#new civil engineering jobs

[petnews2day]

Cats for Coinford

New Post has been published on https://petn.ws/4i63s

Cats for Coinford

One of Coinford’s new Cat 320 2D excavators Surrey-based Coinford is investing more than £4m in new Cat 313 2D and 320 2D excavators, which have operating weights of 13.8 and 22.6 tonnes respectively Deliveries from Caterpillar distributor Finning began in March and are being staggered throughout the year. Coinford plant director Chris Forrest said: […]

See full article at https://petn.ws/4i63s #CatsNews #Building, #CivilEngineering, #Construction, #ConstructionCompanies, #ConstructionContractors, #ConstructionContracts, #ConstructionJobs, #ConstructionNews

#building #Civil Engineering #construction #Construction Companies #Construction Contractors #Construction Contracts #Construction Jobs #Construction News #Cats News

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Tesla's Dieselgate

Elon Musk lies a lot. He lies about being a “utopian socialist.” He lies about being a “free speech absolutist.” He lies about which companies he founded:

https://www.businessinsider.com/tesla-cofounder-martin-eberhard-interview-history-elon-musk-ev-market-2023-2 He lies about being the “chief engineer” of those companies:

https://www.quora.com/Was-Elon-Musk-the-actual-engineer-behind-SpaceX-and-Tesla

He lies about really stupid stuff, like claiming that comsats that share the same spectrum will deliver steady broadband speeds as they add more users who each get a narrower slice of that spectrum:

https://www.eff.org/wp/case-fiber-home-today-why-fiber-superior-medium-21st-century-broadband

The fundamental laws of physics don’t care about this bullshit, but people do. The comsat lie convinced a bunch of people that pulling fiber to all our homes is literally impossible — as though the electrical and phone lines that come to our homes now were installed by an ancient, lost civilization. Pulling new cabling isn’t a mysterious art, like embalming pharaohs. We do it all the time. One of the poorest places in America installed universal fiber with a mule named “Ole Bub”:

https://www.newyorker.com/tech/annals-of-technology/the-one-traffic-light-town-with-some-of-the-fastest-internet-in-the-us

Previous tech barons had “reality distortion fields,” but Musk just blithely contradicts himself and pretends he isn’t doing so, like a budget Steve Jobs. There’s an entire site devoted to cataloging Musk’s public lies:

https://elonmusk.today/

But while Musk lacks the charm of earlier Silicon Valley grifters, he’s much better than they ever were at running a long con. For years, he’s been promising “full self driving…next year.”

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

He’s hasn’t delivered, but he keeps claiming he has, making Teslas some of the deadliest cars on the road:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/technology/2023/06/10/tesla-autopilot-crashes-elon-musk/

Tesla is a giant shell-game masquerading as a car company. The important thing about Tesla isn’t its cars, it’s Tesla’s business arrangement, the Tesla-Financial Complex:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/11/24/no-puedo-pagar-no-pagara/#Rat

Once you start unpacking Tesla’s balance sheets, you start to realize how much the company depends on government subsidies and tax-breaks, combined with selling carbon credits that make huge, planet-destroying SUVs possible, under the pretense that this is somehow good for the environment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/14/for-sale-green-indulgences/#killer-analogy

But even with all those financial shenanigans, Tesla’s got an absurdly high valuation, soaring at times to 1600x its profitability:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/15/hoover-calling/#intangibles

That valuation represents a bet on Tesla’s ability to extract ever-higher rents from its customers. Take Tesla’s batteries: you pay for the battery when you buy your car, but you don’t own that battery. You have to rent the right to use its full capacity, with Tesla reserving the right to reduce how far you go on a charge based on your willingness to pay:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/09/10/teslas-demon-haunted-cars-in-irmas-path-get-a-temporary-battery-life-boost/

That’s just one of the many rent-a-features that Tesla drivers have to shell out for. You don’t own your car at all: when you sell it as a used vehicle, Tesla strips out these features you paid for and makes the next driver pay again, reducing the value of your used car and transfering it to Tesla’s shareholders:

https://www.theverge.com/2020/2/6/21127243/tesla-model-s-autopilot-disabled-remotely-used-car-update

To maintain this rent-extraction racket, Tesla uses DRM that makes it a felony to alter your own car’s software without Tesla’s permission. This is the root of all autoenshittification:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

This is technofeudalism. Whereas capitalists seek profits (income from selling things), feudalists seek rents (income from owning the things other people use). If Telsa were a capitalist enterprise, then entrepreneurs could enter the market and sell mods that let you unlock the functionality in your own car:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/06/11/1-in-3/#boost-50

But because Tesla is a feudal enterprise, capitalists must first secure permission from the fief, Elon Musk, who decides which companies are allowed to compete with him, and how.

Once a company owns the right to decide which software you can run, there’s no limit to the ways it can extract rent from you. Blocking you from changing your device’s software lets a company run overt scams on you. For example, they can block you from getting your car independently repaired with third-party parts.

But they can also screw you in sneaky ways. Once a device has DRM on it, Section 1201 of the DMCA makes it a felony to bypass that DRM, even for legitimate purposes. That means that your DRM-locked device can spy on you, and because no one is allowed to explore how that surveillance works, the manufacturer can be incredibly sloppy with all the personal info they gather:

https://www.cnbc.com/2019/03/29/tesla-model-3-keeps-data-like-crash-videos-location-phone-contacts.html

All kinds of hidden anti-features can lurk in your DRM-locked car, protected from discovery, analysis and criticism by the illegality of bypassing the DRM. For example, Teslas have a hidden feature that lets them lock out their owners and summon a repo man to drive them away if you have a dispute about a late payment:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

DRM is a gun on the mantlepiece in Act I, and by Act III, it goes off, revealing some kind of ugly and often dangerous scam. Remember Dieselgate? Volkswagen created a line of demon-haunted cars: if they thought they were being scrutinized (by regulators measuring their emissions), they switched into a mode that traded performance for low emissions. But when they believed themselves to be unobserved, they reversed this, emitting deadly levels of NOX but delivering superior mileage.

The conversion of the VW diesel fleet into mobile gas-chambers wouldn’t have been possible without DRM. DRM adds a layer of serious criminal jeopardy to anyone attempting to reverse-engineer and study any device, from a phone to a car. DRM let Apple claim to be a champion of its users’ privacy even as it spied on them from asshole to appetite:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

Now, Tesla is having its own Dieselgate scandal. A stunning investigation by Steve Stecklow and Norihiko Shirouzu for Reuters reveals how Tesla was able to create its own demon-haunted car, which systematically deceived drivers about its driving range, and the increasingly desperate measures the company turned to as customers discovered the ruse:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/tesla-batteries-range/

The root of the deception is very simple: Tesla mis-sells its cars by falsely claiming ranges that those cars can’t attain. Every person who ever bought a Tesla was defrauded.

But this fraud would be easy to detect. If you bought a Tesla rated for 353 miles on a charge, but the dashboard range predictor told you that your fully charged car could only go 150 miles, you’d immediately figure something was up. So your Telsa tells another lie: the range predictor tells you that you can go 353 miles.

But again, if the car continued to tell you it has 203 miles of range when it was about to run out of charge, you’d figure something was up pretty quick — like, the first time your car ran out of battery while the dashboard cheerily informed you that you had 203 miles of range left.

So Teslas tell a third lie: when the battery charge reached about 50%, the fake range is replaced with the real one. That way, drivers aren’t getting mass-stranded by the roadside, and the scam can continue.

But there’s a new problem: drivers whose cars are rated for 353 miles but can’t go anything like that far on a full charge naturally assume that something is wrong with their cars, so they start calling Tesla service and asking to have the car checked over.

This creates a problem for Tesla: those service calls can cost the company $1,000, and of course, there’s nothing wrong with the car. It’s performing exactly as designed. So Tesla created its boldest fraud yet: a boiler-room full of anti-salespeople charged with convincing people that their cars weren’t broken.

This new unit — the “diversion team” — was headquartered in a Nevada satellite office, which was equipped with a metal xylophone that would be rung in triumph every time a Tesla owner was successfully conned into thinking that their car wasn’t defrauding them.

When a Tesla owner called this boiler room, the diverter would run remote diagnostics on their car, then pronounce it fine, and chide the driver for having energy-hungry driving habits (shades of Steve Jobs’s “You’re holding it wrong”):

https://www.wired.com/2010/06/iphone-4-holding-it-wrong/

The drivers who called the Diversion Team weren’t just lied to, they were also punished. The Tesla app was silently altered so that anyone who filed a complaint about their car’s range was no longer able to book a service appointment for any reason. If their car malfunctioned, they’d have to request a callback, which could take several days.

Meanwhile, the diverters on the diversion team were instructed not to inform drivers if the remote diagnostics they performed detected any other defects in the cars.

The diversion team had a 750 complaint/week quota: to juke this stat, diverters would close the case for any driver who failed to answer the phone when they were eventually called back. The center received 2,000+ calls every week. Diverters were ordered to keep calls to five minutes or less.

Eventually, diverters were ordered to cease performing any remote diagnostics on drivers’ cars: a source told Reuters that “Thousands of customers were told there is nothing wrong with their car” without any diagnostics being performed.

Predicting EV range is an inexact science as many factors can affect battery life, notably whether a journey is uphill or downhill. Every EV automaker has to come up with a figure that represents some kind of best guess under a mix of conditions. But while other manufacturers err on the side of caution, Tesla has the most inaccurate mileage estimates in the industry, double the industry average.

Other countries’ regulators have taken note. In Korea, Tesla was fined millions and Elon Musk was personally required to state that he had deceived Tesla buyers. The Korean regulator found that the true range of Teslas under normal winter conditions was less than half of the claimed range.

Now, many companies have been run by malignant narcissists who lied compulsively — think of Thomas Edison, archnemesis of Nikola Tesla himself. The difference here isn’t merely that Musk is a deeply unfit monster of a human being — but rather, that DRM allows him to defraud his customers behind a state-enforced opaque veil. The digital computers at the heart of a Tesla aren’t just demons haunting the car, changing its performance based on whether it believes it is being observed — they also allow Musk to invoke the power of the US government to felonize anyone who tries to peer into the black box where he commits his frauds.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

This Sunday (July 30) at 1530h, I’m appearing on a panel at Midsummer Scream in Long Beach, CA, to discuss the wonderful, award-winning “Ghost Post” Haunted Mansion project I worked on for Disney Imagineering.

Image ID [A scene out of an 11th century tome on demon-summoning called 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros. Anno 1057. Noli me tangere.' It depicts a demon tormenting two unlucky would-be demon-summoners who have dug up a grave in a graveyard. One summoner is held aloft by his hair, screaming; the other screams from inside the grave he is digging up. The scene has been altered to remove the demon's prominent, urinating penis, to add in a Tesla supercharger, and a red Tesla Model S nosing into the scene.]

Image: Steve Jurvetson (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tesla_Model_S_Indoors.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #steve stecklow #autoenshittification #norihiko shirouzu #reuters #you're holding it wrong #r2r #right to repair #range rage #range anxiety #grifters #demon-haunted world #drm #tpms #1201 #dmca 1201 #tesla #evs #electric vehicles #ftc act section 5 #unfair and deceptive practices #automotive #enshittification #elon musk

[jobalertpro]

Anish Infracon Hiring new Civil Engineer job 2023 Apply now

Company:Anish Infracon Post: Engineer/PM/DGM/Store /Suvyor/Supervisor Qualification: Degree In Civil Engineering Experience:3+year Location: Mumbai Salary: Depends On Interview Selection Process: Interview Dates And Venue Will Be Shared With The Shortlist Candidates Separately Anish Infracon Job Description: We recognize that our most important resource is our employees. Therefore, we…

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#Anish Infracon Hiring new Civil Engineer job 2023 Apply now

[maaarine]

Mystery of why Roman buildings have survived so long has been unraveled, scientists say (Katie Hunt, CNN, Jan 06 2023)

“Roman concrete, in many cases, has proven to be longer-lasting than its modern equivalent, which can deteriorate within decades.

Now, scientists behind a new study say they have uncovered the mystery ingredient that allowed the Romans to make their construction material so durable and build elaborate structures in challenging places such as docks, sewers and earthquake zones.

The study team, including researchers from the United States, Italy and Switzerland, analyzed 2,000-year-old concrete samples that were taken from a city wall at the archaeological site of Privernum, in central Italy, and are similar in composition to other concrete found throughout the Roman Empire.

They found that white chunks in the concrete, referred to as lime clasts, gave the concrete the ability to heal cracks that formed over time.

The white chunks previously had been overlooked as evidence of sloppy mixing or poor-quality raw material.

"For me, it was really difficult to believe that ancient Roman (engineers) would not do a good job because they really made careful effort when choosing and processing materials," said study author Admir Masic, an associate professor of civil and environmental engineering at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. (…)

Additional analysis of the concrete showed that the lime clasts formed at extreme temperatures expected from the use of quicklime, and "hot mixing" was key to the concrete's durable nature.

"The benefits of hot mixing are twofold," Masic said in a news release.

"First, when the overall concrete is heated to high temperatures, it allows chemistries that are not possible if you only used slaked lime, producing high-temperature-associated compounds that would not otherwise form.

Second, this increased temperature significantly reduces curing and setting times since all the reactions are accelerated, allowing for much faster construction."

To investigate whether the lime clasts were responsible for Roman concrete's apparent ability to repair itself, the team conducted an experiment.

They made two samples of concrete, one following Roman formulations and the other made to modern standards, and deliberately cracked them.

After two weeks, water could not flow through the concrete made with a Roman recipe, whereas it passed right through the chunk of concrete made without quicklime.

Their findings suggest that the lime clasts can dissolve into cracks and recrystallize after exposure to water, healing cracks created by weathering before they spread.

The researchers said this self-healing potential could pave the way to producing more long-lasting, and thus more sustainable, modern concrete.

Such a move would reduce concrete's carbon footprint, which accounts for up to 8% of global greenhouse gas emissions, according to the study.

For many years, researchers had thought that volcanic ash from the area of Pozzuoli, on the Bay of Naples, was what made Roman concrete so strong.

This kind of ash was transported across the vast Roman empire to be used in construction, and was described as a key ingredient for concrete in accounts by architects and historians at the time.

Masic said that both components are important, but lime was overlooked in the past.”

#article #science #environment

[rudrjobdesk]

PGCIL Recruitment 2022: पॉवर ग्रिड कॉर्पोरेशन में ITI, डिप्लोमा व ग्रेजुएट अप्रेंटिस के 1166 पदों पर भर्ती, देखिए योग्यता व अन्य खास बातें

PGCIL Recruitment 2022: पॉवर ग्रिड कॉर्पोरेशन में ITI, डिप्लोमा व ग्रेजुएट अप्रेंटिस के 1166 पदों पर भर्ती, देखिए योग्यता व अन्य खास बातें

PGCIL Recruitment 2022: पॉवर ग्रिड कॉर्पेोरेशन ऑफ इंडिया (PGCIL) ने आईटीआई, डिप्लोमा व स्नातक अप्रेंटिस के 1166 पदों के लिए आवेदन आमंत्रित किए हैं। पीजीसीआईएल की इस भर्ती के लिए आवेदन की अंतिम तिथि 31 जुलाई 2022 है। पीजीसीआईएल में इन पदों के लिए आवेदन  प्रक्रिया 7 जुलाई 2022 से शुरू हो चुकी है। इस भर्ती के लिए इच्छुक व योग्य अभ्यर्थी संस्थान की आधिकारिक वेबसाइट powergridindia.com पर जाकर ऑनलाइन…

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[fredwkong]

Himbo Maker: Aaron

Aaron could admit to himself that he had always been a nerd. He was smart enough that he had skipped grades through high school and sailed through his degree. Now he was working as a civil engineer. He wore a solid colour button up shirt, corduroy pants, and tighty whities every day, just because he found them comfortable.

As an engineer, Aaron had more than a bit of the tech nerd in him, and he wasn’t immune to the AI craze. When all of his friends on an online forum started raving about some new AI chatbot, Aaron was curious.

Him-br.AI was marketed as an AI chatbot that helped you to make big changes in your life. It appeared to be some kind of self-help assistance bot. Aaron signed up for the free trial and loaded up a chatroom. He didn’t notice that, since he was on the free trial, he didn’t get to decide what the bot would help him to change. After a few seconds of loading, he received his first message from the bot.

Himbo_mkr: Hey bro, what’s up?

Eng-boy: Uh, hi. What’s up?

Himbo_mkr: Bro, I had a sick workout, huhuhu. My muscles are all pumped up and covered in sweat. Hot, right?

Aaron couldn’t deny that did sound hot. His dick chubbed up in his corduroys. This bot sounded a bit like an idiot, but it wasn’t like he was real. Aaron could play along and get off. Tons of guys were probably doing it.

Eng-boy: That does sound hot! Since you’re so sweaty, you’ve probably got a lot of musk coming off your body, right?

Himbo_mkr: Yeah, bro! My hot pits, crotch, and asscrack give off a totally rancid stench, lmao. It gets me hard knowing that I smell like such a man.

It was a bit surprising that a bot could talk about getting hard, Aaron thought, but by now he was getting too into it. He rubbed his bulge through his pants and typed another message.

Eng-boy: Sounds like you’re a pretty dumb muscle bro, huh?

Himbo_mkr: Bruh, I’m a himbo, of course I am! You’re not the sharpest knife either, lol.

Aaron was a bit offended, but then he thought back, and he decided that the bot was kind of right. He wasn’t, like, a dummy, but he wasn’t valedictorian, either. He’d had a solid B average, which had gotten him an okay engineering degree. So he was stuck in a dead-end permits office, whatever. The money was good.

Eng-boy: Guess you’re right, haha. I always thought I could have been smarter.

Himbo_mkr: Bro, why? You’re a proud bro. Brains are, like, your lowest priority, huhuhu.

For an instant, Aaron felt light-headed. He was no… bro, right? But as he looked around the room, it seemed like that was true. His engineering degree was surrounded by pics of himself and his bros partying at school. There weren’t any fantasy novels on his shelf, just gay porn magazines. The sheets on his bed weren’t crisp and fresh, but kind of a sweaty mess.

Aaron scratched under his skinny armpit and sniffed the mild scent he gave off. He had to wear the cords and the button up for work, but he was definitely a bro, through and through, despite his skinny physique. He was kind of a dumbass, but he was good enough at his job, even though dealing with shipments wasn’t exactly what an engineer should be doing.

Eng-bro: Of course, bro. When I’m off the clock, I’m all for the bros. Who needs smarts?

Himbo_mkr: Exactly, bro! Dumb bros like us have no inhibitions and we’re worry free!

Aaron was properly jacking his hard, if average, cock now. He was feeling warm and horny, and thinking about how big this himbo bro’s ass must be. He vaguely remembered something about a bot or something, but he didn’t care.

Eng-bro: I wanna play with your big muscle tits and asscheeks, bro.

Himbo_mkr: That’s so like you, bro. I bet you’re sweating like a pig, too. Your shirt’s probably covered in musky sweat stains.

Aaron looked down and chuckled. The himbo was right again! His button up shirt was soaked through and translucent, showing off his skinny chest. He had yellowing pit stains that were totally dripping with salty, musky sweat.

His whole room stank from all his sweat. In spite of his nerdy stature, Aaron had always had overproductive sweat glands. He’d given up on controlling it in high school, instead choosing to embrace his natural musk. These days, he cultivated it.

Sweat-bro: You know it, bro. Bet you wish you were here to peel it off me, bro.

Himbo_mkr: Strip, bro! Your thick, dumb chest muscles are probably too big for a button-up, anyway.

Aaron started unbuttoning his shirt. It was hard, with his thick, sweat- and pre-slicked fingers. After a moment, he gave up and ripped the shirt open, chuckling, “Huhu, Superman!” as he did. As he peeled the soaked fabric off his skin, it felt like Aaron was seeing his massive pecs for the first time. They were perfectly rounded with big, dark nipples. He rubbed a hand over his sexy musclegut, too.

Himbo_mkr: Don’t forget those giant arms of yours, either.

Aaron paused in the action of licking the sweat off his peaked, solid bicep. He was such a dumbass sometimes, he’d totally forgotten he was in a chat! Hopefully this bro wasn’t too mad.

Sweat-bro: Dude, I gotta take off these cords, they’re getting smelly from all the pre and shit.

Himbo_mkr: Don’t forget to take off your underwear, too, bro! You don’t want it to snap around that dumptruck ass of yours.

It took Aaron several seconds and lying down on his bed to pull off his corduroy pants and tighty whities. The closure was too complicated for his dumb bro brain to figure out, plus his huge ass and thick thighs had been crammed in there like sausage meat. Huhu, sausage. Once he was naked, he started jacking again, his little dick almost invisible in his huge hand. He moaned so loud in his deep, dumb voice that he missed the next notification.

Himbo_mkr: Yeah, jack that big Korean cock. Don’t forget to pay attention to your big bull balls and slutty hole, too.

All the blemishes and acne scars on Aaron’s skin vanished as his skin smoothed out and lightened. His hair turned black and straightened out. His pubes darkened too, growing out into a real forest along to frame his dick and balls. He grunted and groaned even more as he tugged on his balls. He started to bounce his big, jiggly ass up and down to better feel the huge plug filling up his hungry asshole.

Himbo_mkr: You’re wearing a white tank, right, bro? And those slutty little jean shorts are around your ankles with your musky jockstrap as you jerk. And those big, smelly feet of yours. You’re wearing your Converse, right?

As a musky Asian himbo, Aaron always wore a sweat-soaked white tank, which showed off his bulky pec shelf and protruding musclegut. His favourite pair of booty shorts were down around his ankles, along with the jockstrap he’d worn today. Aaron swung his legs into the air to get better access to his hole, showing off his boat-like white high-tops, which were stained with sweat because he never wore socks.

While Aaron kept on jacking off on his unwashed, cum-crusted sheets in his messy, musky room, the Him-br.AI chatroom closed itself. Another window opened an instant later, starting up a video stream. Now anyone on the internet could see Aaron, the dumb, sweaty Korean himbo, pleasure himself and lick up his musk. For a fee, they could even control the size and vibrations of his plug to pleasure his slutty himbo hole.

Idea with assistance from a bot of my own creation. EDIT: Format inspired by Codename: Bear_mkr by @biggerchanger . Thanks to @imsrtman​ for catching that.

#himbofication #dumber tf #male transformation #musk tf #chat tf #race change #reality change #korean tf #himbo maker #nerdtojock #male tf #all fwkong #asian tf

[artificial-transmutations]

Hey I'm George. I am a 26 civil engineer working in a big company but it si not what i expected. It is so boring and I am only doing it since it ws what is expected of me. I wish you could transform me into a hot stripper or porn star cause that's has always been my secret dream. I don't wanna be transformed into an object.

Transformation Letters - The gay club

Even writing the letter to the unknown company has been an act of rebellion. All your life, you have been doing what was expected of you. You finished school with good grades and enrolled in an engineering degree program.

The first years were alright. It was still interesting, and you enjoyed the classes, but slowly you had to come to the realization that perhaps, engineering wasn't quite for you. The work was getting more and more monotonous, and the tasks were less and less creative. Regardless, you graduated with an acceptable degree and got a job in the field as a civil engineer.

Now, almost three years later, you are sitting in a small office cubicle, doing the same stuff that you did in the last few years.

"I hate it here.", you think and look at the blueprints on the wall. They are supposed to be "motivating", showing what your company builds. To you, however, they are nothing more than a reminder that the work is dull and unfulfilling.

As you get up and grab the coffee from the machine, you realize just how much of a rut your life has fallen into. Looking at the calendar on the wall, you recognize another thing: It's your birthday today. Yay. 26 wasted years, at least in your opinion. You don't have many friends or family, but for once, you decide to celebrate a bit on your own. You are going to visit a club tonight.

Some hours later, you find yourself in a gay nightclub. You are not out or anything, but your sexuality has been a matter of fact to you for some years now, so visiting a gay bar is on your bucket list anyway. The thumbing music surrounds you, making it near impossible to talk to anyone and even though it feels kind of exciting to be in such a location, you can't help but feeling kind of lonely and displaced here. Seeing all those hot guys dancing makes it terribly obvious for you that you are way too uptight to ever move your body to the music like that.

But... Perhaps you should just... try?

The thought is entirely alien to you, but... strangely appealing. So, you just try to dance to the music.

At first, it feels very awkward and a bit uncomfortable, but after a few moments, you relax. And, to your big surprise, you actually manage to move your body along with the beat. As your self-confidence grows, so does the speed and forcefulness of your movements. Before you know it, you have attracted the attention of a group of three men. Normally, being the center of attention would be something you despise, but right now it feels liberating and right. So right, in fact, that you do something crazy! The stage is empty right now, and, following these strange new impulses, you climb onto the stage and begin to dance to the music. You are still wearing your work attire and it is quickly becoming way too warm as you move your body. So, without thinking, you slowly begin to unbutton your shirt.

To your amazement, the crowd begins to cheer and applaud. It is like a wave of acceptance and approval washes over you, and the more buttons you undo, the more enthusiastic the cheering becomes. It is somehow getting easier and easier to follow the beat. Both your sense of rhythm as well as your physical fitness seem to increase and moving to the music quickly becomes a second nature for you. When you have finally unbuttoned your shirt, you slide out of it and spin it around your hand a few times before throwing it into the crowd. A bunch of hands shoot up, and the shirt quickly disappears. You keep moving to the music, now only wearing a white undershirt, which sticks to your skin and reveals your well-toned body. You have been working out once in a while, trying to keep yourself fit with mediocre success, but even you are a bit surprised how well your body looks right now. Your muscles are defined and bulging and when you pull the undershirt off as well, the cheers rise to an almost deafening level.

It feels like a wave of energy rushes through your body. You can barely think straight and the only thing you can focus on is the music and the movement. You have already gotten used to being the center of attention, but now, even more people join the crowd around you. They are staring at your body, and you can clearly make out their lust and admiration, making you smile. The next thing to go, is, of course, your pants, which you slowly peel off and, as with the shirt, throw them into the crowd, where they disappear as well.

Your movements are becoming faster and faster, and soon, you have almost completely shed your clothes, revealing your athletic and lean body, now shining with sweat. Your ample bulge is thinly veiled by your pair of bright blue briefs that do their best to set your assets, both your dick and your ass, into scene...

***

Hey, I’m Elias, a 22yo bartender with a French and Linguistics degree at University, though sometimes I wish I could trade smarts for sports and strength. I don’t think I’m unattractive, I never have much problem getting attention from guys at the club, but I feel like guys just look at me like I’m another pale twink with brown hair and hazel eyes. I don’t want to be an object, I like being a man: I just want to be more manly. Muscles and beard, I want to look powerful and have other guys be jealous of me.

It's a usual Friday evening for you, and you are tending bar in the towns gay club as usual. It's not too bad - your twinkish body usually gets you some tips, and today is no different. There are times, however, that you wish you were just a bit more... manly. Of course, everyone always wants to be what they are not. But seeing those sexy guys every day, made of beef and manliness makes you almost hate your thin and slender form. That is, after all, what made you write that letter some weeks ago, even though you already forgot about it by now.

All of a sudden, one of the club's visitors climbs onto the stage. Even though it's empty right now, people aren't supposed to go up there, for insurance reasons. Apparently, nobody else has noticed, so you decide to handle the situation yourself. You tell your colleague on the bar that you will be right back and then make your way to the stage.

The guy who has climbed up there seems to be some kind of office worker and is apparently completely focused on dancing. You just want to tell him to come down from the stage when he begins to unbutton his shirt in the rhythm of the music. Having forgotten what you meant to do for a moment, you stare, mesmerized at the guy on stage slowly getting out of his shirt. He looks quite attractive and moves his body like a pro. The crowd notices the show, and slowly, the whole scene becomes the focus of attention. The office guy has now spun his shirt around and thrown it into the crowd, which has now grown considerably. You have to admit, the whole show and the guy look kind of sexy. Not your usual type, he has more of a lean and athletic body that is revealed more and more with every move he takes. Still, he is good.

Next to you, directly in front of the stage, one of the red faux leather chairs has just become free, as the guy who sat in it went to get some drinks. The crowd is moving constantly and, without really thinking, you take a seat there. The office worker is still dancing, his sweaty body almost glowing, and his bulge looks impressively large, even in the low lighting of the club. You can feel yourself getting hard, and through your suit pants, you feel yourself up discreetly.

Actually.

Fuck discreetly. You rub your crotch through your pants while your eyes are still glued to the stripper on stage. Your mind is slowly going blank. You don't notice how the other bar patrons slowly stop moving to the music and gather around the stage instead, watching the office guy perform. You are completely entranced, unable to think, just staring at the spectacle in front of you, while your cock strains against the fabric of your pants.

Actually, your cock is not the only thing straining against your clothes. It is as if all your body is expanding, in every direction, all at once: Your shoulders, your arms, and your legs widen and grow thicker, while your ass and muscles swell. At the same time, the first hints of stubble and beard hairs break through your skin.

Your suit feels constricting, and you consider getting up to go to the bathroom to get out of them. But...

Actually.

Fuck modesty. With more raw strength than elegance, you remove your clothing while you still can. Your body continues to grow stronger and stronger and when your chest is bared, your nipples have hardened to the point where they seem like small pebbles.

It feels so fucking good to just get out of the clothes that are becoming more and more uncomfortable with every passing second. You watch with a superior smile as hair also grows on your chest and abs, as well as on your legs and arms, making your whole torso look furry.

When your pants are gone, your underwear is the only piece of clothing left on you.

And fuck, that's getting really tight!

But, as you watch, it is morphing into a different material. What was once a pair of cotton boxer briefs quickly becomes a pair of black shiny leather underwear, pronouncing the growing bulge of your hard cock. The bulge is, of course, not only growing because you're rock-hard: Also, inside the alien pair of leather underwear, your member is growing bigger and bigger with each throb, slowly becoming a true monster cock.

Other parts of you don't seem to be stopping growing larger as well: Your biceps are more than impressive right now, your forearms look like you can crush a watermelon with them and your thighs are as thick as tree trunks.

As the music keeps playing, the hair on your body grows denser and longer. You now have a manly full beard, and, as you cross your strong arms behind your head, a thick bush of hair emerges from each of your armpits, flooding the direct vicinity with your manly stench.

You grin as you look up to the stripper, who is just about to shed his pair of blue underwear and lick your lips. After the show, you're gonna take him home and breed him!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #transformationletter

[elsewhereuniversity]

Once again, some engineering undergraduates have overestimated their own prowess and summoned something when they should have been finishing their homework. The engineering TAs would like to take this moment to remind all the engineering majors that it is not a part of our jobs to track down whatever you summon and that you will fail any and all assignments that summon anything. As per university policy, we cannot grade summonings.

As a precaution, until further notice, the maker’s space is now closed to all students. Access will only be allowed under the direct supervision of a TA (good luck finding us) or a professor (assuming you can find one outside of office hours). All senior theses must be hypothetical - any practical theses proposals have been retroactively rescinded. Laboratory research is expected to continue as usual.

Safety is everyone’s responsibility when working with the unknown! Your TAs have prepared some helpful reminders to reduce the chances this happens again.

Complete the mandatory Elsewhere Lab Safety Training! If you do not complete this by the end of the quarter, things will befall you! Don’t test our patience!

Never work alone in the lab! Not only is this bad practice for most experiments, but two are better than one when it comes to stopping unusual lab problems.

Carry your iron rod, salt packet, and water bottle at all times. Replacement rods are available at the academic advising office, salt packets can be taken from the dining halls, and water bottles can be found at the athletics department.

All projects must be made out of iron. For iron alloys and composites, consult a TA, professor, or postdoc to see if the iron percentage is higher than the threshold.

Follow university policy regarding safety best practices in the classroom and around campus.

Bioengineers: only use samples acquired directly from other labs. Neither Elsewhere University nor the Engineering Department can guarantee that samples arrive uncontaminated (remember the Great Homunculi disaster?).

Electrical engineers: the efficacy of copper against the Fair Folk is still yet to be determined. Do not listen to the upperclassmen who tell you that copper works just as well as iron. This has been suspected to be a way of hazing new students and violated the university hazing policies.

Chemical engineers: use the fume hoods. Accidents happen much less often when working in a well-ventilated area.

Civil engineers: your steel pins may contain too little iron to be useful. Do not rely on them in a pinch. Yes, they look cool, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Your faculty advisors will be conducting iron checks to ensure you have enough iron on you at all times.

Mechanical engineers: how many times do we have to remind you that just because something could work doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to build it? Remember the machine that nonstop summoned things for weeks? And how hard that was to stop? Please don’t build that again, or anything like it.

And, as always, report accidents to the relevant safety authorities. The sooner the damage is evaluated, the sooner it can be contained and fixed.

On behalf of the entire department, we preemptively thank you for adjusting to this change in departmental policy.

Please understand that your midterm grades will be coming out late, as we are working hard to understand what was summoned and how: if anyone has information about it, please direct it to the Dean’s office.

- your engineering TAs

#submission #aelloposchrysopterus #long post #stories #love letters to majors #engineering majors

[multifariousqueer]

hey ur writing a so good vould you write a smut with miles Morales( not 42) and reader using webs as hand cuffs, thanks <333

Ofc, babes!! IF ANY OF YALL HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THIS, SAY IT WITH ME KNOW. IF IT DON’T APPLY, LET IT FLY. LEAVE ME TF ALONE IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH MY SMUT BC I GENUINELY DO NOT GAF

A/N; Hey y’all. Keep requesting as always and if you have an issue with this particular piece of work or any of my other smuts, please feel free to politely fuck off 🥰(I’m sorry I’m so sick of the comments under my post y’all).

Warnings: imma try not to put too many bc Tumblr will shadowban this post and i gotta feed y’all, look at the request, b0nd@ge, fluff, br33ding,d1rty t@lk, nicknames, $mut,lmk if I missed some

As the rain pattered against your dorm window, you sipped from a mug of tea as you had just finished your English essay and designing Miles’ new web shooters. He was currently out using them and trying them out as you took notes on their flaws and how they could be fixed. Miles always told you not too worry about his web shooters and just focus on making his suit more durable and you always told him:

“I can do both, Spider-Man’s girlfriend/engineer always does both"

He would chuckle and laugh and say:

“As long as you’re happy, Mami."

Miles let you have a lot of creative freedom with his design seeing as you were also his “girl in the chair” assisting him on missions sometimes, designing/building him new tech, testing out new fluid combos and overall, keeping him safe. As much as Miles enjoyed you being active in his escapades, he worries that something will happen and you’ll be targeted and used for something horrible. You reassure Miles that this will never happen because there is nothing connecting you to his suit or machinery due to your advanced tracking system being untraceable by outside forces. You installed a firewall so potent, it took you three months of nonstop work to crack it. When you finally did, Miles and you had celebrated for a whole week.

As you enjoyed your unusual alone time, you waited for Miles to tap on your window and enter.

“Hey, Spidey. How’d they work?” you smiled at your tall boyfriend

“They held up, thats for sure. I had to stop a bank robbery and those guys had some pretty jacked up weapons but the shooters did their job. How are you amor?” Miles spoke

“I’m good. I pounded through my English essay and yours.” You said, grabbing his suit to tinker with some of the shooters leaving him bare in your room in only his mask

“What’s the essay on again?” He said, grabbing a shirt as you saw his visible goosebumps on his skin due to the sudden temperature change

“The effects of technology on modern civilization” you smiled at Miles

Miles chuckled at this

“Damn, they called you out, huh?” Miles said, climbing on your ceiling and attempting to web a bottle of water

“looking for something?” you smiled, waving his shooters at him

“yeah actually.” he smirked

“You’ll have them in a sec.” you said screwing something in

“try em now” you said, throwing them to Miles

Miles tried them and they worked perfectly, even better than you had anticipated. Of course, he tested them by webbing you to him.

“Thank you, mami. You always get me right.”

Miles pulled you in for a kiss. The kiss was long and passionate, you could tell he was incredibly grateful for the time and effort you put into him and his alter ego. The kiss could’ve lasted eternity as your mouths moved in perfect motion of each other before you pulled away:

“Should we try out new web formula?” you said barely above a whisper, your eyes fluttering open

Miles chuckled

“Nah, the current one will work fine for this”

Before you could ask what was going on, Miles webbed you to the wall. He turned you around so your stomach was against the wall. He made sure to strategically place the webs so that your hands and ankles were bonded extra tight to the wall.

“I’ve wanted to do this forever” Miles said

Miles webbed your mouth before you could say anything and started rubbing you through your clothes. He fondled your perfect tits and cursed under his breath:

“Shit I’m so lucky"

He sucked on your neck as little moans and whimpers escaped. He moved his hands under your clothes and ripped them in one swift motion:

“I’ll buy you a new top and shorts, mami” Miles said

You moaned out an “awww” but it was quickly interrupted by Miles rubbing your clit while leaving kisses along the back of your neck. You felt a knot in your stomach and you wanted nothing more than to moan out Miles’ name as you approached your orgasm.

You felt yourself twitch as you moaned and whimpered, tears falling from your face as Miles stopped and started palming and smacking your ass:

“You thought it was gonna be that easy, Mami? como si no me conocieras” Miles taunted in your ear

All you could do was just moan and cry as you were completely under his command. He then snaked two fingers inside of you and started prepping you for his dick:

"Es tan apretada, mi princesa” he said, lowly

Miles knew that when he spoke Spanish to you, you get flustered and shut down. You turn into a giggling mess and this situation was no different; It didn’t help because Miles was kissing your sweet spot on your neck causing you to feel overstimulated. Your legs shook and you were practically sobbing as your boyfriend abused your technology and your body:

“Fuckkk you wanna cum, Mami? You want me inside of you, princesa? I wanna fuck your tight little pussy so bad I’m gonna cum in your womb when I’m in there. You gonna let me? You gonna let me make you feel good, hm?” Miles taunted

“Mhmmm” you mumbled. You nodded and turned to face him.

“If you weren’t webbed, I’d make you beg for it; but you’re formula makes it so that you won’t be begging for another three hours” Miles smirked

“mmmmmm” you mumbled

All this time, Miles was taunting your hole with his head, pushing it in and out and watching your hole drip with anticipation. You were sobbing and all you wanted was to feel full and to cum but Miles more interested in watching his powerful, smart girlfriend, fall apart on his cock like putty. The lewd sounds your pussy exuded were driving Miles crazy as he watched you beg for him with your eyes.

Miles pushed himself in and bottomed out. Your soft, plush walls sending his senses into overdrive as he forced himself to move and not just enjoy your pussy squeezing around him. The feeling of being full and the sight of Miles inside of you was enough to make your high return on steroids. Your legs shook as you moaned and whimpered alongside Miles’ own whimpers and groans. As you approached your highs, Miles’ thrusts became sloppier and harder as your body followed the rhythm of his thrusts and began to shake. Before you knew it, your eyes blurred, and you let out a long drawn out moan and a wave of pleasure came crashing down on you; had it not been for the webs, you would’ve fell to your knees.

Not long after, you felt Miles twitch and his movements stilled as he emptied his cum inside of you, his breathing became heavier as yours did too. Miles placed soft kisses along your figure and whispered praises against your body:

“Fuck you’re so beautiful, Mami. I love you so much. You did so well"

You felt yourself get weak in the knees but Miles had been supporting your stomach and your weight. You wanted nothing more than to kiss the man who emptied his cum into your womb but due to the webbing situation, you couldn’t. Miles felt this and he snapped the webs off of your hands and ankles in a flash. As you both were calming down, you saw a geometric blast of light before seeing Gwen’s face:

“WOAH! uh did I catch you guys at a bad time?” She asked awkwardly, covering her eyes.

You and Miles exchanged glances before he smirked and you felt the heat rise to your cheeks

#mcu fanfiction #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales headcannons #miles morales #miles x reader #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman #across the spiderverse spoilers #miles morales smut #miles morales fanfiction #across the spiderverse fanart #spiderman into the spiderverse #into the spider verse #spiderverse #spiderverse spoilers #i need him #foryou

[themoonitselff]

HEAR ME OUT, a Modern Mizu x Reader AU, But the reader is a famous singer? Sorry this is a little bit cheesy and idk what Mizu would be in this AU all i got is that the reader is a singer. I got this idea because i am a huge Swiftie and a huge Mizu worshipper soo lol

I got you, bestie. I like Taylor Swift too, and this request just makes my Vigilante Shit headcannons more canon. I ALREADY SAID IT, BUT I'LL DO IT AGAIN. (Don't worry I'll make it large and full of details just for you<3)

Modern! Mizu × Singer! Reader

Warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, I guess. Mizu being a cutie patootie with you.

Summary: You wrote a song for Mizu, thinking about her last relationship with the ex-principal of your University.

PD: This is headcannons+mini-fanfic, I'll do my best. <3 (let's pretend that I'm not a fan of Reputation and Midnight)

Let's start really slow before we get to the juicy point(you can scroll to the end if you don't want to read aaall of this). Mizu would be studying Civil/Mechanical Engineering (don't know how to say it in English). And the University she's in is one of the best of the country, so the campus would be huge, and it would have a lot of buildings and areas, she does the mobthly payment on her own, and she also has a little help on her dad when she's too busy with her part time job.

She has an amazing music taste, The Weeknd, Lana Del Rey, Laufey, she listens to Pop, Rock, Alternatives and ofc Arctic Monkeys. She also listens to you, but only the popular ones, since you're not like a big deal for her. (SHE REALLY LIKES YOU IN SECRET)

But then, she heard that you were moving to this state just to finish your career since you're a bit busy with your musical career. She doesn't get surprised, she doesn't believe it, her reaction is just like “Oh really? That's amazing.” with sarcasm on it

It was lunch time, Mizu was eating peacefully while hearing all of the news and updates Ringo was telling her of his day, something casual, she had to adapt to his common behavior. They were on a bench, looking at the football game they had in front.

“And the teacher was sooo mad because this girl got late, and they started arguing, and— Oh! Did you heard that (y/n) is gonna study here? I'm so excited to know her! I love her music, and she's so beautiful, and...” Ringo couldn't stop talking about you, which made Mizu roll her eyes as she finishes her coffee.

“Okay, I get it Ringo.” She said, her face was neutral, not believing it.

“I think tomorrow is when she's arriving, do you think she's like in the photos?” He blushed, slightly.

“Uhm..” Mizu imagined the celebrity getting off her car and walking inside the building, then getting drowned and breaked into pieces by the fans and other people that just know her because of her looks. “If she doesn't end dead, maybe.”

The same night, she stalked your account, your biography in Wikipedia and EVERYTHING, basically.. She realized that Ringo wasn't lying, it was on the news, everyone knew it. That's when her heart went on the floor because if you were gonna transfer into this University, it meant: a massive crowd of people wanting to get inside. “Ewww, people” She thought.

It didn't looked like, but she was kickin' her feet and giggling of excitement, the fact that you would be near to her, makes her sick.

The next day, she did what she didn't do every day. She brushed her hair, took a bath after 6 days of focusing on studying, put on the best hoodie she got from Akemi, her favorite pair of shoes, everything. But acted like nothing happened, like she wasn't screaming inside to see you.

“Why are you dressed like that?” Taigen asked, as he looked at Mizu's persona, who was really... Pretty, not like other days.

“Like what?” She replied, her eyes were looking for you in the University alley's, but you were not there.

“Like you're gonna fuck with someone.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.” Then she chopped his bangs off.

She did know what Taigen was talking about.

The night came and everyone was in their dorms, in the whole day, the only thing that people was talking about was you. It made her sick, like, c'mon you're just a singer, what's the matter?

Then, she hears someone knocking her door, she gets up from the couch and goes to open it, her lazy was all on her body

“Wha-?” She didn't finished, her jaw falled onto the floor, surprised.

It was you. (Y/n) the Music Industry. Her heartbeat went fast, her hands started trembling and flickering, her beautiful blue eyes opened like plates, it was impossible.

“Hello! They told me this is my dorm, and I have to share it with.. You. ” You showed the card and the directions, gently, with a sweet smile on your face. “Your name is Mizu, right?”

Mizu was still in shock, but recovered fast, she went to her natural face again and nodded. “Yes, what's yours?”

“(y/n), nice to meet you!” You took your bags and entered with confidence. “Uhm- I thought you would scream and go wild, but happily you did not.. So, if you don't know, I'm a Popstar, and I work with music, so I hope it doesn't disturb you.”

Mizu just closed the door, slowly, watching you get inside and getting comfortable, her mouth slightly opened. “No.. not at all.”

Now that you're roommates, she has to deal with Ringo and Akemi fangirling about you all the time and asking Mizu if they can take pictures with you. It pisses her off because you're just a human... And because she feels like she's the only one that can do that(possesive and protective)

She's normal about it on the outside, but fangirls too in the inside. Not like you imagined.

As the times goes on, she introduces you to her friend group (Akemi, Ringo, and the fool of Taigen)

They're nice to you and you always hangout together, it's like a dream come true to Ringo, that is like a bodyguard to you, he's always protecting you and making sure you're okay... And asks you to sign his albums and photocards and the whole merchandising.

You start getting more connected with Mizu, and shes now the only one who knows all of your exes, your future albums, your songs and why you wrote them, it's like Mizu and you are besties. Best friends.

Mizu didn't knew when, but she was falling in love with you.

She loved your eyes, your body, your voice, she loves when she hears your voice echoing in your room, she loves hearing you okay the guitar, she loves the fact that she's so important to you, she loves how shy you get with your fans, she loves you. She does.

And you do too. You love how good she is with you, you love that she sees you as a person and not as a singer. You love her eyes, you love her silence, you love cuddling with her, you love how she priories you over everything. She's the best for you.

One day, she told you about this guy that was her fiance, two years ago, He was the Principal of the University but now was just the teacher of Veterinary medicine. How dumb.

You were mad. You could not believe what he put her through. You were in her bed, hugging her as she was on her knees in front of you, crying and getting vulnerable with you, for the first time ever, her eyes were crystalized in tears, her nose was reddish and her face was so warm and weak, your fingers were cleaning her tears rolling through her cheeks, while you saw her lips moving and telling you everything.

It was a mix of “Omg Mizu is so sexy when she cries” and “I want to kill that motherfucker” vibes.

You could do nothing about it... But making a song.

You worked day and night, wrote the lyrics, made the rythm, you did everything just to make it sound sexy but angry at the same time, like the vibes you felt when comforting her. Because let's be honest, she's too good for a man, she needs something better.

She needs a woman.

When you got summer vacations, you published the song, and made a concert in a Stadium.

That day was a bit stressful, there was TOO MUCH people in the campus, your suit was too tight, your make up felt heavy, but you were not leaving this.

You sang a few songs before the main could be presented, Mizu was in the VIP zone with her friends, she was excited to be there, to admire you.

“Picture me, thick as thieves with your ex-wife.” You cooed, you left hand was on a chair and the other holding the mic, your boot tracing an oval in the floor, and the flashes were pointing at you, it was your peak.

“And she looks so pretty. ” Your body turned a bit at the side, your leg stumped so hard on the chair anyone could hear it “Driving in your Benz.”

“Lately she's been dressing for revenge.” Then, your free hand passed through your body from your chest to your mount venus, your expression was the same of an orgasm, you let out a little moan, seductively, the public went crazy, screaming and getting wild.

From mizu's pov, when you released the new album, she listened to all of the songs, and played them on streaming apps everytime she could.

When she heard this one, she immediately downloaded it, it became her favorite, she never told you, but she was loving it.

But, listening close to the lyrics she realized You were talking about her and what she told you.

She would be shock first, then a bit angry because you took her situation just to make money, to see it like “Omg so (y/n) made this for me”

She felt harder for you.

When she was watching you at the stage, she couldn't stop feeling a warm spot on her core, her cheeks getting hot and her lip getting bitten.

You looked really good in that suit, it made you look sensual.

After the show, Mizu went on backstage and hugged you so hard, then, you both looked into each other's eyes, connecting souls, Mizu was so focused on you, your body, your face, your escense. She was honestly in love with the idea of you.

Relationship Headcannons.

When she confesses to you, she does it in a casual moment.

Just imagine the two of you super cozy in the couch, watching a movie, then, you make visual contact, and then kiss.

She wouldn't say “Im in love with you”. But she'd let you know, cause' when you know, you know.

She would give you a bouquet of flowers with a “I want to be your girlfriend” note. When you receive it, you'll nod at her and kiss her passionately, your heart going faster.

Since then, you wouldn't use your bedroom to sleep anymore, you would sleep with her every night, and every night is kissing and cuddling, if not, hugging and laughing, if not, just smiling at you, but Mizu is not letting you go anywhere.

She's too obsessive with you, to the point she would know when do you poop and when you get hungry.

Your first dates are private and in public just holding hands.

When you make it official, you let a paparazzi take a picture of you sitting in Mizu's legs while kissing, her hand on your ass.

Or maybe, it would be like the Kylie Kenner and Travis photo, where you're kissing at a party or sum place and Mizu realizes someone's taking a picture, so she does the middle finger thing.

Anyways, your relationship is hugely healthy, she's always working on making you feel relaxed and fine.

She also learns how to play guitar just to help you with your songs (like in Enchanted from Taylor Swift or Brooklyn Baby from LDR)

She's too private when it comes to arguments and problems. She's not letting anyone in your relationship, she always solve it when you're home.

She's always marking territory, with a hand on your waist or holding your hand. If she feels jealous she'll kiss you right there.

Mizu is the type of girlfriend that loves to talk to you with the eyes since she's bad at talking, be prepared for that.

Sometimes she will not be in the best mood. Mizu can avoid you for days and getting more distant if you insist on asking her why. She needs her space too.

If you're patient and stay by her side without being too dependient, you'll have her head over heels.

Always supporting you on the stage.

Always taking care of you and protecting you.

Always loving you.

#bes mizu #bes #blue eye samurai x reader #mizu #mizu bes #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu x reader #mizu x you #blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai mizu #blue eye samurai netflix #mizu come home the kids miss you #mizu x y/n #mizu x fem!reader

[pendarling]

Approaching Exam

CW: Language, mentions of exam, studying, Math and English

I'm held hostage by the education system so here is a story revolving that.

Hero's pen clicked over and over again as the slow wind trickled in through the window.

They hated exams, and sometimes, they hated studying more than the results themselves.

Hero sat in the quiet room, a closed-off sector of the library that could be rented out for a few hours in a day, and they were lucky enough to get into one after weeks of waiting. They could see why it was so popular after all; the walls in the room allowed for complete silence, and it put Hero at ease despite the slight eerie sense of being alone. Their eyes glanced up at the sky through the window. The clouds moved so slowly, yet time seemed to go by fast. It made their stomach churn at the idea of being unable to get past the first page of the exam when it did happen, and time would slip by them before they got the chance to complete any of the answers. Their eyes flickered back down onto their page at the mathematical equations listed out in front of them.

"Fuck me." they sighed and ran their fingers through their hair. If Hero could trade their life as a student to become a full-time hero, they would, but being a hero didn't pay as well these days and eventually, as they entered adulthood further, they would need to look for a proper job.

'How annoying,' they thought.

The door knocked softly, and Hero turned in their seat as the entrance creaked slightly; their time wasn't up already, was it? They stared at the clock. About half an hour remained still, in walked what looked to be a familiar face, but Hero couldn't put where they'd seen them before. Their brows furrowed when their eyes met.

"Excuse me." The stranger spoke, "Is this room E1B?" They sheepishly laughed at the setting. "I think I'm supposed to be in here today." 

Hero pulled out their phone and checked the schedule they were emailed, "Mmm nope, it says here that this is my room."

The stranger turned their phone toward them as well, "Well, it looks like we got double-booked."

Hero leaned back on their chair, it looked like they'd be having company after all. With a small gesture of the head, Hero directed their new friend to the chair opposite the table. "Sorry." They mumbled they weren't sure why they were apologizing; it was the system's fault for scheduling two persons in the same room within the same hours.

They studied the new character as they set down their items and pulled out the chair. Hero wasn't planning on staring too much, but when someone looked this familiar to them, it was hard to look away. 

They turned their focus back onto their page, still stuck on question 6 out of 30. The practice exam had to be more challenging, and there was no way Hero would make it through tomorrow if they couldn't get this done today.

Sarah is a civil engineer working on a project to design a curved ramp for a pedestrian bridge in a city park. 

Hero ran their pencil under the words.

The ramp needs to smoothly connect two different levels of the park while adhering to safety regulations and accessibility standards. Sarah decides to use a curved shape for the ramp, represented by the function y=√x​, where y represents the height of the ramp at a given distance x along its length.

Hero sighed and ran their fingers through their hair; they were so bored. Why was Sarah even a civil engineer? With all that money to get through the education and become one, she could've instead lived comfortably and married a nice rich husband, assuming her status was at least middle class.

This scenario was so unrealistic, plus it's like ten times harder for women to get into male-dominated fields because of sexism. Hero rolled their eyes and skipped the question. They flipped their page and glanced back at the stranger now reading a book, but what caught them by surprise was their hand, idly twisting a blue highlighter they felt they recognized.

From the back of their memory, Hero recalled a similar situation. 

They sat on the floor bound by a rope. The mission of the day wasn't going as well as they had hoped, and Hero was left at the mercy of Villain while the other sat a few feet away from them on what looked to be a large desk. From their perspective, they could hardly make out what the computer screen in front of Villain was saying, but they could certainly see the way Villain effortlessly twirled the pen between each finger. They always wondered how they did that. 

As soon as their memories left them, it had become apparent. The familiar face across them was Villain.

But what could they be doing here?

There was no way Villain was seriously studying how to annotate for what looked to be an English exam. For some reason, Hero never took Villain for being a student themselves. To be fair, they sort of assumed most villains weren't necessarily part of any civilian activity, and certainly, no villain should be a student of the city they tried destroying. 

Man... if Hero could get Villain to destroy the school facility, they wouldn't be studying at all. However, seeing how diligently Villain remained focused on their work made Hero no longer interested in convincing them.

'Oh God,' Hero turned their face away from their direction, 'What if Villain recognized me and didn't say anything?!' In their bag, Hero knew they kept their dagger just in case they should ever be kidnapped by any particularly vengeful villain; they just didn't think it would be this person of all; they never seemed too fond of doing more than their work let them. Hero swallowed; in that case, they should prepare for a sudden attack if it did occur; there was just no way this was all a coincidence.

Booking two students into the same room? Are you kidding me? The system never messes up. This was clearly a ploy set up to kill Hero.

Their nervousness was felt as soon as their leg began to jump noticeably, shaking the table, much to Villain's delight.

"Excuse me," They set their eyes on them. Hero froze, "Please don't shake the table. I can't write."

"Uh-- sorry."

Hero reached down and unzipped their bag, slowly creeping the knife to their side; they would attack first; Villain wouldn't even see it coming. After unsheathing the blade from its case, Hero measured the distance between the two of them. The table really wasn't that large enough to stop Hero from jumping over it; maybe if they grabbed their arm or the collar of their shirt before throwing Villain down, they would have the upper hand. If that didn't work, maybe a kick or knocking a few items from the table for a distraction. 

Hero remained focused on Villain as their enemy remained unaware. Maybe they were aware and had already thought of all the different counterattacks they could use against them. In that case-- the element of surprise was most valuable.

"What?" Villain frowned at them. Hero shook themselves out of their head; they must've been unknowingly staring for too long. Well, no point in getting embarrassed over it now.

Hero's grip tightened on the handle of the dagger as they chuckled nervously, "Oh, I was just wondering--" They jumped from the table and shoved the blade in Villain's direction. With a calculated move, Villain swiftly moved their head, catching their wrist with their other hand but knocking themselves out of the chair. 

Hero jumped away from them, their ankle stung from accidentally hitting themselves on the edge of the table just as they moved. Villain didn't waste any time and lunged at them, quickly covering the space between them.

A solid blow to their stomach sent Hero stumbling back, and the dagger fell from them with a soft clank; they sunk to their knees, holding themselves from instinctively vomiting.

Villain grabbed the weapon and rushed to the open window, quickly locking it in place and closing its blinds. The room was a lot darker than Hero expected. Had that window always had shutters?

Hero hesitantly stood back up. The sharp metallic edge was pointed in their direction. "Don't even think about trying that again."

Their shoulder tensed at the thought of their next plan; they could run out that door, but what were the odds that Villain had already sent back up to encircle the place, and how would they keep civilians from getting hurt?

Villain licked their lips and inched closer, "Who sent you?" they demanded. 

"Huh?" Was Villain genuinely asking them that? Wait-- did Villain not recognize them?

They laughed softly at the idea of having figured out their enemy's identity before them. 

Hero, the idiot who couldn't get past question 6 on the practice math exam, could easily identify Villain. All this time, they had been under the impression that Villain was intellectually superior to them in every way, and although that may be the case, they were not one for remembering faces. It made part of Hero feel tremendous.

"No one." 

Their bag still contained a few other items of use, such as a small smoke grenade that would definitely come in handy. Hero would have to go online and do the practice exam from their computer; there was no way in hell they'd be able to collect all their things and run. 

Villain wasn't feeling very entertained with the prospect of having to forcibly recall to the best of their ability what they'd done to be assassinated during their downtime. Without letting their eyes leave the other student, they walked toward Hero's bag and reached down; Hero felt a sweat come on; did they know they were hiding more tools in there?

"Hey, don't go and steal my lunch money, alright?"

"Shut up." They pulled the tag attached to the bag and examined the student ID card intently; it looked like an actual student identification card, though the name didn't ring a bell at all. 

"Villain, I'm actually offended that you don't know who I am."

"My bad, I wasn't aware there was an exam for memorizing faces as well." They tilted their neck from side to side, examining Hero's unmoving position. 

Nothing about them stood out, but this person knew their name and must be a hero, at the least, seeing how their only sense of heroism was throwing themselves in danger-- a common feature among most heroes, but that didn't narrow down which hero, in particular, they were looking at.

"Not even my voice?" Hero glanced at them with a slight pout.

Their enemy racked their brain, still clueless about their identity, and their hands roamed around the pieces of paper Hero was working on. "Whatever, are you even a real student or did you just come here to distract me?" 

Hero didn't reply with anything other than a shrug. They didn't initially come to attack Villain, but they also couldn't let Villain live freely within their presence. 

Villain raised the practice exam questions to their face, reading the sheet as if searching for answers to help them understand who they were up against. "You didn't even do most of these right. How did you get 1.6667? It's not even listed in the multiple choice."

They threw down the booklet onto the table; Hero blushed, "I'm not good at that stuff. But don't change the topic, alright? I could've killed you if I wanted to."

"But you didn't." They smirked.

The door pushed open again, and Villain hurriedly tucked the dagger away.

"Excuse me~" A young woman and a few of her other friends stood outside, "We reserved this room for 6 pm...?"

Villain looked at the clock and then back at the group. "We'll be leaving now. Sorry about that." They looked at Hero and egged them to get to cleaning their mess. Their feet moved, albeit nearly struggling to keep themselves upright from the pain of their ankle. They should've been a lot more careful when it came to spatial awareness. Now wasn't the time to mull on that, though. 

Once they had left the library, Villain headed in the direction of their exit. "You still following me?" They spoke, almost irritated.

"You have my dagger, and I would like it back. Please." With a short flick of the wrist, Villain dismissed their request and continued on their way down the flight of stairs. Hero had momentarily wondered what would happen if they had just gotten on with it already, pushed Villain down the stairs and took back their knife. It wasn't like anyone saw it happen anyway; no one stuck around this long after hours, not even the faculty. 

Villain abruptly stopped in their tracks, still a little ahead of them. "Hero?"

"Yes?"

With a slight smile tracing their face, Villain spun their head around to look up at them. For a second, Hero was lost at what they were so happy about until it hit them, and they responded to their name at Villain's call. 

"Fuck you."

Villain simply hummed, satisfied, and moved on.

~~~ MASTERLIST

TAG LIST: @books-are-everything, @kurai-hono-blog, @iykyunho, @marvellousdaisy, @m3rakii, @crow-with-a-typewriter, @sceirlose, @90scliche, @wondergoddess475

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#writing prompt #villain x hero #hero x villain #writing #heroxvillain #pining prompts #villainxhero #hero x villain community #hero x villain prompt #hero and villain #writing dialogue #dialogue prompt #writblr #wrtblr

[lalalian]

futuristic dr ideas pt.1 : jobs

date: march 24, 2024 (technically march 25, it's 2 AM rn)

If you're interested in more futuristic dr things, I posted a video on tiktok with more futuristic stuff

A lot of this stuff is inspired the things I've read in cyberprep books!

disclaimer: none of my ideas are made by AI, sometimes I may be aided by AI to get inspired (especially with civilizations). If I do use AI somewhere in my ideas I’ll be sure to let you guys know!

World Acclimatizer

Also known as an ‘Acclimaitzer’

These help people move to other planets by aiding them in adapting to either living in space or living on different planets. World Acclimatizers often work closely with primary care doctors, and are extremely well-versed in non-earthly sicknesses and the effects space has on the human body. Realtors from other planets will always refer their clients to an Acclimatizer if the house is located on another planet.

Planetary Humanitarian

Planetary Humanitarians promote natural and peaceful development in other planets. These people typically advocate for limited human interaction with other life, some even going as far as to never stepping off earth. Planetary Humanitarians tend to dislike Civilization Examiners.

Cybernaut

Cybernauts work with techspace (technology relating to space) engineers to test out products. These people are often pretty popular in the media sphere because, as I mentioned earlier, many engineers are inclined to sponsor them. Cybernauts can frequently be seen in AR Gaming hubs and Cyber parkour arenas (more about those in the tiktok linked to this post)

Cybernetic Designer

Cybernetic body parts are designed by these people. These parts are not designed to look realistic like the prosthetic parts we see today. Most designers specialize in a body part, the most popular one being the left arm. Cybernetic designers are not licensed in creating full body AI androids, but they can create parts for androids.

Android Engineer

Android Engineers obviously do have some sort of license to make androids, but there are different tiers to an android making license:

Limited 2D Design: Very similar to character ai or j.ai bots, these bots do not have a physical form and can only be spoken to through text. They may have voices or a 2D body.

AR Immersive Experience: Like love and deepspace but with AR, you can feel, hear, and taste the android only through AR goggles. Some android engineers make their own goggles to allow their customers to feel a more personalized experience with new features. Why is this a completely different tier from 2D design? There's more room for corruption both mentally and digitally (hacking). The AI that makes the bots act so human can make the bot become too sentient, which could make them want to break free from the simulation.

Small Non-Human Physical Design: Most people with this license make android pets. Dogs are obviously the most popular, but jelly fish and vampire squids are popular these days. This license requires more training than the AR experience degree because these androids exist in the physical world.

Non-Human Physical Design: Designers with this license are not always involved in the abstract or purely artistic sphere. Many make hyper realistic android animals to blend in with the environment to either monitor species development, observe other planet-life in a non-invasive way, or encourage certain behaviors in animals. Even if the creature is not considered large, designers who plan to enter this field of design must earn this license because of this job requires complex AI design and ultra realistic visuals.

Non-Interactive Human Design: Designers with this tier do not create androids with crazy complex AI models. These androids are often displayed in museums, and are no where near sentient enough to even speak outside of a few lines, if that.

Life-like Interactive Human Design: This is the highest tier. People with this license often advocate for equality amongst humans and androids. Anyone with this license should exercise caution when making their androids, as talented designers can make androids that are so indistinguishable from humans that they become acknowledged as civilians rather than 'product'. Reports against designers with these license are taken extremely seriously.

Civilization Examiners

I'm planning to have a DR with this job kekekeke. I'll tell y'all storytimes if I can get myself to focus on shifting instead of scripting 😞

There's two kinds of civilization examiners: public or non-public. Public examiners assist journalists and researchers after living for days, weeks, months, or even years on a different planet. They collect data like plants, animals, environmental samples, and most importantly, get as much information as possible about other civilizations. Civilization Examiners are required to be at least semi- decent artists because they need to be able to draw what they see. They are required to come back with information about the civilization's culture, religious customs, traditions, language, fashion, appearance, parenting style, government, and more importantly, alliance potential.

edit: I forgot to talk abt non-public examiners 😭 non-public examiners work for the government and are apart of the CIA. Public examiners research about alliance potential, but not nearly as intensely as gov examiners.

istg more shifters need to talk about their futuristic drs :(

#reality shifting #shiftblr #shifters #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting diary #scripting #desired reality #lalalian

[carionto]

Extreme Stress Testing

Human vessels are almost uniformly diverse. This is normal among civilians in most civilizations, but what baffles us is the fact their military craft of all sizes are equally uniquely designed and decorated. Now, we've seen how they love to tinker and attribute personality to their ships, but that's still a process that takes time and effort.

Take their fighter craft for example. Not even a week passes after one is printed and officially tested that it gains a whole new paint job and numerous panels and devices are replaced. After a bit of backroom negotiation in a bar where we politely kept to the only drinks that wouldn't kill us outright - tea. But still not too hot, it's miraculous how Humans can ingest near boiling water and be perfectly fine after a short while.

Anyway, we were allowed to "ghost" how a fairly young Quick Response combat group - Sparrow Swarm 12 - initiated three new fighter pilots and their freshly minted craft.

The Cruiser-Carrier hybrid ship, Hilda's Halberd, ferried the squad plus guests to the outer edges of Sol's Oort Cloud. At these distances, even the Sun is just a slightly larger dot in the pitch black darkness of space. However, wherever civilization goes, light follows, and with a flick of a switch of its powerful flood lights, Hilda's Halberd became the brightest spot for a million kilometers.

What it illuminated, however, was quite a terrifying sight to behold. A graveyard of ships and debris, deliberately left alone by the OCC by request of the military. We became quite worried as we got closer to the field, but thankfully the cruiser-carrier stopped a good few thousand clicks away. Then the fighter squadron launched straight for it.

Thanks to the flood lights we could clearly see the entire spectacle. We wish we couldn't.

The new pilots were bumped, literally physical ship-to-ship contact by the veterans all the way as they approached the, what the captain called - a "race track". It was horrifying all the way there. Sparks and sparkling micro-debris from the now not-so-pristine ships flew off with every bump and crash. And Human ships are bulky, even the smallest ones have much greater mass than normal, so impacts like those would easily destroy most non-Human ships of equivalent scale.

With numerous bruises and "cosmetic" damage!? (we would immediately send any ship in similar condition to be fully repaired and refitted) they arrived at the actual initiation grounds. Then the carnage begins. They're told to make it from one end of the field to the other WHILE EVERYONE ELSE IS SHOOTING AT THEM WITH LIVE AMMO!!!

It was beyond terrifying. Even as far as we were from the actual carnage, when Human ships discharge their weapons with intent - Space. Quivers.

It was over in a minute.

All three, now, by all measures anywhere else in the Galaxy, hardened combat veterans, made it. Just. How they were able to maneuver so swiftly and change trajectories without the Human within dying from all the g-forces is beyond us, and how the attackers were able to keep up with their chaotic movements, quite a learning experience for how decisively they would beat us as we are now should we ever become foes.

After everyone was back on Hilda's Halberd, the squad cheered and had a small feast, while the rest of the crew went about as normal and began to make way back to the core of Sol. The next day each of the tattered ships had their pilot and an engineer working on it, talking about all the technical aspects and things like how it "felt when the left wing was shot off and I bumped into an asteroid", and other nightmarish things.

One of the pilots simply smiled as she looked at her ship and then the engineer and said "Dragon horns".

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

[queen-in-the-shadows]

Hellevator Captivation (1) The Beginning

MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI

Warnings: drinking! (all characters are of legal age); (eventual): yandere; teratophilia; noncon/dubcon; mxm; memberxmember; mmf; VIOLENCE; mentions of murder (none of the MCs); more warnings on individual chapters. Please feel free to send an ask or message if you feel I miss any warning tags!

Summary: Chan and his 7 crew members crash landed on Zyloren-9, otherwise known as Earth, and are trying to wire their ship to allow them to connect to a rescue group. Until they take an obsessive interest in a peer who is a little too pretty and a little too innocent. They can bring specimens back for scientific studies, right? In other words: Chan and the others take a liking to you and decide they want to take you back with them, they just need to connect a rescue ship—and convince you to walk onto the ship without any questions.

Chapter 1

Chan slowly came to, shaking the fuzziness and whistling birds from his head, unbuckling the chest straps that held him tight to the chair during their rapid and unexpected descent as he glanced around, looking for his companions. Fuck. We crashed. While he couldn’t see his members, he could at least feel the connection that held them together, everyone was fine. He looked over the control system, assessing the damage to their craft before even attempting to piece together where they had landed, let alone on which planet they were possibly stranded. Chan flipped a few switches and pressed a few buttons, to no avail. No reaction. The craft was dead.

He heaved a sigh, turning around and leaving the control room to search in the areas of the ship where the others would have likely been during the crash. Chan reached the on-board gym first, finding Changbin sprawled on his ass on the floor. Chan reached a hand to help the other up, “Bad news, ship is dead. We might be able to rework communication comms, but I doubt it. So, lets grab the others and figure out where exactly we landed.” The two moved separate ways, following the pull they had, one leading to the kitchen and Minho and Felix, the other to the makeshift common-area-turned-game-room filled with Hyunjin, Jeongin, Jisung and Seungmin. The two groups met in the common area, eyes raking over bodies for bumps and bruises, and Chan moved towards the intact windows, glancing outside for any indication of where they had crashed.

“It seems we made it to Zyloren-9 as planned, but I have no clue where we managed to land.” He used the data scanner in his bracelet to analyze the air quality, “As we thought, the air will be fine for us. Don’t worry about suits.” The men soon found themselves outside of their damaged ship, walking through a dense forest and hoping to find civilization soon.

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

            Chan and the others had enrolled in the local university, using their persuasion to enroll in classes and offers of jobs to blend in, creating their own frat and not accepting new pledges so as to conceal the fact that they weren’t from Zyloren-9; or as the inhabitants called it ‘Earth.’ Changbin was studying their music, along with Jisung and Chan; Jeongin and Seungmin focusing on science and engineering, although both were taking a few music theory and choir courses as electives; Minho, Hyunjin and Felix were all studying the inhabitant’s idea of dance, and language.

The group would wear items that were trending, often with some sort of coordinated outfit look between the 8 of them, attempting to blend in; although it came to be known to not work so well, as Minho snuck a peek at some of the inhabitants’ inner thoughts. The residents of Earth thought their shells looked hot, not that the males cared. They were just trying to get enough information to either rig the primitive and nearly obsolete technology, or fix their communications network to long distance, so that they can call for help. They weren’t planning on all finding a specimen they would want to bring back to Cleithonia, for scientific purposes of course. They weren’t planning on it being the same specimen, certainly not planning on it being you. The one who both Seungmin and Jeongin met in a few courses, who had been invited to the house before and had the entire crew going nearly feral over the warm, sweet scent of true vanilla—not that fake chemical shit that a lot of the people on the college’s campus wore—and the calming scent of lavender.

No, you… you were different. Entertaining. They all agreed to keep you around while figuring out what to do about their ship but had no idea that each and every one of them wanted to keep you around longer than that. So they did what they did best: threw parties to maintain their cover of frat boy college students, while working on a way to contact Zyloren-9. That was how you ended up at the frat house the first Friday of spring break week. The last day for some people on campus before leaving to come back tanned and hungover after a week of partying on a beach somewhere, and the first day of constant parties circulating from frat house to frat house, sorority to sorority for the rest of the students—those with jobs that wouldn’t give time off long enough to make escape worthwhile, or any time off at all.

Seungmin had been the first to mention it to you, the frat party being held at their house the last day of classes before break. He had told you to join them, not that you didn’t normally join them anyways—he just wanted to make sure you knew he, and the rest of them, specifically wanted to see you there, that they would be disappointed if you didn’t celebrate the week free of assignments and course responsibilities. Innie had joined in with a pout pointed straight at your heart, and ‘how can anyone deny the baby, if you tell him no it’s just cruel!’ It was all the pestering that had you getting dressed up in a pair of tight fit, high-waisted, bell-bottomed jeans and a black, lacy-yet-classy short sleeved leotard bodysuit. You added some black winged eyeliner, mascara, and a lightly tinted gloss to your lips, slid into a deceptively lightweight jean jacket and some comfortable platform Mary Jane heels that completed the outfit before walking out the door to the SKZ Frat House that Friday night.

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

You made it to the frat house, greeted at the door by one of the members you didn't know as well as Seung and Innie, Jisung. He was sweet, even if a little awkward at times, always trying to make everyone laugh. You had only met a handful of times, always while you were working on a class project with not much time to spare and talk.

"Oh, I'm so glad you're here! We were wondering if the boys convinced you. C'mon, everyone is around somewhere, let's get you a drink!" You had reached Jisung, who had taken ahold of your hand, giving you a heart smile and nearly dragging you into the kitchen behind him. You stumbled over yourself slightly, since when is he okay with-- what? Jisung had managed to mix you a drink, "It's malibu coconut and root beer," thrusting the solo cup into your hand and whisking you away once more.

"Ji- thanks, but what are you doing? I don't mind I just didn't think you were this comfortable with me around? I know we're friends and all but--"

"Don't worry about it cutie! Everything's fine, let's just find the others. I know they'll all want to see how cute you look all dressed up for us."

Taglist: @moonlightndaydreams @channieandhisgoonsquad @queenmea604 @sky-angel101 @thightswideforhanin @cloudieclair @salfetkablog

#Hellevator Captivation #alien stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids ot8 #skz ot8 #yandere stray kids

[surrogate-fawn]

The Purple Butterfly

((Drabble/Short story based on the backstory of a rp with @mittysins of Fawn's second surrogacy.))

{This drabble is Part 3 in a series of drabbles based on the story Mitty and I co-authored. This story will not make sense without reading the ones that come before it.}

[ Part 1 - The First Goodbye ]

[ Part 2 - Quartz and Sea Glass ]

[ Part 3 - Here! ]

Author's Note: A real-world initiative is mentioned in this story called The Purple Butterfly Project.

TW: Miscarriage, infertility, mentions of cancer, mentions of past abuse, pregnancy complications, past stillbirth/infant loss, grief and heavy emotional trauma.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Living with the Tariqs, I got to experience what it was like to be around a baby after it was born -- and every pounding headache that came with it. 

Suri was a little spitfire as soon as she hit the atmosphere, and if she was unhappy the whole house would know it. The farmhouse wasn't all that big, and the guest room where I slept ended up sharing a wall with the nursery. So, you can bet I got woken up each time her parents did. 

Those first couple nights, I would lay there in bed until Ray or Tess could stumble their way down the hall and quiet things down. Yeah, I wasn't very useful. I didn't have much of a choice, though. It was a miracle I could walk myself to the bathroom with how sore I was after Suri squirmed her way out of me. 

It wasn't just soreness from the waist-down, either. 

Being around a constantly crying newborn had an . . . unexpected effect on my body. After the birth of my son, aside from a little bit of colostrum, I had never produced breastmilk. I guess hearing Suri cry to be fed every few hours triggered something, because I suddenly had a full milk supply with nowhere to go. 

Luckily, the Tariqs had a home remedy for everything. A couple of wet washcloths over upturned bowls in the freezer made some conveniently-shaped ice packs. Without those puppies, it felt like my breasts were filled with molten lead. So, my hands were occupied most of the day. 

I felt guilty, watching either Ray or Tess get up from the couch to tend to their daughter while I was able to sit there with my hands on my boobs and continue watching TV.  

I wasn't Suri's parent, but the fact I was the one who got her there made me feel like I had to help out. 

Once I started to recover, that's exactly what I did. On a night when Suri refused to stop crying, I got up and poked my head through the cracked nursery door. 

Tess was there, looking exhausted and defeated as she held Suri on her shoulder. That baby had been screaming in her ear for at least half an hour. She jumped when she turned and saw me in the doorway. 

"Hi, Tess," I said with a sympathetic smile. 

"Hey, doll," Tess sighed, continuing to bounce Suri up and down while she paced the room. She spoke a little louder than she needed to, likely 'cause she couldn't hear herself think. "I'm sorry she woke 'ya. I got no idea what 'ta do." 

She sounded like she'd given up. This was how she was spending her night, and she'd resigned herself to it. 

I thought about waking Ray, but his paternity leave ended in the morning. He had to be up in a few hours for his civil engineering job. Even with what little I knew about salary work, I knew eight weeks of unpaid leave for a brand-new baby was bullshit. Ray would've taken the full twelve weeks, but the city was jumping down his throat about finishing the blueprints for an overpass project on-time. Tess was about to be left alone with a two-month-old for the sake of ten fewer minutes of traffic. That wasn't fair. 

"Tess, lemmie take her for a while," I said, walking into the room. "You need a break." 

"It's fine," Tess insisted. "She'll calm down . . . eventually." 

I held out my arms. "Tess. Give 'er." 

The purple bags under Tess's eyes made her look twice her age, and her pale yellow hair was a rat's nest hanging down her back. She was at her wit's end. "Okay." 

Suri weighed almost nothing as I settled her against my shoulder. It still amazed me how small babies were. They seemed so much smaller when you actually got to hold them. 

"Hey, what's wrong?" I asked Suri. My ear started to ring as she wailed into it, her cries high-pitched and distressed. I started patting her back like I'd seen her parents do. "What's wrong, baby girl? What's got you so upset?" 

Tess collapsed into the glider in the corner of the nursery, her hands rubbing circles into her temples. "I've changed her. I've fed her. I've prayed over her. I've got no idea what my own baby needs!" 

"Well, I've got no idea, either," I shrugged, my toes digging into the soft sherpa rug by the crib. I continued patting Suri's back. Her feet were pressing against my chest, as if she were trying to pull herself upright. 

"But I'm supposed 'ta know!" Tess whimpered. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair. "I'm her mama! Mamas are supposed 'ta know what 'ta do, but I can't even calm her down!" 

"You're not a bad mama, Tess," I said, offering her a smile -- despite the continued screaming in my ear. "Trust me, I know what a-." 

The screaming was cut short with a small 'gurk', and I froze when a wet glob of spit-up slithered down my back. 

". . . think I figured it out . . ." I said, my smile now pinched.  

Suri grumbled, and I carefully held her out in front of me. Her face was still red, but her expression was pure baby bliss -- milky spittle on her chin and all. 

"Did you have a tummy ache, baby girl?" I asked. "Is that what was wrong?" 

Tess shot up from the glider, sending it bumping into the wall. "Oh, Fawn, I am so sorry!" she said, taking her daughter out of my hands. She took the burp cloth off her shoulder, as if suddenly remembering it was there, and handed it to me. "Here, clean 'yaself up." 

"S'alright," I chuckled, cringing as I wiped up the gobby mess. "I've got other shirts. At least I got her to stop crying." 

Tess looked down at the baby in the crook of her arm, and then back up at me. "Wanna try a hand at gettin' her 'ta sleep?" 

Long story short, that's how I found my new job as the Tariq's live-in babysitter.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wasn't expecting to do surrogacy again, at least not for a long while. The Tariqs were paying me a decent wage for domestic work and were kind enough to not charge me rent -- so long as I was saving a certain amount of the money each week. The last post I ever made on the surrogate agency's forums was an announcement celebrating Suri's successful home birth. After that, I let my profile go dark.

Not only did hiring me allow the Tariqs to keep their promise of helping me on my feet, it also gave them an extra set of hands around the house while Ray was at work. Tess and I worked out a system where I would work on smaller tasks while she took care of the most pressing matters. If she was feeding Suri, I was cleaning the kitchen. If she was cooking dinner, I was changing a diaper. If she had to do yardwork, I was keeping Suri entertained.  

I learned to prepare formula, wash bottles, change diapers, and play peek-a-boo like a pro in no time. 

Bath time was always a tag-team effort, though. Suri was a splasher, and her favorite bath toy was a rubber turtle called "Squirta Turta", so we usually ended up as soaked as she was. 

When Suri was being weaned off formula, we made homemade baby food with the vegetables in the garden. Turns out, placenta makes a great fertilizer. I wondered if Mom had ever used it in her flower beds -- she'd had five of them to work with by the time all of us kids were born. I wished I could ask her. I wished I could ask her about a lot of things. I also wished Suri could eat her mashed squash without trying to wear the bowl as a hat, but I didn't get that wish, either. 

This was my life for two wonderfully chaos-filled years, and I was mostly content with it.

Mostly.

I wanted to go to college. That was always my plan for after high school, but . . . plans had obviously changed. My grades hadn't been anything to brag about, so I knew from the start I'd have to pay my own way through. I had two years' worth of savings, but I didn't want to dip into it, yet. That money was meant to be the down payment on a house someday. What would be the point of spending all my money on school if I'd be right back to square one afterward? That wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to get my degree and start my life over -- I'd been waiting long enough.

After sitting down with Ray and breaking down the costs of school, I realized I barely had enough to pay for one term. There were some small scholarships I could apply for here and there, but I wasn't about to rely on winning them. There were hundreds of smarter students out there vying for the same pile of money. What chance did I have?

I mulled it over for several days without saying a word to anyone, but eventually I made up my mind. When I did, Tess was the first person I told:

"I'm gonna get pregnant again."

I announced it out of the blue as I was helping Tess with the after-dinner dishes. She was at the kitchen sink, washing. I was at the counter, drying.

The steel wool in her hand scraped to a halt. "Pardon?"

I hunched my shoulders a bit as I toweled off a plate. "I'm gonna find another couple that needs to 'rent a room'. It'll be able to pay for my degree. In full. All four years."

Tess continued washing, but she didn't acknowledge what I'd said at all.

"So . . . what do you think?" I prodded, setting stacks of dishes in the cabinet.

Tess grimaced into the soapy water, concentrating way too much on the pan she was scrubbing. "Shug, I dunno," she said. "Do 'ya really wanna do that 'ta 'yaself so soon?"

"Whatd'ya mean 'so soon'?" I scoffed. "Suri's up toddling around the house. Isn't that when most moms get pregnant again?"

"'Ya ain't a mom, yet, Fawn," Tess said, her tone lovingly blunt -- the tone that can only be learned by disciplining a toddler.

I flinched a little, but I crossed my arms over my chest to hide it. All she'd done was state a fact, but it still bit.

"I'd like to be," I mumbled. I gazed out the kitchen window and saw Ray out in the backyard with Suri. He was blowing bubbles, and she was reaching up to grab them with high-pitched screams of laughter. She chased them as they swooped lower to the ground, and then stomped on them with her tiny flip-flops when they touched the grass. "Someday."

"I know, doll. That's why I'm concerned." Tess set the pan on the drying rack. "Pregnancies are risky. Wouldn't 'ya rather have as few of 'em as possible?"

"I've had two and they went just fine," I said with a shrug. "I'm young, Tess! Isn't now the best time to use what I got? I can charge more, now that I've got experience. No student debt and money left over to save for a house! Trade nine months in exchange for the rest of my life? How could I pass that up?!"

Tess didn't say anything for a long time, she just dunked a chili pot in the dishwater and started scrubbing. I stood there in uncomfortable silence until she said:

"School can wait, 'ya know."

"No, it can't!" I protested.

"Ray and I can pay what 'ya need for classes when we start tryin' again," Tess said. "What on Earth's the point?"

"Point is," I huffed, leaning my hip against the counter, arms still crossed over my chest, "I'm almost twenty-four and I've got nothin' to show for it!"

"Fawn, 'ya gotta think about-."

"I'll still be able to help you guys out, Tess," I added. "Don't worry about that."

"It's not us I'm worryin' about," was her deadpan response.

It was frustrating as hell, but I wasn't too angry at her. I knew why she wasn't a fan of the idea.

The three of us had recently discussed growing their family in the future. The Tariqs wanted to wait until Suri was a little more independent before welcoming a second baby, so that plan was at least two more years out.

Following that conversation, we'd decided not to return to the surrogate agency we used the first time. The agency was helpful with the fine print and legal stuff, but the Tariqs had not been too thrilled to learn that a desperate, homeless, childless young woman had been allowed to become a surrogate of theirs.

"I can do it independently," I said, pleading my case. "I know how to be careful."

Tess turned to lock eyes with me. "Fawn . . . I just need 'ta know you're doin' it for the right reasons. I don't like the idea of 'ya going through all that for nothing but a stack'a cash."

"It's not just for money" I insisted. "I wouldn't go through it again for anyone, not even you guys, if I didn't find it meaningful."

Tess didn't seem any more at ease with my promises. "I just don't want 'ya health 'ta suffer. If 'ya do this, you're choosin' 'ta put 'ya body through a lot in such a short time."

I didn't argue. She was right. "I know."

Tess turned back to the sink, sighing while she rinsed out the pot. My toes curled inside my shoes.

"I want to help another couple while I still have the chance," I said, trying to justify my decision -- partially to myself. I could sense how strong Tess's disapproval was, and it was giving me serious second thoughts. "If I can't be a parent right now, I want to make it possible for other people to be parents. It makes the wait feel . . . less long."

Tess dried her hands on her long bohemian skirt and turned to gently hold my shoulders. "Doll, it's 'ya own choice. Ray and I can't stop 'ya from doin' whatever it is 'ya wanna do."

I nodded, my eyes cast down. I didn't need their permission, nor had I been asking for it, but some support would've been -- .

"Just know that we'll be here 'ta help 'ya," Tess continued. "Anything 'ya need, just ask. If you're gonna do this, I want 'ya as healthy and happy as possible."

I nodded again, this time with a smile on my face. "I'd appreciate that."

Tess wrapped me in a hug. "But please, shug," she added, patting my back, "don't put 'yaself through too much."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Easy there, doll. I've got'cha."

Tess held my curls back as I wretched into a blue emesis bag. I'd started growing my hair out in the months it took for this surrogacy to be arranged. I hadn't been thinking ahead.

I'd thought I was in the clear after I had to have Tess pull over on the highway so I could vomit up breakfast, but the antiseptic smell of the hospital kicked up my nausea again. I'd made it through the halls, but by the time I'd sat on the exam table my stomach had enough.

I choked on thick saliva and spit a mouthful of colorless bile into the bag. "Okay . . . okay, I'm good now," I spluttered as I lifted my head. I cinched the bag and handed it to the technician without looking them in the eye. "Sorry."

"Don't be," the tech laughed, "morning sickness is par for the course in here. I'll be right back, just make yourself comfortable." They dragged the privacy curtain closed behind them as they left the room.

Tess wet a paper towel in the hand sink for me. My skin was clammy and cold even before I wiped the towel across my face -- so I wasn't left feeling any better. My hands had a tremor so deep inside the tendons it registered as numbness. I raked my front teeth over my tongue to scrape away the acidic taste.

I hadn't really needed that blood test. I'd known the IVF had worked when I woke up clinging for dear life against the Earth's rotation. My head hadn't stopped spinning since, and it was two damn weeks later. The doctor overseeing my IVF had sent me in for a six-week ultrasound -- which was earlier than I'd ever had one done before -- because my hormone levels were "suspiciously high" this time around. Whatever that meant.

I'd been pumped full of fertility drugs like a chicken with GMOs for a solid four months by that point. No shit my hormones were off the charts, especially now that I was pregnant.

"It's never been this bad," I groaned, coughing on the burn in my throat.

"Yeah, that's why the doctor wants 'ya in here," Tess said with a chuckle.

"I hate it," I scowled. "I want the old morning sickness back."

"Each time is different," Tess said. "I had it once or twice before, but when I was pregnant with Ravi it never really went away." Any time Tess mentioned her angel baby, a little bit of the light left her eyes -- and I saw it happen again right there in that ultrasound room.

Tess helped me pull off my jeans and tucked my discarded underwear inside the back pocket for me. I covered my hips with the paper blanket just before the tech came back into the room.

"Looks like we're ready to start!" they chirped, taking their seat between me and the rolling ultrasound cart.

"Hang on a sec," I said, pulling up the FaceTime app on my phone. "The parents really wanna see the first ultrasound."

"Ah," the tech said with an understanding nod, "is this a surrogate situation?"

"My second time," I said with a proud grin. I pointed at Tess, who was folding my pants over the back of a chair. "I carried her baby first. Most amazing thing I've ever done."

Tess beamed at me. She was smiling, but the shadows on her face were a bit deeper than normal.

"Really now!" The tech exclaimed, keeping their peppy tone as they typed my info into the computer. "It's rare I see surrogate mothers as young as you. Bless your heart!"

"She's a trooper, that's for damn sure," Tess said, "but, God love 'er, she's been so sick."

"I'm sure your care provider can prescribe something for that at your follow-up ," the tech told me. "It won't feel this bad for much longer, sweetheart."

"It's worth it, though," I said. My phone bubbled with the ringtone of an outgoing video call. "These guys will be amazing dads."

The tech smiled at me. "I have such respect for traditional surrogates. That's a lot of sacrifice."

"Oh, no," I corrected them with a small hand wave. "This isn't traditional. These are the bio parents."

I hadn't willy-nilly accepted the first eager couple I'd found online. I'd put half a year's worth of thought into carrying this pregnancy. The Tariqs always gave me my birthday off, and I'd spent that entire day talking to prospective parents. I wanted to prove to them that I was taking this seriously; if I was doing this just for the money, I wouldn't have cared whose baby I carried. I wanted to vet my options and choose a couple that I well and truly felt honored in helping -- and the Gillespies were exactly that.

My phone screen flashed with a mixture of bright pixels before the video came into focus. An odd pair of men sat beside each other in what appeared to be either a kitchen or a dining room -- perhaps it served as both, they lived in a small condo. One was a tall, tanned athlete with a dark stubbly beard and a sculpted figure rippling beneath his loose-fitting tank top. That was Silas. The other was a willowy, ramen-haired man with thick blue octagon frames on his glasses and the quote, "It's only a passing thing, this shadow" from The Two Towers tattooed on his forearm. That was Owen.

"Hey, guys!" I said, holding my phone up and giving them a wave.

There was a slightly-too-long pause due to lag, but both guys lit up with smiles and greeted me in unison. I saw the tech looking at the screen from the corner of my eye. I could see the math trying to play out in their head.

"You don't mind if we record this, right?" Silas asked. They must've been watching from a tablet, because he reached his finger under the camera and swiped a few times as if he were checking a separate app. As he lifted his arm, a crescent of silvery scar tissue became visible from under his shirt.

I saw the tech look back to their computer with a subtle nod of their head. God love 'em, they must've been too nervous to ask.

"Go ahead! It's a special occasion," I said. "I'm gonna hand you over to Tess. We're about to start."

"Yay, Tess!" Owen said with a clap of excitement. He waved as I passed my phone over. "Hi, Tess! Where's Ray?"

"Hi, boys," Tess said with a soft grin. She adjusted herself to be closer to my side. "Ray's workin' from home today so he can watch our 'lil darlin'."

Of course the Tariqs had wanted to meet my new clients. They said it was because they wanted to vouch for me as a caring and capable surrogate; but I think it was mostly to judge the couple for themselves. The Gillespies had both Tess and Ray's number as my emergency contacts, which came in handy when they needed help with some legal paperwork.

Silas and Owen were my age, both of them twenty-four. They'd poured all their savings into the process of hiring a surrogate and had none left over for a lawyer. At the Tariq's behest, all three of us had stayed up late on a call to talk the Gillespies through the steps of writing a surrogacy contract. Silas and Owen seemed to hold a lot of respect for the Tariqs after that.

While Tess had the camera on her, I reclined on the table and put my feet in the stirrups. The paper blanket gave plenty of privacy -- which was good, because I didn't want my clients to see the long plastic wand the tech was prepping while it was in there doin' its thing. I'd never had a transvaginal ultrasound before, but apparently it was the only way to get a view of the Gillespies' baby so early.

I couldn't help but tense as I felt the rounded tip of the wand slip inside me like butter, aided by the warm jelly I was used to having on my belly. I could feel the blood flooding my face as the curved device slid under my public bone and pressed against a part of my anatomy that hadn't been reached in years -- though not for lack of trying, I had short fingers.

"Relax a little more, please," the tech said.

"Sorry . . . not used to this."

Don't judge me. I was living with my employers. The idea of one of them finding an adult toy in my room -- or worse, their daughter finding it -- made me shrivel.

I felt a subtle buzz inside my tissues when the device turned on. I bit the inside of my cheek.

"Okay, let's have a look at that baby," the tech said as they began angling the wand.

Tess flipped the phone around so the dads could see the action. I saw Owen grip his husband's bicep and pull him closer. The room was silent for a moment while the technician moved the wand around my pelvis.

"Can we listen to the heartbeat?" Owen asked, hugging Silas's arm.

"Not yet," the tech said, eyes glued to the screen. "Their little heart is only a few cells big right now. It's too quiet to pick up, but we'll hear it in a few weeks."

Owen and Silas shared a grin. I could see their story written on their faces and in the way they looked at each other. They'd been dating since high school, the odd-ball pairing of bookworm and athlete. After graduation, a preemptive doctor's appointment before Silas started testosterone saved his life:

Cervical cancer, stage two. The doctors had no choice but to take everything, but Silas chose to freeze a few of his eggs before the surgery. He'd gotten into non-competitive bodybuilding to deal with the effects of chemo, and it'd been his favorite hobby since. Luckily, Silas had been cancer-free for years -- Owen had gotten his first and only tattoo in celebration.

Now that they were newlyweds, the Gillespies were choosing to start their family right away -- knowing the frozen eggs wouldn't last forever. We'd lost a lot of hope when most of the eggs didn't thaw right, meaning we only had one shot at this. The Gillespies were more than open to adoption, but . . . having a baby together was something they'd hoped for since before Silas's diagnosis.

I'd known I wanted to step up to the plate as soon as I heard their story. I was proud to be helping such a sweet pair of guys have their much-wanted family. When I saw the way they looked at each other in that moment -- the excitement and love of a dream finally coming true -- I secretly hoped doing this for them would grant me some sort of karmatic favor.

I hoped one day I'd share that same ecstatic smile with someone, for the same happy reason.

The tech hadn't said anything for a while. They kept moving the wand from side-to-side between my hips and squinting at the screen. They took several images, judging by how often they hit the same loud button on their keyboard. They hadn't even turned the screen around, yet. I couldn't wrap my head around the baby being so hard to find -- not with the ultrasound wand jammed so far up.

"Are they hiding from 'ya?" I asked with a joking lilt. Something was starting to sink inside my chest.

"No, I see them," the tech said. They squinted harder at the screen. "Just taking their picture for the doctor."

"That's a lot of pictures," Silas commented from my phone speaker.

"Well, I . . . just want to make sure," the tech said. Their keyboard clacked as they took another image.

It felt like I'd swallowed lead. "Sure of what?"

The tech finally tilted the screen so the rest of the room could see it. In the grey-and-white fuzz on the monitor, a round dark void was highlighted in a bright yellow square. Resting in the void was a blurry white bean with a small flutter in the curve of its shape.

"So, here's the gestational sac," the tech said, outlining the yellow square with their cursor. They circled the cursor over the fluttering movement. "That's baby's nice strong heartbeat right there." 

"Silas, oh my god!" I heard Owen cry. "Look! We made that!"

The tech turned the wand slightly and the image on the screen rolled to the left. The same black void and white bean slid into view, except now it was upside-down. The tech once again circled their cursor around the flutter. "And this is another nice strong heartbeat."

 "They have two hearts?!" I gasped in panic. I realized how stupid I sounded after it was too late. "Or is it . . . ?"

The tech flicked the wand from side-to-side, and each time they did a little black void with a bean remained on the screen. It took a few back-and-forths for me to realize those weren't two different angles of the same image.

"Holy shit . . ." I wheezed. My hand covered my throat, as if that would loosen the strangling tightness that was setting in. "Holy shit . . ."

“What? What’s wrong?” I heard Silas ask, his voice glitched and laggy.

“Boys, can ‘ya see?” Tess asked, holding my phone closer to the screen. “Can ‘ya see that?”

I wanted to turn my head and see the parents’ reaction, but I could not move my eyes from the ultrasound. The Gillespies were quiet for a minute as the tech continued to swivel the image from side-to-side.

“How many embryos did you transfer?” the tech asked.

“There were only two that made it,” Silas answered. I could sense the moment reality washed over him. “Wait . . . wait, are they both there?!”

“Yep,” Tess said. I have no idea what emotion was in her tone, but it had a glaze of forced excitement. “They both took root.”

“I can’t quite get an image of both of them,” the tech said. “I’m trying, but it looks like they’re on opposite walls of the uterus. That flipped one is way up there, too. They’re hanging onto the roof like a bat.”

“A bat bean,” Owen said. His voice was flat, like the quip was a reflex.

“So . . . twins, right?” Silas asked. “We’re having twins?”

“Congratulations!” the tech chirped.

My pulse was pounding under my hand. That lump of lead was sitting hard in my guts, right alongside those two tiny beans. Two. Two beans. Holy shit. Two.

Tess turned the phone towards me and I saw the moon-eyed shock on the Gillespies’ faces. “Fawn, honey?” Tess prodded. “Wanna say something? What’dya think?”

“I . . .” My saliva felt thick and hot in my mouth. My tongue fell numb and it nearly flopped down my throat as I shot up on the table, my legs still up in the stirrups. “I think I’m gonna be sick!”

Tess jumped for a trash can. She aimed the camera at her face while I loudly wretched in the background of my clients’ first family video.

“This explains a lot,” Tess told the fathers with a sheepish grin. “Two times the baby, two times the morning sickness.”

The Gillespeies were quiet for a while, an awkward pause with only the sounds of my suffering to fill the void.

“We’re having twins, Owen,” Silas finally said, just as I was pulling my face from the trash.

“Yeah . . . wow,” Owen’s voice answered.

I heard a subtle thumping from their end, like one of them was bouncing their leg. The tempo was frantic.

“What’s wrong, Owen?” Tess asked. She held the phone to be more level with her face. 

All I heard was a harsh sniffle.

“C’mere, you big softie,” I heard Silas say.

“Don’t cry, honeybun,” Tess said. “It's a blessing!"

“I’m happy!” Owen insisted over the phone. “I’m so happy!” His voice was muffled, like he was hiding his face in his husband’s shoulder. “This is . . . whew! This is overwhelming!”

“No kidding,” Silas said with a laugh.

“No fucking kidding,” I said with my head in the trash.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took a few days for the shock to wear off. The anti-nausea pills cleared my head so I felt less like I was walking in a fever dream. Once that edge was taken off, it made reality slip in a little smoother. I was pregnant with twins. There were two little jellybeans inside me that would be two full-sized babies in eight months. That was fine. Yeah, that was fine. That had to be fine. If it wasn’t fine, I was going to start losing my mind! So, it was fine.

I mailed the printouts of the ultrasounds to the parents. They had the digital pictures I took, but those physical copies were what really mattered to them. The three of us had never met in person. They lived hundreds of miles away, in Michigan. They wouldn’t be flying down to Tennessee until it was nearing my due date, so any physical memento of their babies I could send to them was much appreciated.

I wanted the Gillespies to feel included in my pregnancy as much as possible, even if they couldn’t be with me in-person. Each week I’d take a picture of myself turned sideways in the bathroom mirror and sent it to them. I basically sent them the same picture four times in a row. There was nothing much to show except for the tummy flab I’d collected my first two times around the block. By week ten, though, I could feel that familiar little lump starting to form below my navel. I had slightly too much of a pooch for there to be any trace of a bump, though.

Almost three months in, I was surprised by how normal my pregnancy was – aside from the intense bouts of nausea I relied on my medicine for. I’d thought having twins inside me would up the difficulty level, but up to that point my life had changed very little. I still got up every day to housekeep and nanny for my allotted shift, and I did so with the same ease I did before. The only change was how much of an eye Tess kept on me. It was very annoying.

“Fawn, no!” Tess trotted up beside me and took hold of my hips. “‘Ya don’t need ‘ta be up there.”

“Stop it!” I gasped as the stack of plates in my hand jittered. “Don’t grab me like that if you don’t want me to fall!”

Tess gently pulled me down from the stepstool I’d been using to reach the cabinet. “I can take care of those,” she said, taking the stack of dishes.

“Jesus, you’d think these were your babies,” I muttered.

“It’s easy now, doll, but you’re not far off from those little ‘uns hittin’ a growth spurt.” Tess climbed the stepstool and I rolled my eyes behind her back at the oh-so-dangerous foot and a half of height she stood above. “I can go ahead and take over the chores ‘ya need help with.”

I shrugged, lifting my hands and then letting them slap down onto my thighs. “Alright. Want me to take over Suri while you handle the dishes?”

“Yes, and I’ll be wiping down the countertops and stove with bleach. So, I don’t want either of ‘ya in here until I say so.”

“Right. Grabbing snacks.”

Arms full of Cheerios, applesauce pouches and beef jerky, I joined Surinder in the living room. She was watching one of her preschooler shows on TV from inside her pop-up play tent. Her toys were strewn all over the floor – the living room had become her territory and she marked it with Duplo blocks and miniature plastic food. 

I bent over to start picking up and I grunted when the ligaments around my waist pulled tight. Tess was right about the babies, I hadn’t gotten round ligament pain so early before.

It wasn’t long before Suri crawled out of her tent and patted my leg to get my attention. “Fa! Fa!” she called my name until I turned around and acknowledged her.

“What is it, baby girl?”

“Go! . . . Go potty!”

“You gotta go potty? Okay, let’s go-oh!” I winced as I stooped to pick her up, my hands flying to my sides. There was that ligament pain again. I rubbed my hands into my lower belly, trying to work out the tension in my stretching muscles. “Let’s walk to the potty.”

I kept feeling that growing pain. I got a charlie horse in my back as I was helping Suri in the bathroom. That nerve-deep pain flared up in a ring around my hips as I sat down for dinner, but a slight adjustment in my posture made it nothing more than an annoyance. I went to bed that night safe in the knowledge I would wake up to another day of normalcy.

I woke up to my alarm, bright and early as always. I woke up to that ring of pain around my hips as I stretched out under the covers. I woke up to the sensation of wet fabric, something sticky plastered against the curve of my rear and up my lower back. I woke up to blood, both crusty brown and damp red, on my pajamas and sheets.

I woke up wanting to scream. Instead, I tip-toed past Suri’s nursery and padded down the hall to her parents’ room. I knocked once before opening the door. I was like a child needing to be comforted from a nightmare, appearing in the Tariq’s doorway and softly whispering their names until they stirred.

“Ray? Tess?” I leaned a little harder against the doorframe as I watched their silhouettes sit up in bed. “Can one of you drive me?”

Tess yawned. “Where, doll?”

“The ER.”

With the yank of a chain, Ray’s bedside lamp clicked to life. I didn’t need to scream. Tess did it for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ray held my hand while we waited in the emergency room. I’d cleaned up and changed clothes – Ray had lent me a pair of his sweatpants, just in case I bled through my pad. All that remained of my pregnancy was sealed in a sandwich box on my lap. Tess suggested I take the large clump of blood and tissue I’d found in my underwear with me for the doctor to look at, but I hated holding that box knowing someone’s lost dream was inside.

Tess hadn’t come to the hospital with us. She stayed at the house until her parents arrived to take Suri for the day and then met us in the waiting room. I sat between them, resting my head on Tess’s shoulder while both of them wrapped an arm around me. We waited like that for over an hour.

Most of that day is a scrambled signal in my memory. There was a lot of waiting. A lot of fluorescent lights and white-beige walls. We watched TV together in the room they put me in, but I don’t remember what we watched. Only one memory of that ER visit is clear:

A nurse came in and confirmed what we already knew. They’d found the stringy prototype of a placenta in the tissue I’d passed, along with one of the gestational sacs. That was concerning, though. One. They’d only found one of the twins. There was a possibility I needed surgery, so they had to go in and see what was left. The Tariqs weren’t allowed to follow me as I was wheeled down to radiology.

The ultrasound room was dark and warm, the only light coming from the idle monitor of the computer. It was easy to close my eyes and drift into a trance as the tech smeared gel over my lower belly. I’d been scheduled for my next ultrasound in two weeks. I didn’t think I could handle seeing how empty I was.

“Did everything clear?” I asked, resting my hands over my sternum. Even if I didn’t want to see it, I still wanted to know if they were gonna have to scrape me out.

“I can’t say for certain until the doctor has a chance to look at these,” the tech said. “I’m just here to take pictures.”

I wished this was the same tech from my first ultrasound. I could’ve used their friendliness.

“I stopped cramping a while ago,” I said, “so hopefully it’s over.”

The tech rolled the wand up from my groin and I felt it press on the solid lump in the front of my hips. They were pressing hard – trying to get a good image, I assume – but eased off as they moved the wand just below my navel.

“Ope, no. Wait,” the tech said, “there’s the other one. Gosh, that one is way up there.”

Bat Bean. That’s what the Gillespies and I had been calling Baby B. We’d been calling Baby A “Jellybean”. I wondered what their real names would’ve been. My throat closed up and I had to stop wondering.

“Oh . . . my . . .” the tech said, nearly in a whisper. Then, much louder: “Well, hello there, little guy!”

“What?” I asked, opening one eye in hesitation.

I saw their face in the light of the monitor, saw the crescent moon of a smile below their reflective glasses. “It’s kicking!”

“What?!” 

My neck arched and suddenly I was staring at the high-def image of a grey gummy bear on the screen. Nubby limbs twitched as the oval-shaped body curled and uncurled, swimming around its bubble of fluid like a tiny fish. The bulbous head turned and I watched in utter amazement as Baby B’s whole body flipped over in a summersault.

The tech hit a key and a steady whop-whopa-whop-whopa played as a line of white peaks and valleys appeared below the image. “And we have a heartbeat!” they announced, all monotone gone from their demeanor.

I must’ve been in a state of shock, because my memory after that moment is almost entirely blank. I have a vague recollection of signing some paperwork and a surgeon standing over my bed, listing off possible side effects. I remember a needle going into my arm, and then my memory is a void.

My memory restarts at the point I woke up in the recovery ward. Please understand that before this point, I had never had any kind of knock-out juice. I’d never had surgery before. So, please don’t make fun of me when I admit that I woke up crying. My vision was blurry, my head was in a vice, my anti-nausea medication had worn off, and it felt like I had a cactus in my vagina. 

I saw a silhouette at my bedside, a woman’s silhouette with a ponytail of dirty-blonde hair. For a second, I thought my mom had forgiven me – I thought that someone, somehow, had reached her. I thought she cared enough to be worried about me. I reached out to her, craving to feel her hold me again. I felt horrible. I wanted my Mama to make it all better.

“M-om?” I mewled, my mouth slow and dry. 

I touched the woman’s arm, causing her to turn towards me. She wasn’t my mom – just a nurse who styled her hair the same way. “No, sorry. I’m not Mom,” she said softly. “She’s probably waiting for you outside.”

I knew she wasn’t. I felt more tears trail down my neck.

“Just lay back and try to wake up a little more,” the nurse told me, “then we’ll let your family come back and see you.”

I dipped in and out of a fugue state, gradually returning to reality as the drugs wore off. Although I couldn’t remember much before surgery, I was inately aware that my cervix had been sewn shut. There was no telling what had caused me to lose Baby A, but Baby B was still considered at-risk. Sealing the exit shut was the best bet to keep ‘em in there. The fact I was still pregnant at all after so much blood loss and cramping was miraculous. Just to be safe, they hooked my IV up to something that would stop my uterus from contracting. 

When I was awake enough to feel hungry and ask for food, the Tariqs were allowed to come sit with me in my cubicle of curtains. Tess sat on the side of my bed while Ray tried to nap in his chair. It’d been nearly twelve hours since we arrived at the hospital and we were all exhausted. I barely had the energy to lift spoonfuls of chicken noodle soup to my mouth. After I’d gotten some broth and crackers down my throat, and Tess and I had run out of small talk, Tess leaned in and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she whispered into my ear. “I know what you’re feelin’, and it’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

They weren’t empty words – far from it. Tess had been where I was time, after time, after time. Only, for her, it was worse – those lost children were her own. Then . . . there had been Ravi. I didn’t want to imagine how his loss had felt. Well . . . perhaps I could make a light comparison, but I at least knew my son was alive and well somewhere. I wrapped my arms around Tess in return, blinking back tears.

“No, Tess,” I said, my face covered by her long flaxen hair. It smelled like her mint shampoo. “I’m sorry you went through this so many times.”

Tess held me tighter.

“Have you told them?” I asked.

“No. We wanted ‘ta hear what the doctor said first,” Tess said. “Everything’s lookin’ okay with the baby right now, but he wants ‘ya on bedrest.”

“Can you . . . please call them for me? I don’t want to hear them . . .”

“I will,” Tess said, patting my back. “I’ll go outside and let them know.”

“If they ask which one it was . . .” I sniffled and choked back a small sob. “. . . tell them we lost Jellybean.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I continued to send the Gillespies bumpdates every week. I never missed a single one. I continued mailing them printouts of their baby’s ultrasounds. We never talked or chatted about what happened, nor did we discuss medical updates about Bat Bean. For those, the Gillespies waited for either Ray or Tess to contact them. I didn’t want them to associate me – the woman carrying their one and only child – with talk of heartbreak and loss. I wanted Silas and Owen to be excited when they saw an email from me, not dread clicking on it. Ray and Tess stepped up to be the bearers of heavy news for us. My doctor had me going in for ultrasounds every two weeks, which meant a lot of baby pictures from me and a lot of medical updates from the Tariqs.

My stomach remained flat for quite a while, with just the slightest bump in my lower belly for weeks. But one morning, around fifteen weeks in, I swear I woke up looking like I’d swallowed a cantaloupe. I guess the baby had finally hit that growth spurt Tess had predicted.

His name was Milo Bennet Gillespie. Silas and Owen named him shortly after we discovered he was going to be a boy. Owen was a fan of classic books who worked at Barnes & Noble, so I had no doubt he was the one to choose the middle name. Sometimes we playfully referred to Milo as “Bat Bean”, but that nickname faded out in favor of his real name. I worried over him – a lot. I bought a home doppler online so I could check if his heart was beating. Whenever I noticed he hadn’t moved for a while, I would pull up my shirt and rub the doppler on my bump until I heard the whoosh of his pulse. The doctors kept saying everything was looking good with him, but I worried.

I was essentially given leave of my housekeeper duties until Milo was done cooking. The doctor wanted me off my feet, so I spent most of my days on the couch watching cartoons with Suri. She was observant enough to ask about my big belly in her two-word-sentence manner. Unsure how to explain the situation, I told her there was a small person living in my stomach and that his name was Milo. I even took her tiny hand and let her feel where Milo was wiggling around. She didn’t like that very much, it freaked her out and she ran to her mother. I didn’t want her to get excited for a baby that wouldn’t be coming home with me. That wouldn’t be fair to her . . . or to me. 

It wasn’t the best experience, being pregnant without the baby’s parents there. When I was growing Suri, her parents were there with me at every doctor’s visit. They took me on day trips just for fun and to make sure I had enough to eat. They were able to put their hands on my belly to feel their daughter kick, and put their lips close to my skin so she could hear their voices. Milo didn’t have that. His daddies were hundreds of miles away. They’d never felt him squirm around, only I had. He’d never heard their voices close-up, just over the phone . . . maybe. The clearest voice he’d ever heard was mine . . . and my voice wasn’t going to follow him home.

Although I had the Tariqs there to support me and love me, I felt alone in my pregnancy. Milo was just a little visitor in the household – we had no toys or bedding or bottles for him, all of that was with his fathers. After he was born, no one would mention him – his future didn’t involve us at all. I was the closest thing to a mother Milo would ever have . . . and I wasn’t going to be a part of his life. 

It was an experience I’d had before, with the last baby boy I’d held under my heart.

It took a toll. It really took a toll.

Before I knew it, I’d blown up big as a barn. I no longer had a lap when I sat down, my belly nearly reaching my knees. Milo was a big boy – the doctor estimated he was around nine pounds – and he was squishing all the fluid in my body into my lower half. My legs were hot and heavy and my feet were too swollen for my shoes, so I shuffled between the bathroom, kitchen and couch in flip-flops. God, I hated being on my feet. I spent my days either dicking around on my laptop – using my belly as a desk – or watching TV while sprawled out on the couch. 

Surinder got really upset with me one day, when I refused to play tag with her. Ray and Tess were very mindful of how much Suri “bothered” me, but I never considered it bothersome. I loved Suri, she was practically my niece. I was sure to let her know that I wanted to play with her, but my “belly buddy” was making me too tired. I made up for it with lots of hugs and kisses, and I promised that once I was feeling better we’d play tag as much as she wanted.

As soon as I hit thirty-seven weeks, I was on high alert. I’d warned my doctor that I delivered before my due date at least once before, but he wanted to keep Milo in there until he was full-term. So, he refused to remove my stitches. As miserable as I was, I agreed. I wanted Milo to bulk up as much as he could, even if it added to my discomfort. If I could give Silas and Owen a perfect, healthy baby . . . maybe it would make up for what happened. 

My body had failed one of their babies – and so help me God I was gonna force it to nurture the other! I was determined! I would make it to forty weeks!

Yet, I would not.

I pulled myself off the couch one afternoon to grab a snack and my knees almost folded. I leaned against the arm of the couch as a deep downward motion slid over my organs. My lungs were slowly relieved of their crushing burden and they eagerly filled to their maximum. I lifted the weight of my belly with one desperate hand because I had a blaring instinct about what was happening.

“Milo, don’t you dare!” I muttered under my breath.

Like a Duplo block clicking into place, Milo’s head slipped into my hips. My belly visibly dropped, I felt it shift to hit heavier in my hand. Almost immediately, I felt the baby’s heft sitting directly on my sutured cervix. I groaned and pressed my thighs together. The pain throbbed between my legs, sharper than I’d ever felt.

“Hey, Ray?” I called, knowing he was upstairs in his office.

“Yeah?” his distant voice rumbled through the ceiling.

“Can you bring me my phone?” I called. “I need to call the doctor.”

A few minutes later, Ray thumped down the creaky stairs with my cellphone. He paused when he saw me leaning over the back of the sofa, kneeling with my thighs apart. “You okay?” he asked, handing me my phone.

“I need to call the doctor and tell him I need my stitches out, like . . . tomorrow,” I said, unlocking the screen. “Milo’s in my hips, he’s not gonna wait another two weeks.”

Ray rubbed my lower back, scratching his goatee in thought. “Is he going to wait until tomorrow? You’ve been having cramps, right?”

“Yeah, but they’re irregular as hell,” I said, putting the phone up to my ear. “I’ll be in labor soon, but not that soon.”

I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was so horribly wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Silas? Hi. Yeah, it’s Ray.”

“Fuck! Oh, fuck!”

“We have a situation. Fawn’s having contractions and you boys need to get on a plane right now.” Ray ground his knuckles into my back while I wailed face-down on my bed.

I gripped a bag of frozen peach slices in a towel between my thighs. My arms hugged all my pillows to my chest beneath me, and I buried my head between them to yell my way through this latest contraction. My belly was squeezed into a perfect sphere, peeking out from under my shirt as it hung down to my mattress. The contractions were actually pretty mild, all things considered. They didn’t hurt that bad at all. 

However! My body was forcing Milo down hard against my cervix. That pain was far, far worse than the contractions. His head was grinding against a closed exit, but the sheer force was spreading that exit open anyway. The baby was a battering ram and my cervix was a fortress door, splitting apart around its locks and bars with every slam. 

“Fuck, I want these stitches out!” I cried into my pillows. “I want them out!”

“Yeah . . . yeah, you can get a refund on the tickets you already bought,” Ray continued on the phone, and on my back. “I’ll book a room for you, don’t worry about that. Just focus on getting here. Bring an overnight bag for each of you and some basics for the baby. I’ll pick you up from the airport, don’t bother with an Uber.”

Tess walked into the room, a large duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hair thrown into a messy bun. “Everything’s in the car,” she said. Her hand squeezed my shoulder until my posture relaxed and I lifted my head from the pillows. “You ready to go have a baby, ‘shug?”

I nodded. Tess helped me to my feet and I waddled down to the car doubled over and holding my belly up. Even without a contraction, the pry and pull on the strings holding my cervix closed was constant. My seam was literally about to pop. I had to recline the passenger seat as far as it could go so I could somewhat lie on my side. My contractions were regular, but very far apart; so, thank god, I didn’t have to deal with any while cramped in the car.

My chest tightened when we pulled into the hospital parking lot. I knew I’d be having the baby here. I’d prepared for it, but thinking about it was so different from doing it. Because of the complications with this pregnancy, I had no choice but to deliver in the same maternity ward I’d walked into years ago. I . . . didn’t like thinking about what I went through in that ward. 

Tess came around to my door to help haul me out, but I didn’t move. I stayed on my side, staring at the clouds hovering above the cars – they were painted with the summer sunset. 

“‘Ya want me ‘ta get a wheelchair?” Tess asked, leaning on the open car door.

“Yeah,” I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand. “Tess, I don’t wanna go in there. I wanna do this at home.”

Tess looked over her shoulder, scanning the hundreds of windows looming ten stories over us. “Me neither,” she said, then turned and hustled toward the hospital entrance.

At eleven-thirty that night, I found myself sitting on a birthing ball in a stagnant delivery room. The only light was the yellow wall lamp mounted over my bed – anything brighter and my head would pound. A monitor belt was pulled snug around my belly, leashing me to a gaggle of machines beside the bed. An IV bag of pitocin hung from a hooked pole beside me, the tubes trailing down to a needle taped in place on the back of my hand. 

I bounced on the ball, my hands braced on Tess’s knees while she sat on the side of the bed in front of me. I felt my torso squeeze and held my breath. The monitor beeped, registering a contraction.

“Blow the pain out,” Tess crooned, ghosting her fingertips up and down my arms.

I grabbed her knees and rotated my hips on the ball. A small “Ack!” bubbled up from my throat before I sucked air in through my nose and forced it out through pursed lips. I blew hard until my lungs went flat, then filled them again and continued the process. Salty water leaked from my shut eyelids and slid in thick droplets down my neck and back. I blew so I wouldn’t scream. I knew I could scream, but I didn’t want to come unglued only a few hours into active labor. Hell, my water hadn’t even broken yet. 

I could still be in control of myself, even if this birth was not going according to plan.

I was hoping labor would be smoother after the stitches were out, but they’d only caused more complications. I’d dilated quickly regardless of the sutures, already three centimeters open when the doctor snipped the strings. He’d gotten to me too late, though. The stitches had ripped small tears in my cervix as Milo’s head pulled them apart. The swelling was immense – within minutes I was sealed shut again and my labor stalled. Hence, the pitocin.

The pitocin hijacked my body, forcing it to crush inward on itself like a soda can in a hydraulic press – at a strength and speed beyond what felt natural. I had never felt labor this intensely! I would desperately cling to any self-control I had in that beige nightmare of a room.

“Mmmmh,” I hummed through my nose, my hip swivel morphing back into a bounce as the contraction eased.

“Good job,” Tess grinned at me. “You’re doin’ so good, Fawn.”

I moaned and leaned back, bracing my hands on my hips as I rode that birthing ball like a rodeo star. “Have they landed yet?”

“Doll, they ain’t on the plane yet,” Tess said. “The only direct flight they could book on such short notice leaves at one-fifteen. Ray’ll call us when they take off and when they land.”

“God,” I huffed, my chin falling onto my chest. “They gotta be here. They can’t miss this!”

“Everyone’s doin’ their best and that’s the only thing they can,” Tess said. “It’s only an hour flight. They’ll be here in time, don’tcha worry.”

My hair had grown past my shoulders during my pregnancy, and it was suffocating me. I lifted my auburn curls off my flushed neck to cool down. Tess watched me for a moment before pulling the elastic band from her hair. A cascade of blonde fell down her back, sun-bleached highlights vibrant even in the low light. Without a word she came ‘round and gathered my frizz into her hands. A few flicks of the wrist and she had my hair up in a damp, poofy bun.

Tess kneaded the back of my neck for a while. I rested against her, letting her work my muscles like dough. Milo kicked, causing a dull ‘thump’ on the doppler.

“Fawn,” Tess broke the silence, “there’s nothin’ wrong with askin’ for pain relief.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Doll, I can tell it’s hurtin’ like hell. You’re hooked up ‘ta stuff that could rocket a foal out’a ‘ya.”

“I’m. Fine.”

“Just ‘cause ‘ya managed before doesn’t mean-.”

“I don’t wanna be stuck in that bed!” I cried. “I don’t wanna lay there like a lame horse ‘til they strap me up in stirrups! I’m NOT doing that again!” 

I pulled away, using the bed’s railing to lift myself to my feet. My hand wrapped around to support my lower spine, exposed by the untied loops of my hospital gown. Tess picked up the absorbent pad on the birthing ball, folding it over to hide the bright spot of blood where I’d been sitting. I saw it, but it didn’t scare me – I knew it was from all the swelling. She retrieved the pink water cup from the table and let me drink from its straw.

“I had my baby here, too,” she finally spoke. She sat back down on the bed and smoothed her hand over the starchy sheets. “The beds feel the same.”

“Ravi was born here?” I rocked myself from foot-to-foot, holding onto the railing to keep steady. “I didn’t know that.”

“Four years ago as of January,” Tess said with a nod. “I was in here a few months before ‘ya, ‘shug. Who knows? Maybe they had us in the same room.”

God. Had it been four years already? I had a four-year-old somewhere out there and he had never seen my face. What toys did he like to play with? Did he watch the same preschooler shows that Suri and I watched together? What were his favorite foods? I wanted to know all of that. I wanted to know him! I wanted to know the sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the texture of his hair . . . or his name.

A scar somewhere in my chest ripped open and I swear I could feel a black void pouring over my ribs like paint. I held my breath. Tears dripped from the tip of my nose and onto my belly. I was in so much pain, but not from labor. My soul was bleeding – the wound as raw as the day it was carved.

In my mind's eye, I saw myself reaching for my son as the doctor held him up. I saw my arms cradling his little naked body against my chest while he took his first breaths. I saw my lips pressing kisses into his bald, wrinkly scalp while my eyes cried phantom tears onto his skin.

None of that had happened at all – but it should have! I should have been given the chance to say goodbye – to look into his eyes and tell him how much I would always love him, even if he couldn’t see me. No, not even that. He should have stayed my baby! I should have gotten pregnant by a different man – a good man. I should have been on the pill instead of relying on his father’s cheap, oversized condoms that were probably expired. I should have fucked up my life less. I should have made a thousand better choices, so he could have stayed my baby!

I screamed along with the frantic beeping of the monitor, but all physical pain paled in comparison to the emotional. I’d cried through my heartbreak once before, but being back in that damn ward, in an identical room, brought all my grief pouring back out. Tears and liquid snot flowed down my face as I white-knuckled the bed’s railing to keep me upright. I gulped full lungs of air, only to wail and scream and sob until they were empty.

I think Tess knew my tears were from deeper down than they seemed. She leaned close and gently took hold of my contracting sides. Her palms rubbed large, soothing circles into my hardened womb. Her sympathetic eyes never left my face.

“Good girl,” she crooned. My eyes were blurry with salt water, but I thought the skin around her eyes looked red. “Scream it all out.”

“I want my baby, Tess!” I cried. “I . . .” my shoulders jerked with a sob, my diaphragm spasming from lack of air. “I n-never got to ho-hold him!” Another hiccup. “H-He’s going to think I . . . think I didn’t w-want him! But I . . . I wanted h-him so much!”

“Hushhh,” Tess shushed me. She wiped my face with the scratchy hospital blanket. “Hush now, doll. Calm ‘yaself down and get some air in.”

“Okay,” I nodded, still choking on sobs and panting for breath. “Okay . . . okay . . .” The awareness of the contraction began creeping into my brain. “Ohh . . . ohh . . . oh, shit!”

Blinded with tears, I threw my arm out to grab onto Tess. I balled her shirt collar in my hand and restarted my “blow the pain out” technique.

Tess continued massaging the sides of my belly, waiting to speak until she felt my muscles start to uncoil. “Are ‘ya sure you don’t want somethin’? I can call the nurse.”

I sniffled and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Able to see again, I realized I hadn’t been wrong. Tess had been crying. My hand released her shirt, and my arm snaked around her shoulders to pull her into a hug.

“Tess . . . I just want you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three-thirty in the morning. We hadn’t heard anything from Ray, and even less from the Gillespies.

A nurse had been in to check me twice in the last hour. Milo was still in his comfy water balloon and that seemed to be cushioning him from the extra-strength contractions. I nearly started crying again when they told me his heart rate was fine and I could continue to labor on my own. With how damaged my cervix was – and how many liters of pitocin they’d given me – I’d been terrified of an emergency C-section.

By then I’d lost the use of my legs, but I refused to stay on the bed for more than a few minutes – usually just long enough to pull my knees back and let a nurse stick her fingers inside me. With the help of an orderly who’d come to swap out my IV bag, Tess had taken the mattress off the bed so I could have something soft to lie down on without feeling trapped.

I’d taken to half-lying on the floor with my arms and upper body resting on the birth ball. I couldn’t keep myself quiet during contractions any longer. Making low, rumbling noises like a cow in a ball gag was a must. It was how I was surviving. Between those moments, I was just tired. It was a relief that I couldn’t feel my cervix anymore, but that was likely because it had effaced. My eyes were heavy and full of grit, but the sixty-something seconds I had between contractions didn’t allow me to sleep.

At that point, I was beyond the mental capacity to worry about Silas and Owen. Milo and Tess were the only other people who existed in the world as transition’s brutal hand crushed me in its fist.

In hindsight, I think that’s why I didn’t panic when the pressure set in.

Tess was kneeling on pillows on the other side of the birthing ball, humming a lullaby to relax me between contractions. Her tune tapered to a halt when I shifted my hips, one leg pulling up to my side. “What’cha need, ‘shug?”

“I feel him.” I stated it like a bland fact.

My eyes were closed, but I felt Tess’s hand touch my shoulder. We’d already decided what we’d do if this happened before the Gillespies arrived.

“Alright, doll. It’s alright,” she crooned. “Lemmie come around.”

I heard the soft ‘pap pap pap’ of Tess’s socks traveling in an arch around me on the faux wood floor. Her weight settled on the mattress by my feet.

“Promise I won’t touch,” she said. “I’m just eyes.”

I grunted and rolled my leg outward to open my hips. Oh, I knew that pressure so well by that point. I knew better than to doubt my body. More pitocin mixed with my blood, drip-by-drip, through the needle in my hand. I wasn’t sure if someone should’ve removed it by then, but whatever. I was gonna use it to my advantage.

The monitor around my belly beeped. I pressed my toes down and pushed before I truly felt the pain. Milo kicked the doppler again, like he realized he was finally being evicted. After a solid ten seconds, I relaxed with a nasally whine.

“He’s coming, Tess.”

“I know, doll.” Tess gently nudged my foot to a more grounded position. “Soon as I see ‘im, I’ll call a nurse. Ain’t no one gonna put ‘ya in that bed, I’ll make sure’a that.”

I scooted up more into a half-squat, one arm draped over the ball and the other wrapping around my knee. Chin-to-chest, I used the rest of the contraction to bear down against the familiar sensation of a baby sliding down my passage. I took frequent breaths between my efforts so I wouldn’t get dizzy, panting a small “Uh . . . Uh . . . Uh” with each exhale.

I didn’t need to throw my all into pushing, the contractions were doing most of the work. Maybe that pitocin was a blessing in disguise – I don’t know if I had the energy to make progress without it. Five pushes in, and I felt my inner walls stretch around the baby. My quiet whines and grunts escalated into growls as the pain grew sharper, and I flowered open wider.

“Damn, he’s huge!” I moaned as I eased off my most recent push. Forget “Bat Bean”, the fucking Chicago Bean was coming out of me!

“Remember, you’re pushin’ out the sac, too,” Tess said.

I hugged my hiked-up leg closer to my side, teeth gnashing in my skull as my face turned purple with effort. “Ugh!” I released a small bark of pain during a brief pause, then spent the rest of the push with a low growl in my chest. 

My labia brushed the crease of my thigh, the skin bowing out and preparing to stretch. I felt the inner structure of my clit get crushed as the mass of the baby pressed its way down. It was something I’d felt before in the past during childbirth – but never to the extent that it fired electric shocks of nerve pain down both legs. My toes curled as a ghostly, stabbing pain assaulted the arches of my feet.

I relaxed against the ball with a loud huff of air. “Tess, rub the bottoms of my feet,” I begged, my head falling back against inflated rubber. Thank god she did it without question, I was too embarrassed to explain.

Two contractions later, I was mid-push when a gout of hot water splashed onto the mattress. My focus was broken by the release of pressure, and I leaned forward to peer over my belly. A saw an expanding area of wet sheets between my thighs, darkening the color of the mattress as more amniotic fluid drained from me.

“He’s makin’ his way out, doll!” Tess grabbed the blanket and bunched it up around my rear to soak up some of the mess. “You’re openin’ up!”

“Ahh!” The arm holding my knee in place flew down to pry open my leg, fingers pulling at the skin where my thigh met my groin. My body pushed for me and my perineum thinned out and spread over the head as it dropped past my tailbone. 

“Fuck, Tess!” I whined, vocal chords straining. “Fuck, he’s hurting me!”

“Take it slow,” Tess said, patting my thigh. “Let it stretch.”

I arched back against the ball as my lips bulged outward with the size of Milo’s head. The arm draped over the ball was numb, but it was the only thing keeping me upright. The room reverberated with a roar I didn’t realize was mine as I felt that all-too-familiar fire blaze to life. My entire world shrank down to that inferno between my legs. The only thought in my head was to push down into it. My fingertips migrated beneath me, pressing against the hellfire in my perineum as the flesh pulled dangerously tight. I was aware Tess got up from the floor, but I was blind and deaf to the world.

The ringing in my ears muffled the sound of the door bursting open. My eyes flew open in surprise as a gloved hand gently nudged my fingers aside and cupped my perineum. A scrubbed nurse knelt in front of me, a mask covering her face from the nose-down – but even then, her eyes smiled at me.

“Good job, Fawn!” the nurse praised me. “Baby’s crowning. You’re nearly done!”

I flinched when someone else took my leg and hiked it up to my side. It was Tess. I finally understood she must’ve run and got help. I thought I heard a cell phone ringing, but no one else reacted to it. I accepted the fact I was hallucinating.

I threw my arm around Tess’s waist, unaware my fingers were coated in blood, and held tight as I pushed again. I gasped deep and screamed as I felt myself make quick progress once the top of his head breached the air.

“Don’t stop, doll. He’s comin’,” Tess said, her lips brushing my scalp.

Sweat stung my eyes, so I kept them squeezed shut. My whole body trembled, my nerves going haywire as Milo surged forward with a massive, unstoppable push. I felt the little bump of his nose traveling through the pouch of my perineum.  The nurse palmed the crown of his head, trying to let me stretch easily over his brow.

A loud slam caused everyone to jump, and the bright light of the hallway sent a migraine through my skull. The nurse turned to scold the two men scrambling into the room, but Tess saved the day:

“They’re the parents!” she cried. “They’re stayin’!”

I couldn’t pay attention to anything going on around me. With a roar of effort, I bore down until I heard the wet little ‘shlip’ of Milo’s head pushing free into the nurse’s hand.

“Owen! Silas! Here, now!” Tess ordered.

I heard two more bodies thump to the ground beside the floor bed.

“We’re so sorry, Fawn!” I heard a familiar voice yell – a voice that belonged to a man I’d only ever heard through the static of a screen.

“Later, Owen!” Tess snapped. “Focus on your baby right now! Do not miss this!”

I didn’t care about anything – I knew this baby was on his way out right then and there! Nothing else in my mind or body would function until he’d made his journey earth-side! I clung to Tess, who pressed my leg back wider as Milo’s thick shoulders started to press out of me.

“Push, doll. Push on ‘im hard,” she encouraged me softly, her voice like warm honey.

The nurse began pulling down on the baby, forcing his shoulder to pry my public bone out of place to come through. I don’t quite know what the sound I made was, but it didn’t sound human. The nurse pulled upward, and . . . 

“And we have a baby!” the nurse cheered as Milo’s body gushed out onto the mattress. A small trickle of leftover fluid followed his feet.

“Holy shit.“ My whole body relaxed as soon as that relief came.

My eyelids slid open when I heard that little guy make the sweetest newborn cries I’d ever heard. For a big baby, he had a small voice. Thin, blonde baby down was plastered to his scalp, and even while he was all squished and blotchy I could tell he looked like Owen.

“Oh, look how sweet!” the nurse sing-songed while she toweled Milo dry. “Isn’t he a perfect little man?”

A second nurse mysteriously appeared in the background. I peeked around Tess and saw the extra nurse fanning Silas with a laminated paper while he sat slumped against the wall, looking dazed. Owen kept looking at his husband over his shoulder, but his attention was constantly pulled back to his son.

“Oh . . . hey, guys.” I sleepily waved to the fathers. “When did you get here?”

Owen glanced back at Silas, who was rubbing his forehead and seemed to be coming around. “Just in time.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I flipped through the pictures in my phone while I rode home with Tess. Milo and I had stayed in the hospital for a few days for observation. I’d needed a few internal stitches (wow, real shocker there) and they just wanted to keep an eye on Milo because of his troublesome gestation. At first, there was a little bit of concern because of how lethargic he was – but his bloodwork was fine, so I guess he was just a sleepy lad. He wasn’t awake in any of the pictures the Gillespies and I had taken.

There were countless photos of Milo being snuggled by all of us. Ray and Suri had popped in to see me the morning after I gave birth – mostly for Suri’s sake, she’d woken up crying over not being able to find me at home. I had a picture from that morning of Tess holding Milo in the room’s armchair while Ray held Suri up so she could see what my “belly buddy” looked like. Suri somehow looked confused, disgusted and amazed all at once. My favorite picture was the one Tess had taken of me and the family together. I was sitting up in bed and holding Milo while Silas and Owen sat on either side of me. All of us – except Milo, who was asleep with a binky in his mouth – were smiling wide at the camera.

One of the first pictures in my album was of Milo swaddled like a burrito a few hours after he was born, fast asleep in the baby cot beside my bed. His name, weight and time of birth were written on a card taped above his head. Beside that card was the paper cutout of a purple butterfly. 

In Silas’s first picture with his miracle baby, he was pale as death but still smiling. He’d needed to sit down for a while after passing out, but he’d held his little boy nearly every minute in that chair. He’d held Milo while they performed his medical tests, only allowing the nurses to take him away for his first bath. In the picture I’d taken after that, Silas was gazing at Milo with all the love in his eyes that a father could give – and Milo was wrapped in a fresh blanket with an embroidered purple butterfly on the corner. The Gillespies had brought that blanket with them.

At first I’d thought the purple butterfly cutout was just a decoration choice the hospital had made; but when Milo’s first gift from his parents had the same image, I’d asked why it was showing up so often. Turns out, that hospital had adopted The Purple Butterfly Project – an initiative that offered support for patients who had lost a child in a set of multiples. The cutout on Milo’s cot was meant to celebrate the life of his “flown-away” twin, as well as make staff members and visitors aware that he was the wingless half of a pair. It took on the burden of explanation, so Silas and Owen could bond with their son without worry.

My phone buzzed with a new message from my clients. It was a selfie Owen had taken of himself and Silas at the airport, with Milo snug in a sling around Silas’s chest. The picture came with the message: “Thank you for blessing us so deeply! We hope the joy you’ve given us will be repaid – with interest! Milo is going to be showered with love every day of his life. You’re more than welcome to keep in touch with our family, Fawn. We’re happy to let you watch Milo grow up with us. Love, Owen and Silas.”

I locked my phone and sat it face-down in my lap. “Hey, Tess?” I asked, watching the road unfurl beyond the windshield as we traveled the rural roads. “When will it be my turn?”

Tess glanced at me. “For what?”

“Being happy,” I deadpanned. “I’ve made three different families happy. You and Ray, the Gillespies . . . and my son’s parents. I just wanna know when my turn is.”

The rest of the car ride passed in total silence. When we parked in front of the farmhouse, Tess turned to look at me while she unbuckled her seatbelt.

“Doll, there’s somethin’ I want ‘ya ‘ta see.”

Going upstairs was a herculean task with how stiff and full-body sore I was, but Tess held my hand and walked with me step-by-step. She brought me into the master bedroom and sat me down on her side of the bed. Tess opened her bedside drawer and pulled out a wooden box that was roughly the size of a checkerboard. She plopped down beside me and stared at the box in her lap for a moment before saying:

“I haven’t opened this since we brought it home. I couldn’t. But . . . I think now’s the time.”

I watched as Tess lifted the lid of the box, revealing a carefully folded fleece blanket with pastel stars printed on it.

“What is it?” I asked.

Tess lovingly took the small blanket in her hands and began unfolding it. Beneath the layers of fabric was a blue crystalline teddy bear sculpture holding a silver heart between its paws. Tess picked up the bear and held it in her palm – that’s how small it was.

“This is Ravi,” she said.

Once light hit the silver heart at a different angle, I saw the engraving on it: “Ravi Idris Tariq”, with a single date underneath. Tess turned the bear over in her hands so I could see the second engraving on its back: “I carried you every second of your life.”

“I wrapped ‘im in his blanket,” Tess said, her thumb stroking the bear urn’s head. “It made it feel more like I was puttin’ him down ‘ta sleep instead’a . . . y’know.”

I was too stunned to speak.

Tess set the baby blanket in the box and – tiny urn still in-hand – got up and walked to her closet. A quick rummage, and she returned with a different fleece blanket. This one was pastel rainbow colored and was covered in white stars, an inverse of the other.

“These came as a set,” Tess said. “We donated everythin’ he never got to use, except for this. This one’s special.” She rubbed the blanket on her cheek. “I prayed over this one. I asked Mother Gaia ‘ta allow my baby’s spirit ‘ta be linked to this earthly object, so that I could hold it and it would be the same as holdin’ him.”

Tess re-joined me on the side of the bed, clutching Ravi’s urn to her heart while she cuddled and kissed the rainbow blanket. “I still miss ‘im. I miss ‘im a lot,” she said. “Having this connection to him helps.”

After a minute, Tess set both blankets and the urn inside the wooden box. Then, she took my hands into her own. 

“Neither of us got ‘ta hold our little boys,” she said. “Mine was already in the arms of Mother Gaia, and yours was in the arms of his mama before you had the chance. That’s what’cha told us, right?”

I nodded, silent and enraptured. Tess smiled at me.

“Well, when you’re feelin’ more ‘yaself, I’ll teach ‘ya how to use my sewin’ machine,” she said, giving my hands a gentle squeeze. “You’ll pick out the fabric and you’ll make a baby blanket. That’ll be his baby blanket, ain’t no one else’s. I’ll ask Mother Gaia ‘ta bless it for ‘ya. When you feel all that love buildin’ up with nowhere to go, hold it. Hold your baby. He’ll be able to feel it, no matter where he is.”

I returned her smile, but my throat was almost too tight for me to speak. “I’d like that.”

We made a small shrine for Ravi’s urn on the mantle that night. Ray and Tess had Suri help set it up, explaining the existence of her elder brother to her in a way she would understand:

“Mama had a baby in her belly just like Fawn did,” Ray said, lifting Suri up so she could drop a few cut flowers from the garden beside the tiny blue bear. “That was before you were born. You were just a twinkle in Mama’s eye back then.”

“Where the baby?” Suri asked as her father plopped her back down.

“This is the baby,” Tess said, tapping on the silver heart between the bear’s paws. “He had ‘ta go back ‘ta Mother Gaia while he was still in my belly. This is where his body sleeps.”

I lit a few jarred candles and placed them on the mantle. From my back pocket, I pulled out the laminated purple butterfly cutout that had been taped to Milo’ cot at the hospital. I placed it upright against the mantle wall, so that two purple wings appeared to be sprouting from Ravi’s bear.

It wasn’t my turn to be happy, yet. I had a long way to go before I could start making my own dreams come true. Maybe school could wait a while. Maybe the money I’d earned throughout my surrogacy could be put to better use.

Maybe I was sick of staying on the path my own stupid choices had led me down. Maybe it was time I started making the choices I’d wished I’d made earlier.

I was tired of living in the shadow of grief Alexander had cast over my life. I’d lost everything because of him . . .

. . . but I was ready to start taking it back.

~ END ~

#Fawn Drabbles #birth kink #labor kink #mittysins #RP Drabble

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Thousands of civilians are forced out of their homes and jobs in Hamad Town, north of Khan Yunis, in central Gaza. Israeli occupation forces are directing Palestinian families to Deir al-Balah, where occupation airstrikes have been ongoing for 150 days.]

[ 📈 An infographic detailing Israeli purposeful destruction of Gaza's healthcare system and infrastructure.]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏡💥🚑 🚨

150 DAYS OF NON-STOP CARNAGE: ISRAELI OCCUPATION FORCES CONTINUE TO GENOCIDE PALESTINIANS IN GAZA

On the 150th day of all-out War on the civilian population of the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 13 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 124 civilians, mostly women and children, and wounding another 210 others over the previous 24-hours.

The Palestinian Ministry of Health of the Gaza Strip added that there continues to be significant numbers of missing civilians buried under the rubble of their destroyed homes as IOF soldiers, armored vehicles and artillery shelling prevent ambulance and civil defense crews from reaching the sites of occupation bombings.

The Israeli occupation continues to target hungry civilians in Gaza as they attempt to find food.

In the latest crime against humanity, the Zionist occupation army opened gunfire on starving civilians waiting for flour at the Kuwaiti roundabout near Gaza City, killing at least one civilian and wounding ten others.

Similarly, the Israeli occupation repeated its crime when the IOF shelled a humanitarian aid truck on the coastal road opposite of Deir al-Balah, slaughtering another 11 Palestinian civilians.

Meanwhile, Zionist fighter jets bombed a civilian home filled with displaced Palestinian families in the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in central Gaza, killing 12 and leaving a number of others missing under the rubble.

Occupation artillery forces also continue to shell the eastern neighborhoods of Deir al-Balah, while occupation air forces resumed its bombardment of the city of Rafah, in the south of Gaza.

In another atrocity, Zionist warplanes bombarded a civilian home belonging to the Al-Gharib family near the Al-Awda roundabout in central Rafah, killing three civilians, including a mother and her child.

At the same time, occupation aircraft bombed the Madi family home in the neighborhoods north of Rafah city, murdering seven Palestinians, including a pregnant woman and her unborn child.

Six more bodies were also pulled from the rubble of the Abu Anza family home after it was bombed yesterday by Israeli jets, bringing the total number of deaths in the atrocity to 20.

In another example of ethnic cleansing, the Israeli occupation army surrounded Hamad Town, northwest of Khan Yunis, in the south-central Gaza Strip, forcing thousands of residents out of their homes, arresting dozens of citizens, and opening fire on anyone trying to leave the city outside occupation routes.

Residents are being pushed out of the city and being told to walk themselves, their families and their belongings to Deir al-Balah, which the occupation regime calls a safe area, but where daily airstrikes and artillery shelling have repeatedly struck civilian targets, including civilian homes, in recent days.

Elsewhere, the Zionist air forces bombed the Al-Farra family home, west of the Jamil Wadi roundabout on the coast of the Al-Mawasi neighborhood, northwest of Khan Yunis, resulting in the deaths and wounding of multiple civilians.

Nothing is sacred to the Zionist army which last night bombed a new cemetery filled with mass graves on Al Hadad Street, in the Jabalia Camp, in the north of Gaza, spreading body parts across a large area and forcing local residents and civil defense crews to rebury their dead.

An occupation warplane also bombed the headquarters of the Engineers Syndicate in the Sheikh Zayed neighborhood in northern Gaza.

Similarly, Israeli artillery fire also bombarded the homes of civilians in the Al-Sabra, Al-Janobi and Al-Rimal neighborhoods of Gaza City, resulting in several casualties among civilians, including women and children.

Two homes were also destroyed when occupation fighter jets bombed two civilian residences in Beit Lahia, in the north of Gaza, wounding a number of people who were taken to Kamal Adwan Hospital.

Additionally, a number of Palestinians were wounded after Israeli air forces bombed a civilian residence in the Bureij Refugee Camp, in central Gaza, while occupation air raids also targeted the Radwan family home in the Jabalia Camp, in the north of the enclave. Artillery shelling also targeted multiple areas in the Jabalia Camp, wounding several more civilians.

In the south of the Gaza Strip, Zionist warplanes and artillery shelling targeted several homes and areas in the city of Rafah.

According to reports from local medical sources, occupation aircraft bombed two civilian homes in Rafah, which led to the tragic deaths of at least 17 civilians.

Similarly, Zionist fighter jets fired multiple missiles into the Nuseirat Refugee Camp in central Gaza, killing two civilians and causing a multitude of additional casualties.

In another crime, an occupation airstrike on a civilian home in the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, killed and wounded "scores of civilians" according to local reports.

Ambulance and civil defense crews also managed to retrieve the corpses of at least 11 civilians from different areas of Khan Yunis, in the south of the Palestinian enclave.

As a result of Israel's ongoing war of genocide against the Palestinian population of the Gaza Strip, the death toll has now risen to 30'534 civilians killed by the Zionist occupation army, with another 71'920 wounded in IOF strikes.

According to Gaza's Ministry of Health, more than 13'430 children have now been killed by the occupation army, while the IOF have also murdered 8'900 women, and killed 364 medical personnel.

The Zionist forces have also kidnapped an additional 269 paramedics, destroyed 155 medical facilities, knocked 32 hospitals out of service, and bombed or destroyed another 126 ambulances.

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#infographicsource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

#gaza #gaza strip #gaza news #gaza war #gaza genocide #genocide in gaza #israeli genocide #genocide of palestinians #genocide #war #israel palestine conflict #palestine #palestine news #palestinians #israeli occupation #israeli occupation forces #israeli war crimes #war crimes #crimes against humanity #war on gaza #middle east #politics #news #geopolitics #world news #global news #international news #israel #breaking news #current events