolving into a glare.

 “And what do you want for it?”

The Templar looked around as if seeking guidance from his Maker.

 “...Nothing?” He began awkwardly. “You want it for your brother, right? You Lavellans are picky eaters.”

He examined more intensely but did not touch.

 “Have you done anything to it?” He asked, drilling his gaze into this 'Jordan's' face once more but the young man came across earnestly perplexed.

 “Why would I do anything to it?” He swung it between them, coaxing.

 “If you have, you will regret it.” Evallan warned, icing over his expression.

 “I didn't- I swear!” The knight chuckled and nudged the apple towards him. Evallan allowed it to fall into his grasp, leering.

 “I don't even like apples.” The Templar announced with another clumsy laugh.

 “Taking this does not in-debt me to you.” Evallan clarified, angling the object near his face.

 “No,” He answered with a bewildered half-grin. “It's just an apple. I thought the other Lavellan might want it- that's all.”

Ignoring him, Evallan turned the produce over in his hands, sensing nothing amiss- even so, he made a mental note to give the other one to Dorian Pavus, keeping this one for himself. If it had been tampered with he would hardly notice- whereas Dorian would be quite miserable. As he meditated on this, the Templar was given opportunity to inquire;

 “So...the others say you've worked with them a long time but don't remember their names?” He sounded amused- if somewhat disbelieving.

The Keeper met his eye sharply, displaying the apple before him once more.

 “Does this require me to remember yours?” Said icily, but it was a genuine question.

 “No,” The young man breathed out in exasperation. “Still just an apple.”

 “Then I will take my leave.” Tolerance spent, he made to do just that but hesitated upon hearing the cheerful criticism tossed at his back-

 “No thank you? It's true what they say- you Lavellans have no manners!”

He wavered- certainly he had no obligation to politeness towards those he considered his jailers. Still he managed to feel shame, sighing over his shoulder.

 “Thank you for the apple.” Not bothering to see how that was received, he plunged onward. Attention descending to the fruit he now held, it was something else that flashed a light in his brain-

A glint of amber from morning sunlight- Dorian's amulet exposed against his chest, on the outer layers of his clothes instead of neatly wrapped.

Of course he would not wear it in such a way and if he misplaced its position, he would notice- and someone should have reacted! The weighty gold was like a target painted on dull colour, an obvious discrepancy against his typical frost.

There was only one explanation and indeed images crept into his mind- The Deep Roads, the Darkspawn Ogre, Dorian Pavus- that fool!

To confirm his theory he spun and tossed the apple at the Templar's calmly retreating back. He was bonked on the head and the fruit rolled away but the shem ambled along, a puppet with an inattentive master.

Evallan was unconscious- dreaming- looping memories in the Fade- his vessel likely sprawled out somewhere in the Deep Roads-

 “Lightbringer!” He begged the dream “You must wake me! I cannot stay here!”

Stillness. Nothing more.

 “Lightbringer!” He kicked the ground, raising his voice higher. “Do not ignore me!”

She commenced doing just that. He knew she was aware- since calling for her, the activity in his environment had ceased unnaturally. Evallan identified her illusion so there was no point in expending will- but that was not a sign of cooperation.

Knowing his choices were limited and he could not leave Dorian to the Deep Roads alone, he spread his fingers along his chest.

 “I may not have the will to summon you...but I will still try! If you do not-”

The threat was enough- he supposed it would be. The Spirit's goal was to force recuperation after the drain on their combined stamina. Accepting her chosen would not relent, the colour and shape of the world ebbed until it was stripped completely.

Evallan recognised the area that materialised- it was his place, his dream; the wrecked, void-ridden library decimated by ice, covered in script and blood. That was not all- a space he knew had contained spires was missing, replaced by a shimmering border not unlike Lightbringer's shield.

Behind it stood Lightbringer herself- a tall and slender being of light, draped in robes akin to the Lavellan clan's- for what could be seen through the radiance. The shifting glow made her features indiscernible- though he long understood 'she' was a title of habit more than descriptor.

As his eyes adjusted he processed more detail- the dream housing Lightbringer was different from his. Not a snowed-in landscape; it was winding crystal, so reflective his eyes watered. It was her place; as the tower and wintery wasteland was his echo, her echo was of a homeland long lost.

Connecting these tiny worlds was a luminous tether and he noticed it wasn't projected only onto the barrier but also his chest- a pin-point of light. If he turned one way or the other, or angled in certain perspectives, it vanished or flickered like a children's mirror-trick.

Fascinated and never having been this close to Lightbringer or her dream, the nature of this bond stole his focus. He passed his hand over it, tilted his body this way or that, paced the barrier to watch the pin-point extend or blur, depending on direction...

It soon occurred to him Lightbringer observed somewhat crossly- hands on hips and the morphing brightness of her visage attempting to cast a frown. For a moment she looked painfully like his mother but with this came a flood of embarrassment. Straightening, he cleared his throat.

 “I apologise...” He attempted to appear serious. “Why do you hold me here?”

Tapping her foot, Lightbringer gestured to the tether- apparently unimpressed he failed to note the most important thing. Somewhere in the middle, the connection had frayed- light seeped from the vulnerability and into the Fade.

 “I have strained something, no?” He had expected this consequence- it changed nothing. “But it is not fatal, we will heal stronger. In the meantime- I cannot cast, but I can walk.”

Lightbringer regarded him coolly then folded her arms, still seeming unimpressed.

 “I know what you wish to do.” He furrowed his brow, determined. “But you cannot leave me in stasis to recover. Dorian Pavus cannot navigate without us- I will not trade his life for mine.”

At this she craned her head thoughtfully as if to say 'is that so?'. No motion was made to free them from the dream. A pang of shame corrupted his resolution and he did his best to crush it.

 “I know he is not clan!” Did he not remind himself every day? “But he chased me into that blighted hole, despite his fears! And if it were not for him- I would not have survived The Harrowing! I would not have thought to summon you without his instruction- I would not have created an anchor if he had not taught me!”

With each word he closed the gap between him and the barrier and once there, he smashed his fist upon it, ignoring the glimmer of vibration while eyes squinted at the Spirit.

She watched, passive.

 “My life does not have more value than his!” He struck the forcefield again, heart drumming in his ears, agonising against his ribcage- surely she could not really expect him to abandon Dorian Pavus to the Deep Roads?!

 “You will send me back!”

She continued to eye him with something odd and difficult to comprehend in her gaze- did she think this funny!? Overwhelmed by frustration, he assaulted the barrier again and again, wailing with voice as well as fists.

 “Lightbringer! I am serious!” Familiar, tireless words possessed his tongue. “We must continue!”

The expression he strived to identify on her face was further bemused. He was on the verge of insisting to know what was so wretchedly funny when the ground melted, a sensation of endless descent lurching through his nerves.

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[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening"

Devotions for June 19

MORNING

"If thou lift up thy tool upon it, thou hast polluted it." - Exodus 20:25

God's altar was to be built of unhewn stones, that no trace of human skill or labour might be seen upon it. Human wisdom delights to trim and arrange the doctrines of the cross into a system more artificial and more congenial with the depraved tastes of fallen nature; instead, however, of improving the gospel carnal wisdom pollutes it, until it becomes another gospel, and not the truth of God at all. All alterations and amendments of the Lord's own Word are defilements and pollutions. The proud heart of man is very anxious to have a hand in the justification of the soul before God; preparations for Christ are dreamed of, humblings and repentings are trusted in, good works are cried up, natural ability is much vaunted, and by all means the attempt is made to lift up human tools upon the divine altar. It were well if sinners would remember that so far from perfecting the Saviour's work, their carnal confidences only pollute and dishonour it. The Lord alone must be exalted in the work of atonement, and not a single mark of man's chisel or hammer will be endured. There is an inherent blasphemy in seeking to add to what Christ Jesus in His dying moments declared to be finished, or to improve that in which the Lord Jehovah finds perfect satisfaction. Trembling sinner, away with thy tools, and fall upon thy knees in humble supplication; and accept the Lord Jesus to be the altar of thine atonement, and rest in him alone.

Many professors may take warning from this morning's text as to the doctrines which they believe. There is among Christians far too much inclination to square and reconcile the truths of revelation; this is a form of irreverence and unbelief, let us strive against it, and receive truth as we find it; rejoicing that the doctrines of the Word are unhewn stones, and so are all the more fit to build an altar for the Lord.

EVENING

"As it began to dawn, came Magdalene, to see the sepulchre." - Matthew 28:1

Let us learn from Mary Magdalene how to obtain fellowship with the Lord Jesus. Notice how she sought. She sought the Saviour very early in the morning. If thou canst wait for Christ, and be patient in the hope of having fellowship with him at some distant season, thou wilt never have fellowship at all; for the heart that is fitted for communion is a hungering and a thirsting heart. She sought him also with very great boldness. Other disciples fled from the sepulchre, for they trembled and were amazed; but Mary, it is said, "stood" at the sepulchre. If you would have Christ with you, seek him boldly. Let nothing hold you back. Defy the world. Press on where others flee. She sought Christ faithfully-she stood at the sepulchre. Some find it hard to stand by a living Saviour, but she stood by a dead one. Let us seek Christ after this mode, cleaving to the very least thing that has to do with him, remaining faithful though all others should forsake him. Note further, she sought Jesus earnestly-she stood "weeping". Those tear-droppings were as spells that led the Saviour captive, and made him come forth and show himself to her. If you desire Jesus' presence, weep after it! If you cannot be happy unless he come and say to you, "Thou art my beloved," you will soon hear his voice. Lastly, she sought the Saviour only. What cared she for angels, she turned herself back from them; her search was only for her Lord. If Christ be your one and only love, if your heart has cast out all rivals, you will not long lack the comfort of his presence. Mary Magdalene sought thus because she loved much. Let us arouse ourselves to the same intensity of affection; let our heart, like Mary's, be full of Christ, and our love, like hers, will be satisfied with nothing short of himself. O Lord, reveal thyself to us this evening!