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#and about the pregnancy thing

ovaruling · 1 year

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i am so sick of this

there is an established relationship between advanced age of the father and risks to the mother, to the pregnancy, to the fetus, and later to the child.

older men’s ticking biological clocks are harmful. their ages literally compound the dangers to women and to the children they have. increased age of fathers is related to things like gestational diabetes, preeclampsia, and preterm birth, just to make a few. later health and mental problems have been observed in children of older fathers.

the number of older fathers is increasing. men feel entitled to father children well into elderliness. men also tend to seek out young women with which to have these children. the maternal mortality rate in the U.S. is currently the highest it has been since the 1960s. abortion rights in the U.S. are in extreme peril. this altogether makes the risk to women who reproduce w/ older men much, much greater.

i think we as a society need to start talking about this a bit.

screenshots of additional NYT article under the cut because i couldn’t figure out how to link without the paywall.

#was i not just talking about this #like come the fuck on.#personally my father was 45 when i was conceived (my mother was in her 20s) and i almost died at birth #my mother’s pregnancy was extremely high risk and caused permanent damage to her health #same thing happened with my younger sister—he was 50 when she was conceived #both my sister and i have suffered very poor health throughout childhood and adulthood #and we both have autoimmune disorders that are the first of their kind in either side of the family #just saying.#tagging for ref #older fathers #save

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ghouljams · 2 months

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you know what, as Angels self-proclaimed cool aunt, i am going to do a very controversial thing and say hurt. her. i want to see Keegan destroyed and sobbing. i want keegan not being able to look at their kids for more than a few seconds because they look like her. i want him finding drawings that the little monster made of their family and just breaking down again. give. me. the. angst. (pretty please)

Well. I've been wanting to write this for a while, but I'll keep it short.

tw miscarriage

You think you're a good pregnant person. It was rough the first go round, mostly because you were doing it on your own, but now you have Keegan around. He's around all the time, you can't turn a corner without him being there. You can't lift anything or grab for things off shelves, you can't go to the store alone, and Keegan follows you to work with the little monster in tow. It's actually sort of sweet saying goodbye to your little family outside your office every morning. You kiss both of them and wave goodbye, knowing they'll be there to pick you up when you get off.

It's a neat little routine you fall into. You feel good, healthy and happy. Keegan's started getting up early, getting Ainsley ready for the day and making breakfast. He kisses your cheek every chance he gets, settles his hand against your stomach, pulls you into his lap to feed you, he's more affectionate, more attentive than he's ever been. You'd be a fool not to give into his care. You know what it's like to be on your own, so this time you're taking full advantage of him.

Your toddler climbs into bed between you and Keegan for stories before bed, and cuddles close against your side. When their eyes are heavy and Keegan finally scoops them up into his arms to cart off to bed they reach for you, wrap their arms around your neck and whisper a good night to you. Your heart swells with happiness as you kiss their cheek. Your baby. You're holding off on telling them the good news until you can show them a proper ultrasound. It'll make them happy seeing a picture.

You really shouldn't be so happy, you're only a few weeks in, not even showing yet. It's Keegan, you think, his excitement is infectious and you've never seen him so happy. It takes everything in you not to smile every time he looks at you, every time he touches you. It takes everything not to giggle and grab for him every time you remember that you're having a baby with the man you love.

Keegan wakes you up at the first scent of blood. Spotting, then a brilliant horrible red. Your stomach drops, then the cramps hit and you don't have time to mourn because it hurts. It hurts and there's no amount of tears you can cry into Keegan's shoulder that make it stop hurting. Keegan's lips press against your temple, his arms tight around you as he calls 999. You hold on just as tightly, your body shaking with an emotion you can't put name to.

It wasn't far along, you try to tell yourself, I didn't even know them.

It doesn't help.

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stevieharringtonwifeguy · 11 months

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omega cheerleader steve in his senior year of high school, walking up to the hidden table in the woods in his game day cheer outfit, looking for alpha eddie munson, local dealer. he asks for some weed, and eddie's like okay, thirty bucks. and steve's like oh no 😔 that's so much 🥺 i don't know if i can afford that 😏 but eddie's just sitting there like ???? aren't you rich???

and steve just. blinks at him for a second. tries again. 'oh man, i forgot my wallet, is there any other way i can pay you?' he says, biting his lip and looking up at eddie through his lashes in that way he KNOWS makes all the alphas go wild

'uh. no. come back when you have money man what are you talking about'

so steve sighs and completely drops the act like goddamn it munson im trying to get you to fuck me. and eddie's like oh. OH! why didn't you just ask then??? and steve blushes and looks away, mutters something about it not being what 'good omegas' do, and how he's so horny and eddie smells so fucking good with his chains and his rings and his tattoos steve's losing it

so they end up making out in the woods by the school, steve grinding down on eddie's lap with eddie's hand up his cheer skirt, both so far gone with lust that when they realise neither of them has a condom, steve just shrugs, tells eddie to pull out before he cums, because hawkins high values abstinence only sex education regardless of whether or not that works. so eddie bends steve over the table and slides in, and he gets so caught up in steve's pussy clenching around him when steve cums that he almost doesn't pull out in time, cum splashing against steve's still fluttering hole and absolutely drenching his entire pussy. but that's fine, he's pretty sure none of it actually got IN there, so they're good, right?

and they hook up another couple times after that, WITH a condom this time now that they know it's going to happen, and they enjoy each other's company so much that steve invites eddie to share his heat with him in a couple weeks. except. when the time comes, steve... isn't actually going into heat. which is fine, maybe it's just late. except, eddie points out that he's been pretty nauseous the past week or so, won't kiss him if eddie's been drinking coffee because he says the smell makes him wanna throw up. and now steve's panicking.

eddie calms him down, says there's no use freaking out if they don't know for sure. gets him a glass of water and a sandwich and tells him to finish them both while eddie runs to the nearest pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test. the cashier glares at him when he checks out, severely judging the metalhead alpha buying like five male-omega pregnancy tests, but eddie barely even notices, head full of images of steve round with his pup, which yeah, he feels bad about given that steve is clearly freaking out. and he's ALSO kind of freaking out, because they're still in high school and he's a trailer trash drug dealer and absolutely not father material. but also. he likes steve so much. and thinking about being with him, having kids with him. it sounds so nice.

when he gets back to steve's house, steve has finished the glass of water but barely touched the sandwich. eddie hands the tests to him, reads the instructions out loud, stays in the bathroom while steve pees on the stick because the omega looked so lost and scared when eddie tried to give him some privacy. eddie distracts him by telling him about his latest campaign while they wait for the test to do its thing, and while steve is busy laughing about the tantrum gareth had thrown after the party spent two real life hours trying to open a door only to find out it wasn't locked in the first place, eddie quickly flips over the test.

there's two little pink lines. they're going to have a baby.

#steddie #i have fully Thought About the entire pregnancy but i suck at writing so if anyone else wants to do it 🥺🙏#steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #obviously they get mated and have eight kids and live happily ever after

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saccharinerose · 5 months

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Thinking about how it's an actual part of Genshin Impact's worldbuilding that Fontainians were physically incapable of having unplanned pregnancies before the end of the 4.2 Archon Quest

If a couple didn't go to the Fountain of Lucine and ask to be blessed with a child, unintentionally doing a ritual that brought a new Oceanid into being, they literally could not have a baby.

But now, Neuvillette turned them into "true humans"

#saccha's thoughts #genshin impact #genshin spoilers #genshin 4.2 #genshin 4.2 spoilers #now to make this about focallette:#accidental human/dragon baby the literal first time they fuck after... uh ALL THAT #bc neuvillette was so caught up in the euphoria of being w/ furina again #that he straight-up forgot that protection + unplanned pregnancies are a thing they now have to worry about #neuvillette remembers this the moment furina shows him the positive test #oops

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mediumgayitalian · 25 days

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———

For some reason the lack of a little jingling bell throws her off.

It’s a quintessential diner thing, she supposes. A little bell above the door. There’s the weird decor and the pressed cotton uniforms and the yelling chef and the little bell. It was in both Back to the Future one and two. That’s how she knows she’s right.

But when she pushes open the door with windows so caked with grime she can hardly see through them, there is no little jingle. And when she looks up at the door frame, eyebrows furrowed, it seems sad and lonely. She’s never been so aware of the lack of a sound, the absence of a noise. It makes the rest of the silence of the diner seem eerie, wrong. Dead.

She takes a hesitant step forward, door swinging shut behind her. She realizes as she approaches the ordering counter that her hand rests palm cupped on her belly, and removes it immediately.

“Hello?”

There are a couple groups of people in the back, talking quietly over their food. It doesn’t make the diner seem any less abandoned, somehow. If anything it feels like a TV playing on mute in a hospital. Saturated static.

“Seat yourself, girl. You ain’t never been to a diner before?”

The woman that speaks is tall and plump and harsh-looking. A very strange mixing of features. They’re at odd with the diner-specific yellow uniform she wears, collar pressed but skirt wrinkled. Apron dusted with flour and streaked with machine oil. Face pinched, eyes hard, black hair resting in dainty ringlets along her shoulders. Her name tag only reads the name of the business.

“A couple,” Naomi defends. “One even had a hostess.”

The woman — who must be a manager — raises an eyebrow.

“You see a hostess’ station?”

“No.”

“Then why haven’t you sat yourself?”

“‘Cause I’m not here to eat.”

“Well, then, get the hell out of my restaurant.”

Naomi holds her gaze, tilting up her chin. She will not be swayed by orneriness. “I need a job.”

The manager eyes her critically. Naomi’s hands twitch, and the top of her head feels suddenly itchy. Summer before highschool she’d wrote her first resume — Mama’d drawn her a bath and sat behind her and spent two hours slowly untangling the ratty mess of curls on her head with nothing but a bottle of cheap jasmine conditioner and her own two fingers, telling her about lasting first impressions.

“Go home, kid.”

“I’m not a fu —” She stumbles over her words at the last second, catching herself before that eyebrow can climb any higher. It does, and the other eyebrow begins to climb with it, but she rights herself and powers on. “I can vote,” she says finally. “I can throw on a uniform and get blown up across seas. I can — I can adopt a child, if I so choose. Right now.”

The eyebrows reach critical height, brushing the end of her carefully teased hairline. Naomi watches them and their inspiring journey with intensity, instead of noticing how the manager’s eyes drop down to her stomach, linger, and then return to her face.

“You gonna adopt it right outta your womb, or what?”

Naomi snaps her mouth shut.

“Well,” she says, and nothing else.

The manager sighs. “This ain’t a charity.”

Naomi barely manages to bite the snark back from her voice before she speaks.“I’m not asking for charity. I’m asking for work.”

Eyes shifting to the tables in the back, the manager leans over the counter, long fingers wrapping around the handle of a coffee pot so old the handle has worn right down to plain metal, and walks over to a beckoning customer. She fills a man’s mug with her lips pressed thin, offering a napkin to a child in a high chair.

“And why would I hire some pregnant kid?”

The customer pushes over a stack of plates without moving his eyes from the newspaper in front of him. There’s a woman on the other side of the table, holding a spoon out to the little kid, eyes desperate and tight smile slipping when the kid’s pudgy fist hits and sends the scoop of scrambled eggs flying. The man brings the coffee to his lips and waves the manager away.

“It’s illegal for an employer to discriminate against a pregnant person,” Naomi says finally. That had been drilled into her head by her Mama, too. That and how to keep her finances separate. She’ll have real trouble with that, what with the zero dollars she’ll have by the end of the week.

“Good thing I’m not your employer, then.” The manager sets the plates by a soapy sink, putting the coffee pot back on the hot plate. “Get lost.”

I am lost, Naomi almost says, almost slamming a hand in the counter to catch herself from her suddenly weak knees. She watches the manager watch her, tight little frown furling the corner of her mouth, through the blur of her eyes, swallowing hard around the lump in her throat.

“Please,” she says, too quiet, then tries again: “Please.”

The manager disappears behind a short half-wall, following the sound of an oven dinging. Naomi gasps silently, bowing over the counter, breathing heavily. She curls her hands into fists and presses them, hard, one to her chest and one right under her ribs. Ka-thump, ka-thump, kickkickkick. Kickkick ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-kickthump.

There’s an echoing clatter as a hot tray slams on a stove top. Scrambling upright, Naomi lifts the little door on the counter, scanning the space. The register is ancient and yellowed, buttons so worn with use the labels have worn away. There’s a thread-thin mat at the base of it. The counters are clean but scratched, walls stained but dust-free. The coffeemaker gurgles pathetically. An apron hangs from a hook nailed to the wall by the kitchen window.

As quietly as she can, Naomi slips it over her head. It’s tight around the waist, so she folds it once and ties it around her ribs, instead, letting the straps dangle loosely at the butt of her jeans. She ties her hair quickly behind her head and steps up to the creaky sink, silently moving the pile of dishes to the empty counter. When the clatter in the kitchen starts up again, she turns the water on as quick as she can — hack gurgle rush — and squeezes the mostly empty soap bottle as hard as she can to make up a lather.

“Hell are you doing?” says the manager gruffly, two pies balancing on her oven mitt hands.

Naomi shrugs.

“You deaf, or stupid?”

She thinks if laughter like a lyre and sun golden hair, plucking at her out-of-tune guitar string and asking a similar question. The ghost of a smile pulls across her face.

“Not deaf. And that’s rude.”

A pie plate crinkles under the press of a knife, and the scent of candy cherry mixes with slightly-burnt coffee. Makes her think of Grammy’s house, the smell of the jams she spent sixty years making soaked permanently in the wooden foundations. The manager finishes plating the pie slices and sliding them under the display glass around the same time Naomi suds up the last dirty mug. She watches her red-painted finger tap, tap, tap on her bicep out of the corner of her eye as she rinses it off.

Unplugging the sink, dirty water gurgling as it drains, she points a hesitant elbow at the dishtowel tucked into the managers pocket. She grabs it, threading it around her fingers, twisting the worn pink tail.

“Freezer broke two days ago.” She picks at a loose thread ‘til it pulls clean from the rest of the fabric, balling it up and sliding it into her pocket. She tugs on the fabric one last time, then tosses it, bundled, into Naomi’s waiting hands. “Tables in the back better have their bill by the time I get back from fixin’ it.”

Naomi hunches over the sopping dishes to hide her smile, listening to the scritch scritch click of the manager’s shoes as she stomps away.

———

Di doesn’t believe in paycheques.

“Great way to get ripped off,” she likes to grumble, slapping a stack of 20s bundled in a stapled piece of notebook paper into Naomi’s hands every Friday. She doesn’t think much of taxes, either, or lawyers, or racecar drivers. Naomi doesn’t quite understand that last one, but she knows better than to ask. As far as she’s concerned she’s still on probation, and probably will be if she works at the diner for another four months. Or the rest of her life.

On one hand, Naomi doesn’t have a bank account, so a cheque would be useless to her anyway. The cash she can use immediately and whenever she needs it. On the other hand, which is currently occupied with sewing back closed the hole she gouged in her backseat for the seventeenth week in a row, she has nowhere exactly to put that money, so it stresses her out.

Maybe she should look into an apartment.

Of course there are no apartment buildings in Sheffield. But she’s pretty sure Iraan is a big enough town to have a couple, as squat as they may be, and it’s only a twenty minute drive. There’s more to do there, too, so maybe she’d actually have a reason to take a day off every week. It’s not like she can buy a damn house with the less-than 3000 dollars she has saved up.

Waddling out of her car, she ducks into the diner. You’d think she’d be used to the lack of bell, now, but she finds that she still anticipates it; finds that her brain still quietly signals to her ears to prep for it. It always sets her off, a little.

“You’re late,” says Di critically, uniform hanging over her arm, foot tap tap-ing on the linoleum floor.

“I don’t have a starting time,” Naomi says lightly. “On account that I am not your employee.“

Di huffs, rolling her eyes. Naomi rolls them right back, snatching the uniform from her arms on the way to the bathroom. She has to wear Di’s, now, because she doesn’t fit into her old one. Di is much taller and broader than her and the stupid thing hangs down to her mid-calf, awkwardly drowning her shoulders, but it’s the only thing wide enough to cover her belly and Di refuses to let Naomi just wear her regular clothes.

(“You’re indecent,” she always says, sneering at her jean shorts, but Naomi has learned to translate you’re indecent but also you can’t have bare legs around hot oil, which she’s come to appreciate. Sure, Di makes her clean the bathroom whether or not she needs to crawl around in her knees to stay balanced, but she doesn’t want her burned to death, at least. That’s something.)

“And your hair’s unwashed,” she adds, as if Naomi had not walked away. She reaches up and adjusts Naomi’s collar, like that is going to do anything to change the fact that she looks like she’s wearing a collapsed tent. “You’re going to drive customers away.”

Naomi doesn’t say, you open before the community centre does, so I can’t shower in the mornings. She does not say, I spent last night trying to change the oil on my car when I couldn’t lie down to reach it. She doesn’t say, I’m too scared to sleep in the community centre parking lot, because my windows aren’t tinted and I don’t know what’ll wake me up.

She says, “The only thing scaring customers away is your busted attitude,” and scurries into the kitchen before Di can order her to clean the friers.

———

Naomi’s favourite part of the diner is the radio.

She can’t believe that Di allows it, what with her general distaste for joy in all of its forms. But it’s balanced on the window sill watching over the oven, antenna extended out the torn screen, dials permanently stuck on an old forgotten country channel. Naomi likes to hum along as she works, frying potatoes or kneading dough, twirling around the kitchen with a mop or a broom. It’s nice even when she’s cramping, even when her feet are sore — she likes hollering along to Dolly Parton when she knows Di is listening, want to move ahead, but the boss won’t seem to let me, likes the way her little parasite goes absolutely buck wild whenever Willie Nelson comes on. She can hear it even when she’s in the dining area, plates balanced all up her arms (and on her belly, too, which is one of the many things she has discovered it’s useful for), humming along to scratching dorks and scritching napkins, working 9 to 5, what a way to make a livin’.

She amuses herself often by making up lives for the various patrons. They’re close enough to the main highway that they get all sorts driftin’ in, from families with bratty kids who upend their food on the floor for Naomi to clean to men in starched suits who never leave a tip. The regulars she’s gotten to know, like the older, stocky, short-haired woman called Bella who smiles softly at her and leaves more than double her bill every breakfast. Or the two young men, college seniors, she thinks, who come in every Saturday afternoon and laugh loudly and talk about strange subjects and rope her into their conversations when there’s no one around and she’s bored.

Other patrons, though, strangers, she speculates. Like there’s a man in the farthest back corner, now, hunched over in the peeling green vinyl seats, scrawling frantically in a tiny notebook. She imagines he’s a private investigator, chasing a lead, about to discover that the woman on a date on the other end of the diner is cheating on her husband of fifteen years.

“Naomi, if you don’t get your ass back to work.”

She throws her hands up. “There’s nothing to do!”

Di observes the half-empty diner, noting the clean tables, neat counters, sparkling kitchen. Each customer sitting satisfied in their table, coffee mugs full, plates still hefty with food.

“Clean the grout.”

Scowling, Naomi stomps to the kitchen, wrenching open the cupboard under the counter and yanking out the Mr. Clean and scrub brush. It’s an ordeal and a half to get on the floor, wincing at the extra weight on her knees, sitting back on her heels with every spray and keeping one hand on her belly while the other scrubs. I Got Stripes by Johnny Cash starts playing through the radio, and she grits out the lyrics with every drag of the brush through the tiles.

“— and then chains, them chains, they’re ‘bout to drag me down —”

A pair of worn black boots come stomping into her line of vision. Naomi finishes scrubbing at a stubborn smear of grease, relishing in how it submits under her power, then rests her weight on her tired hands and tilts her chin up to glare up at her boss.

“I got stripes, stripes around my shoulders,” she sings defiantly, “chains, chains around my feet —”

“I should whip you, you damn drama queen,” Di says darkly, glaring right back. “Had three separate customers come on up to me askin’ me if I’m mistreatin’ ‘that poor young pregnant girl’.”

Naomi smiles triumphantly.

Di scowls, rolling her eyes hard enough to visibly strain her face, and drops some kind of foam pads at her feet. She stomps off without another word, scowling at the radio.

Poking at the pads, Naomi discovers they’re meant to be strapped to her knees. She slips them on, immediately noticing the relief.

For the rest of her shift, she’s an angel.

Di even almost smiles at her.

———

“Naomi, go home.”

“What happened to kid?” Naomi pants, knuckles going white against the counter. She breathes slowly and carefully through her mouth — in, two, three, four, out, two, three, four, in, two — and grits her teeth, staring determinately at the sticky tabletop until the dizziness fades. “I didn’t even know you knew my name.”

“I don’t.” A roughened hand rests on the small of her back, loosening the too-tight apron straps. “You’re sick, kid.”

“I’m fine.”

She tilts forward. Di barely manages to catch her, settling her slowly on the floor without so much as a comment about how heavy she is.

“The diner is empty, Naomi.” The same roughened hand moves up to the back of her neck, untangling the sweaty strands of hair that stick to her skin. Her voice is unusually soft. “You’re nine months pregnant, kiddo. You need to go home. You need to rest —”

“I need to work.”

With great effort, Naomi shoves her away, standing slowly to her feet. The world is still wobbly and bile climbs up her throat, but she pushes forward, hands half-extended beside her. She reaches back for the wet rag, swiping weakly at the table. An onslaught of nausea makes her pause, mouth clamped shut, breathing quick and deep through dry nostrils.

When she speaks again, Di’s voice is hard. “I’m not asking. Get out of my diner. Go home, or you won’t be allowed back. I won’t be accused of killing some dumbass kid who doesn’t know when to quit.”

“I can’t —” she gags, tears springing in her eyes, desperately trying to wrestle back some control of her body — “there’s nowhere, please, Di, let me —”

She slaps a hand to her mouth, heaving. She hasn’t even — she hasn’t eaten all day. The smell of anything makes her want to vomit. The idea of putting anything more in her body makes her want to peel off her skin. She feels — bloated and freakish and ugly; like an unsuspected astronaut on a sieged spaceship.

Like she’s about to burst.

“Oh, for the love of — Naomi, please tell me you are not nine months pregnant and sleeping in your fucking car.”

Naomi says nothing. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to think of Mama’s peony-scented perfume.

“Jesus Christ.”

Stomp, click, stomp stomp. Rattling chain, swishing cardboard. Flicking switch. Turning dial, fading music. Stomp, click, stomp stomp.

Two callused hands on her biceps, dragging her upright.

“C’mon, up you get. Where’re your keys?”

A hand digs around in her apron pocket.

“What, d’you fuckin’ run these over or somethin’? The hell’d you fuckin’ do to these things?”

No jingle on the door. A flipped sign.

“No, obviously you can’t — go get in the fuckin’ passenger seat, dumbass. God.”

Di mutters something about stupid kids and stupider adults, for putting up with them. Naomi smiles tiredly. Daddy used to say that all the time, flicking her on the forehead.

“Roll the window down. You need fresh air.”

The slight breeze coming in from the window is helpful, actually. It’s been a disgustingly hot summer, and Naomi has had to sleep with her windows down to avoid suffocating. She wakes up to mosquito bites in places she frankly did not know could be bitten.

“D’you think you’re going into labour?” Di asks quietly, over Dolly’s crooning. Bittersweet memories, that’s all I’m takin’ with me.

Naomi sighs, shaking her head. Already, the nausea has faded into the background. The sweat cools against her skin, and she stops feeling quite so much like she’s going to die.

“No. It’s only been eight months and a little less than two weeks.”

“…You remember the exact date?”

Well, hello, feverish flush. How I’ve missed you so. Will you do me a favour and cook me alive, while you’re here?

“It was a very memorable occasion,” Naomi mumbles, shrinking back into her seat.

“I see.”

Naomi’s never seen Di look quite so amused before. Her whole face softens, and her brown eyes look warm, for once. Naomi would attack her if she had the strength.

Di cruises slowly down Main St, conscientious of the kids ducking in and out of the shops, laughing with their friends. A tween girl looks over at an older boy and whips back over to her friends when he meets her eyes, the whole group of them descending into delighting shrieks. Naomi watches them with a smile and an ache in her chest. She wonders how Molly’s doing. How Esther’s holding up, how Leela is faring. Jen’s at school, now, all the way up in NYC. She hopes they’re well and tries not to hate them for not being here.

Sheffield’s small, and there’s not a street Naomi hasn’t driven down. She spends most of her free time in the community centre pool or the desert around the diner, sure, but she’s been around. When Di turns on Pine St and follows her all the way down, though, she frowns, looking over and asking a wordless question.

Di doesn’t answer. She’s driven them all the way to the other side of town in less than five minutes, pulling into a gravel parking lot and killing the engine.

“C’mon,” she grunts, climbing out of the tiny car and waiting, arms crossed, for Naomi to do the same.

“Sure, sure, let the pregnant woman crawl out of her own seat. Don’t lift a finger or anything.”

Di rolls her eyes.

As soon as Naomi has struggled her way out of the car, which takes her a good four minutes, Di stalks off. In her harried attempt to follow her, Naomi feels like a duck hopped up on an energy drink.

“What kinda money do you have?”

Naomi looks at her strangely. “Uh, what you pay me.”

“Yes, obviously, I meant savings.”

“What you pay me,” Naomi repeats.

Di purses her lips. “Well.”

She does not finish her thought. Instead, she strides down the gravel driveway, heedless of Naomi’s struggle behind her, until she approaches a squat looking building with ‘OFFICE’ printed on the little window.

“She needs a room,” she says to the clerk sitting behind it, gesturing at Naomi.

Naomi looks at her in alarm.

“Di, I can’t —”

“Fifty a night,” responds the man quickly.

“Try again.”

Di’s response is swift and immediate, ignoring Naomi’s tugging hand. She pulls away, resting her hands on her lower back, swivelling her head between Di and the man.

“Rate’s a rate, Di.”

She’s not surprised this man knows Di — everyone knows Di. But the slant to his eyebrows is unfamiliar, the hands clasped easily behind his head. He relaxes back into a leather office chair, heeled boot hiked up to rest in his knee, whistling absentmindedly in the face of Di’s glare.

“Two hundred a week.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’m not asking, Jed.”

The man — Jed — finally starts to look irate, meeting Di’s jaw-set stare with one of his own.

“I’m sorry, I musta missed something. Did you up and buy this place?”

Di doesn’t answer him right away. She never slouches, always standing at her full height, and she’s mighty tall for a woman. For anyone, really. She has a way of planting herself right in front of the sun, no matter where she is. Jed stares up at her, squinting, cast in Di’s shadow everywhere but where he needs to be sheltered.

“You gotta laundry list of shit you done owed me your whole life, Jed.”

Jed just his chin out.

“I don’t owe her shit.”

Blunt fingers wrap around her elbow. “She’s mine.”

“Ain’t how this works, Di.”

“Says who? You?”

For all her intensity, Naomi doesn’t think Di’ll actually fight anyone. If she would, Naomi would’ve gotten her ass kicked months ago.

(She’s mine. Kiddo. You need rest. Roll down the window.)

(…Well.)

Regardless, a flash of fear flits across Jed’s face. He cuts his gaze from Naomi to Di and then back again, pupils shrinking, and then invariably comes to a decision.

“Two fifty,” he snaps, scowling. “Not a penny less, Di.”

Di nods once. “Fine.”

She tightens the hold on Naomi’s elbow, dragging her away from the window. There’s an echoing bang, bang, bang, interspersed with muffled curses, before Jed stumbles out of a door on the side of the scaffolding. He stomps away without looking back, and Di tugs her along to follow.

“Laundry is your own problem. Clean your own shit. If you miss a payment, I’m kicking you out. Clear?”

Naomi stares. Jed standing in front of another low, old building, but this one is much longer, a door posited every dozen or so feet. A plastic chair sits in front of every door, and every door is numbered.

A motel, Naomi realises.

“Clear, kid?”

“Crystal,” Naomi manages, throat dry. Jed practically throws the key at her head, stomping back to the office. Numbly, Naomi slides it in the lock, pushing open the door.

The room isn’t big. There’s a double bed in the middle, a window in the far side and a dresser under it. A TV rests in a dugout shelf in the wall, and there’re two small doors next to it; a closet and a bathroom, Naomi assumes. Smaller than her bedroom back home.

Much, much bigger than her car.

“You’re gonna have to work another ten hours a week to afford this place,” Di says critically. When Naomi looks back at her, she’s lingering at the doorway, staring resolutely at Naomi’s face. Not a spare glance for the room itself.

Naomi does the math fast in her head.

“Twenty hours.”

Di scowls. “Don’t insult me, kid. Ten more hours a week; make sure you’re early tomorrow. I don’t give a shit if you’re sick again, either.”

Naomi swallows. She smooths a hand over the quilt tucked neatly over the bed — it’s soft, if not warm. The pillow is plump.

God, she’s missed pillows.

“Thank you, Di,” she says quietly.

Di makes a small twitching motion with her head that may, in some lighting, be considered a nod, then stalks off. Naomi sinks into the mattress; surprised at how much her feet aches now that she’s off of them.

She swings them up, kicking off her boots, to rest on top of the blanket. She leans against the rickety headboard. She rests her hand on her swollen stomach and slowly, silently, begins to cry.

“You and me and sheer fuckin’ will, kid,” she mumbles, face crumpling. The constant ache in the small of her back lifts, slightly. She stretches her toes as far as they’ll go and cries harder. “We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there. We’re gettin’ there.”

———

naomi art

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tofuingho · 1 year

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What if Danny and Jason met in the infinite realms when Jason was dead and started a relationship?

Jason gets brought back to life, with or without memories of what happened while he was dead, and Danny has no idea where he's gone.

Jason is going through his whole training for vengeance thing. Danny is searching high and low, calling on all of the ancients and all of his rouges, doing whatever it takes to get his boyfriend back.

Jason meets up with the Bats. Does his whole 'kill Joker if you actually care about me' thing. Heads in a duffle bag and what have you. Danny still can't find Jason, but is starting to figure out that Jason was Robin. Like, actually Robin and just a concept spirit like Clockwork.

Jason starts making amends with the Batfam, but his "pit madness" is still a massive issue. Tucker and Sam help Danny figure out that Robin was Jason Todd and he lived in Gotham.

Jason wakes up one morning and feels like crap. He keeps having random sharp pains in his chest. He goes to the Batcave to get Alfred to check him out. Danny gets to Gotham and starts searching for Jason when he senses something odd. It's like someone is calling out to him, so he follows the feeling.

Danny arrives just in time to see Jason "giving birth" to their child.

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spock-smokes-weed · 6 months

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I made a post all about Sanji going above and beyond for Zoro’s cravings and taking care of him through food, but I also see him throwing a total hissy fit when Zoro is craving junk food. Like he’d rather get like Taco Bell instead of Sanji making it for him.

And Zoro has to be like “cook, this has nothing to do with your cooking I just want cheap trash. Let me have the damn yellow cheese.”

#one piece #one piece sound au #zosan #vinsmoke sanji #roronoa zoro #mpreg #a/b/o #omegaverse #sanji: I could make you better tacos!!!!!#zoro: no doubt you could but baby wants fake yellow cheese and 3 dollar tacos #this pregnancy offers them a whole new world of things to bicker about

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sittinginsunflowers · 11 months

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okay, I’m going full red string over the last episode. mainly because if queen amangeaux (put some goddamn respect on her name) had a child with her husband, wouldn’t that have solved all her problems? Sure, it would make her a target but the bishop was already warning her to lay low at the festival, and at least this would’ve secured her place on the throne until her child came of age. Unless she knew she was pregnant and then she decided not to say anything in trying to follow the bishop’s advice? Or she didn’t know at the time and then everything popped off. But that makes the baby at least a year and 3/4 months (if we use human pregnancy as the timeline??) and the baby read more as a newborn to me? Also in the adventuring party when they discussed the bishop’s secret, Anjali pointed out that he could’ve been poisoning her or her husband with the tea leaves to stop her from producing an heir. which could be a red herring, or could mean that the baby belongs to someone other than her husband, hence why she’s hidden him away. which would make sense since the coloring is a little different. So either the baby isn’t hers biologically and is just in her care, she had an affair while her husband was still alive, the baby is the true heir, or she got pregnant in the two year time jump.

how the fuck am I losing my mind over a mango’s sex life how did I get here

#anjali bhimani #the ravening war #the ravening war spoilers #dimension 20 #d20 #acoc and trw will really have you deeply invested and emotional in the inner lives of characters only for you to remember halfway through #they’re fucking food #also I really sat there and did a pregnancy timeline with a mango before being like???#do they do the whole 9 month thing or??#like what’s the lore there #also it was amazing storytelling for aabria to sell her out #I’ve never seen Anjali before but she’s fucking incredible and such a great presence at the table #I hope we get to see her more!!#but also I’m sad about them considering how much amangeaux really seems to care for karna #and also it’s just a poor baby!#these characters all have such good secrets I can’t wait to know more

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merakiui · 1 year

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That ruggie thought about him getting you pregnant 👀 u always leave bangers in yhe tags

Putting bangers in the tags is a merakiui speciality. :D

(cw: slight yandere, nsfw, pregnancy, female reader, mentions of abortion)

Ruggie is a sneaky hyena, so naturally you shouldn’t have trusted him when he said he’d pull out before he cums. The two of you are just friends, yet one thing leads to another and the both of you agree to a night of mutually beneficial affairs. School is stressful! Running errands for Leona is stressful! If anything, the both of you deserve to unwind with one another. Ruggie makes it very clear that he will pull out. There’s no way he can risk cumming inside, and neither of you have any condoms on hand either. His pull-out game is elite; don’t worry. You’re in good hands.

Until you aren’t and you wake nauseous weeks later. You’re quick to get a pregnancy test and when it comes back positive and you realize that the only one you were intimate with was Ruggie... Now things are complicated. The both of you sit in his dorm room on his bed, staring at the test and then at one another. It’s so awkward; the silence is stifling. He’d promised he’d pull out and he fully intended to, but in his defense it was warm and snug inside and you’d wrapped your legs around him and!!!! Excuses, excuses, excuses.

Ruggie offers an awkward apology that sounds insincere, but the truth is that he’s never been in this situation before and he has no idea how to smooth-talk his way out of this. So he tells you very bluntly that he can’t afford to take responsibility. He can get Leona to pay for any fees that might crop up if you don’t want to keep the child. He just can’t balance a fussy prince, academics, part-times, and a child. That’s way too much. Not to mention children are expensive and he’s very tight on money. He wouldn’t want to subject a child to a poor life because he isn’t financially stable. You understand where he’s coming from because with your monthly budget there’s no way you can afford a child either. But all of this is so...real. It’s one thing to entertain ideas like pregnancy, but it’s another to actually be pregnant.

So you tell Ruggie you need some time to think things through before you make a decision and he offers his support. After all, it was technically his fault that the both of you are in this predicament. He is genuinely sorry! He really wouldn’t dream of stressing you out with this. If he was rich, it would make your lives so much easier. Leona won’t provide any help because it isn’t his problem to solve. The way he sees it, Ruggie shouldn’t have had such a weak pull-out game. Ruggie’s humiliated that that’s what Leona decides to comment on. Leona does, however, wish you the best of luck. He does care for you in his own gruff way, but don’t expect him to bow to you just because you’re pregnant.

Time passes and with it a dozen decisions fester. No one could tell you’re pregnant because it doesn’t show, but Lilia has popped in to gift you a pair of baby booties he’s crocheted and Malleus has started to visit more often to wish you well and check in. Some of the beastmen seem to perk up when they’re near you, as if they can sense the change in hormones, and the merfolk exchange sly glances. Everyone’s starting to wonder.

When you finally, after much debate, decide to visit the doctor and Ruggie accompanies you (for your sake, he claims. He’s not a deadbeat, so wipe any of those ideas from your mind at once!), the doctor informs you that you’ve waited much too long and that now you ought to focus on preparing for the baby. You and Ruggie die that day in the pristine office, and you leave hollow and nervous. You knew you should’ve gone sooner, but you were never afforded a break. With Grim’s nonsense and then trying to scrounge enough money to fix a hole in the wall (thanks to Ace and Deuce’s foolishness) to managing your own academic schedule, you pushed pregnancy to the back of your mind because you were so certain that you had time.

You try to look on the bright side, but Ruggie’s a realist and there’s absolutely no way the both of you can afford this without having to take out a loan or sign one of Azul’s contracts or work more jobs or... It doesn’t look good, but he wants to try to figure out a solution. So when Ruggie starts working more to afford pre-natal care (Leona’s wallet is always missing Madol, but he never notices, certainly not when he has a habit of leaving his valuables out and about), you try to do your part by looking for work as well. The both of you spend nights in either his dorm or yours (mainly yours, though. Ruggie doesn’t want any of the guys getting any funny ideas) and you’ll read up on pregnancy and parenthood together. You haven’t decided what you’ll do once the child is born, considering neither of you have any romantic feelings for the other and you’re not too keen on forcing a relationship that’s bound to fail.

Despite the initial fears, all poorly concealed, you and Ruggie slowly relax as the weeks go by. The both of you are saving up to afford everything needed for a healthy pregnancy, but there are certain factors that get in the way. Nausea is your enemy. You’ve had to excuse yourself from your shift more than once to vomit, and Ruggie’s started staying in Ramshackle with you and Grim to cook and care for you. He rubs circles into your back when you spill the contents of your stomach into the toilet every morning, sometimes right after your meals. You caught Grim sleeping on your stomach one morning, to which he will adamantly deny it and scoff about how you’re just delusional and trying to spin a lie.

When your baby bump finally starts to show, it becomes harder to hide the obvious. You’ll receive some support from Crowley because he’s so very kind, but you’re still expected to attend classes and such. Although the professors are admittedly a little more lenient with you now that they know of your situation. Ruggie wishes they’d be more lenient with him. Trein advises Ruggie to treasure the blessings that come with children. As noisy and troublesome as they are, it’s so very worth it in the end. His daughters mean the world to him; he’d do anything for them. Ruggie thinks this conversation got weird fast because since when does Trein get sentimental one-on-one like this? But...he’s grateful for the advice. He confides in Trein that he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s really trying because... Because. He doesn’t have an exact reason, but he’s just doing it.

Trein smiles at him and simply says that trying is better than nothing. Ruggie feels like this was the strangest pep talk he’s ever gotten, yet somehow it’s cleared his head a little.

When your belly is more rounded and you’re a few months in, Ruggie suggests you stop working. Even Azul insists you ought to take leave; the lounge can survive without you. “It better be paid leave,” Ruggie threatens, to which Azul grins and says that a little signature can solve all of his issues.

Every single Madol counts. He’s filled jars and jars with bills and coins and he’s stowed them away in a locked space in his room. He’ll check the days off on his calendar as the both of you get closer to your supposed due date. He’s not sure why, but when you insist that you can work a little longer for his sake he doesn’t like that. He’ll work for you. He’ll do all of the heavy lifting and physical labor. Just relax and let him massage your shoulders or feet when they’re sore. Let him rub lotions and creams into your belly. Let him cook healthy, safe meals for you. Normally, Ruggie would let you do your own thing, but this time he’s a bit more forceful with his insistence. He doesn’t want you to hurt yourself or the baby, and he definitely doesn’t want you around those slimy Octavinelle students.

For the longest time, Ruggie was so certain that there was nothing between the two of you. You’re not in love, you never kiss or hold hands, and you don’t even sleep in the same bed. You’re really just two friends trying to get through a tough situation. But lately he’s felt different. These feelings surface when he’s rubbing a soothing gel into your belly and he feels the slightest kick, and he freezes up and looks you in the eyes and both of your stares seem to say, You felt that, too, right? It finally occurs to him that there’s life inside you. That the little movement within your belly is the result of you and him. That, had you never waited in the first place, he wouldn’t be here with you, feeling a restless baby kick and squirm within. Ruggie finally understands what Trein meant all that time ago. Moments like this—the ones in which he’s reminded of the bond the two of you share, that this child is the one who tethers you and him together—are so very special. An important thing that only he could experience with you.

Ruggie’s been feeling for too long and so he tries to back off, suddenly embarrassed, when your hands cover his. You smile at him and for the first time in his life he thinks that this isn’t a bad situation. Sure, it’s stressful and he’s exhausted every single day, but it’s a situation he doesn’t have to face alone. He’s together with you. With someone who is not quite a friend but not quite a lover either. Somewhere in between all of that. What does that even make you? He has no idea, but deep within his heart he wants you to be more than just a friend.

He’s never had anything that is remotely his. He’s always had to fight for his things. For food. For clothes. For money. He only knows survival because he’s never been granted the luxury of an easy life. So when you smell of him and you’re carrying his child and there are just so many traces of him on you it makes him realize that he wants this relationship. He wants to be your lover and future husband. He wants to be a father. He wants to be yours, and he wants you to be his.

Ruggie’s not sure what will happen after the baby is born and if the two of you will even stay as close as you currently are, but when he discusses potential names late into the night with you he pushes thoughts of the future aside. It’s important to plan ahead, but right now all he wants is to admire the way the moonlight frames you, the way you light up and laugh when he playfully suggests the name Ruggie Jr., and how warm you are. How welcoming your scent is. How comforting it is to know that it’s just you, him, and a precious miracle growing within you. (And a snoring Grim, but he’s too deep in sleep to be woken.) How perfect the two of you are, even when you’re struggling to make ends meet. Even then, he’s happy because you’re really all he needs to get through tough times.

He can’t let you go. He loves you too much, and hopefully by the end of these nine months you’ll love him, too.

#twisted chit chat #yandere twst #tw: pregnancy #not to put more thoughts in the tags but #this concept with jack #omg he would not leave you alone once he finds out #he’s even more loyal to you now #let him help you let him carry heavy things let him take responsibility #he would be so genuine about everything #OH OMG OR THIS CONCEPT WITH RIDDLE AAAAAAA #he would panic so much because his mother would absolutely throttle him when she learns her golden child got someone pregnant #when he’s meant to be focusing on his studies #not bringing shame to the rosehearts name by sleeping around!!!#the leech twins are a fun case because their parents find out #and mr. leech is like 'it's about time!!! my boys aren't cowards' and mrs. leech is so happy she'll have grandchildren to spoil #most supportive parents <3

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violethyacinth · 5 days

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Maximus telling Lucy that she smelled good and the entire following interaction was so funny and good but also made me feel so bad for the people who grow up under Brotherhood rule

Like y’all got all this time, caps, and resources to dedicate to finding goddamn toasters and shit but you can’t take a week to teach your aspirants actual sex ed so you don’t have god knows what kind of stis going around barracks because them teenagers ARE fucking do not delude yourselves.

#but they respect pronouns?#I’m confused by the Brotherhood’s creed and code #like you’re telling me y’all have a good enough grasp of gender identity and can respect that but totally bypass sex ed???#I guess maybe unplanned pregnancies maybe help in maintaining their population #idk for some reason I guess I thought the brotherhood had some kind of good sense somewhere about some things #they really are all about the tech huh #vi speaks #vi watches #fallout tv series #fallout tv show #fallout Amazon #fallout prime #Maximus #lucy maclean

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ghouljams · 7 months

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As I'm finishing up writing about the first of the goslings I'm realizing that if I wrote this from Ghosts's pov it would mostly just be

"Oh God my wife is pregnant and everything in the world could hurt her and she doesn't even seem concerned."

Ghost is so stressed Goose's entire pregnancy because now he's got two people he could lose and one of them is the worst pregnant person in the world. Something about being pregnant makes Goose just determined to not be taken care of and it is driving Ghost up a fucking wall. He is clawing at the door trying to get her to let him do his service stuff and she will not let him. She's trying so hard to prove she can still do everything she could do before she was pregnant and won't accept the reality that she either can't or shouldn't for her own health. Which is just a nightmare for Ghost. Everything in the fucking world could hurt this woman and their baby and she is ignoring that fact for no reason but sheer stubbornness.

He wouldn't change Goose for the world but dear God. It is a miracle when she finally realizes she's pregnant, actually pregnant, like thats a whole baby shes cooking. It's like the fucking heavens have been opened and Ghost is finally allowed to baby her like he's wanted to for months. Then she's just the neediest thing in the world and Ghost is THRILLED.

#ghoul speaks #this is also where ive been trying to figure out how much of Goose's pregnancy to cover #and also where im like #i know Ghost realizes he has a little bit of a thing for seeing Goose pregnant #like holy shit thats his wife and his kid #not in like a trad wife way but definitely in a lowkey breeding kink way #the pregnancy does not dull their sex life i will just say that #and idk if people wanna read about that so ive been kinda skirting around it #ghost x oc #oc: goose

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