#but yeah it's complicated because it's a project that is very much... not at the forefront of my mind anymore

[rawliverandcigarettes]

Ok gang!!!

It's been a while, and I think it's time to come clear about a plan I used to have, and how I am very unsure about whether or not it's worth doing.

I technically have the first chapter of The Empire of Preys ready to go. I have basically only that. I did plan to release it on the birthday of Halfway Home's last released chapter, but the truth is: it's happening smack in the middle of an incredibly busy time for me, so I have basically nothing ready as far as promotional material goes.

Also, and it was my plan for a little while, I don't think I can sustain the one chapter per week release schedule I once had with Halfway Home --and I had to come to terms with the fact that I do not have it in me to polish that story nearly as much as I did Halfway Home. I still love it, I still want it out... but I think I'll take it much slower and at a more regular "fanfic" pace for me than what I did with HH. The story of TEoP is not completed yet. I am not completely sure on how to go about certain PoV characters. But, I feel like I can't wait for a "perfect" version like I did with HH, or I will never release this story.

So, while I'm not sure whether or not I'll actually post the first chapter on the 20th of April, I will try to begin posting it relatively soon, and make no promises on when the next one will come out.

I have, however, character portraits in the work! It's coming!! At some point!! Maybe this week if I can finish my work by then!!

Anyway, I hope you are all doing fine, and stuff is doing good, and all of the things. <3

[mainfaggot]

just watched challengers at the cinema w my little sister. it was so intense wtf

[arolesbianism]

Y'know there already is such a nonexistent market for oni art in general so the fact that I wanna draw more au art is killing me. Like I draw for fun and don't need notes to be happy with a piece but also I need ppl to view my art and be curious and ask questions because while I may not desperately need approval I do desperately need excuses to gush abt the things I like

[demieyesore]

would you do a fwb!theo x fem!reader?

Just “Friends” - Theodore Nott

Summary - Theo and you are friends with benefits and slowly everyone in your friend group is noticing

Warnings / Mentions - Slytherin!Reader, AFAB!Reader, GN!Reader, SMUT, Theo is a little bit of a munch, Sub!Theo undertones but he’s still the dom, he’s just very vocal and whimpers😭, P in V, unfortunately no protection so yeah wrap it before you tap it, hopefully Reader isn’t pregnant 💀

A/n - Okay so I just realized that I accidentally did GN!Reader 😭 because I didn’t use she/her, I just said “you” the whole time but the reader is still AFAB so hopefully that works for you😭🙏

Requested - Yes

POV - 3rd

Word Count - 1597

At first, it was just a physical outlet for both of you. But as time went on, you found yourself growing closer to the Italian boy. He was more than just a handsome face and good with his hands. He was intelligent, witty, and shared your love for mischief.

You both knew that your arrangement was just for fun and didn't want to complicate things by adding feelings into the mix. So, you kept your arrangement a secret from your friends. You would sneak off at parties to find him. Meet outside the school grounds. Find closets or the closest bathroom. You both did anything to make sure that you weren’t hooking up in the dorm rooms. Theodore’s roommate was Enzo Berkshire. While he probably wouldn’t say anything, it was just for the better that he never found out. Your dorm was out of limits because your dorm mate was known to be the biggest snitch in the Slytherin house.

But as the weeks went by, slowly turning to months ; your friends started to notice the subtle changes in your relationship with Theodore. They noticed how you would always sit next to each other in class, how you would always seem to be in sync during group projects, and how you would always choose each other as partners for activities.

At first, they shrugged it off as just a close friendship. But as they continued to observe, they couldn't help but wonder if there was something more going on between the two of you.

One day, during a study session in the library, your friend Pansy brought up her suspicions.

"I couldn't help but notice how cozy you two have been lately," she said, raising an eyebrow at you and Theodore.

You felt your cheeks heat up as you tried to come up with a plausible explanation. But before you could say anything, Theodore spoke up.

"We're just friends, Pans. Nothing more," he said smoothly, giving you a reassuring smile.

But as the days went on, your friends continued to notice the little things. How Theodore would always brush a strand of hair behind your ear, how he would always be the first one to offer you a seat, and how he would always have a protective arm around you.

Then they began noticing when you would both slip off during a party.

Draco and Mattheo were utterly convinced something had to be going on while Blaise and Lorenzo brushed it off entirely. Pansy on the other hand didn’t seem to care too much about the situation besides being curious.

But due to the nature of Draco and Mattheo, they just HAD to figure it out. They were too stubborn to let it off the hook. So they planned a new party. They made sure it would take place in the Slytherin’s domain because they knew every possible place they could wander off to.

The night of the party, you and your dorm mate got ready. She was a lovely girl, besides not knowing how to keep her mouth shut. You had put on a dress that clung to your curves. It absolutely flattered you just from how it was designed. The color choice looked absolutely perfect with your skin and hair. Honestly, you never felt better than this.

You always loved getting dressed up for parties. It was just the party part that you didn’t quite care for. But you still decided to go, knowing that you and Nott would most definitely find a quiet place.

Once at the party, everything was good. There was drinking, loud music, and people playing different games. One of which was truth or dare. You, Theo and Blaise were the only ones in your group that weren’t playing.

You tapped on Blaise’s shoulder, him turning to look at you and leaning in so he could hear you over the music. You made gestures with your hands as you spoke. “Hey, I’m gonna head to the bathroom!” Blaise held up a thumb to show his acknowledgment before you stumbled away.

Around 5 minutes later Theo came and found you at the bathroom. But not the regular bathroom, it was the prefect’s bathroom. Which not many people had access to.

As soon as Theo entered the bathroom, the kissing session started. His hands roamed over your body before settling on having one hand on your hip and the other on the small of your back. His hand placement made sure to keep you against him as the kiss got more heated.

Little noises escaped from the both of you. Your hands snaked up from their resting spot on his neck and to his hair. You deepened the kiss as you messed with a few of his hair strands.

Theo switched the position you were in, pinning you against the wall as he moved the kiss from your lips down to your jaw. Then from your jaw, to your neck and slowly made his way down. Theo knelt on the floor in front of you, staring up at you with dead eyes as he rolled the bottom of your dress up to your hips.

Your hands were still in his hair when he pulled down your underwear. He held onto your thighs and slowly started massaging at them. His mouth closed in on your cunt, running his tongue across your slit. Your breath caught in your throat.

The Slytherin boy immediately noticed and chuckled into your core, sending small vibrations throughout you. Your fingers tightened around his hair, pulling yet another sound from his mouth.

At this point he was beginning to make out with your heat. His tongue would flick over your clit and small kisses were placed all over you.

You could feel yourself tightening up and you tensed, “Theo-“ “I know..it’s okay.” He cut you off ; Giving you permission to release onto his tongue.

And you did just that, letting go and cumming into his mouth. Your back pressed closer against the wall as you tried not to shake too much. Once you came down from the orgasm he stood back up, making sure to hold onto you in case you lost your balance.

One of your hands was now placed on his chest while the other one kept you steady by placing it on his bicep. He took this chance to undo his belt buckle and free himself from the restrictive pants. His dick was hard and leaking in pre-cum. He made eye contact with you as he spit on his cock and stroked himself a couple of times. Lubricating himself so he could easily slide into you.

He grabbed one of your thighs and guided you to lift your leg up, you followed the nonverbal instructions and found yourself with your legs around his waist. Now being held up in the air against the bathroom wall.

His dick slid into you so effortlessly but he was still big. When your mind remembered how large he was, you subconsciously contracted around him. A deep moan drawing from his mouth as his head threw back. His eyes were shut as he fucked up into you. His mouth open as he was a very vocal man.

You on the other hand, tended to go nonverbal from the stimulation and instead buried your face into the crook of his neck. He was now holding you up by himself without the aid of the wall so he turned and let his back hit the hard surface.

Loud slaps and the Slytherin boy’s moans could be heard from the whole room. He was keeping up a good pace and began muttering more to himself than to you.

Talking himself through it which was low enough for you to still hear. “Gods-“ He moaned. “Oh fuck, I need you.” He slowly was begging for a release. His moans turned into whimpers and whines.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whimpered out, his hold on you getting tighter. “Mmm- I love your pussy. Holy shit-“ He groaned out. He sped up his thrusts and you were both almost there.

“Oh- please- please please…” He begged out, chasing his own orgasm ; which seemed to have worked when he was no longer coherent enough to speak words, just whimpering and moaning at the feeling. You came for a second time and the pulse from your cunt triggered his own orgasm.

With one last thrust into you he came as you bit down on his shoulder. Feeling so much that you just had to do something to calm the sensation. Theo groaned as you bit down on him, one of his hands reaching up to cradle your head against him. “Mi fai impazzire.” (You make me crazy.)

After a couple of minutes you both calm down and get fixed up. Some of your hair is sticking to your face and his tie is all sorts of messed up. You turn to open the door as Theo is fixing his tie only to see Mattheo on the other side of the door.

He grins up at you before glancing to Theo’s undone tie and mess of hair.

“And you say you’re just friends?”

[lovelettersforthedamned]

You Are Such A Distraction

--genre + trope: FLUFF omg, sfw

--pairing: tasm!peter parker x gn!reader

--word count: 0.6k

--summary: you can't help that you're boyfriend, peter, is just so deliciously cute when he works.

--warnings: kissing, so much fluff, teasing.

--gif credits: @peterparkcr

There was nothing like seeing Peter work on something he’s passionate about. You’re sure you could sit on the couch for a lifetime if it meant watching his hands meticulously work on his craft. Sure, it’s not knitting or building a puzzle, but it was far more complicated than that. Mixing different chemicals into a glass, he sticks his tongue out as he quickly studies his notes one more time. He’s made web fluid hundreds of times, but he still looks at the notes he’s had since high school. 

You just couldn’t stop staring at him, it’s the way his shoulder muscles move as he lifts his arm, his laser-sharp focus, and especially the way his hands are moving to create the thing that saves so many lives every night. You must’ve zoned out a little bit because you completely missed the movement of Peter looking over at you. His voice startles you a little as he begins to speak, “Watcha lookin’ at, bug?”

Your eyes quickly meet his as you feel a warmth spread to your cheeks, “Oh! Uh-nothing. You’re just…a little distracting.”

His hands stop moving as he hears your confession. You become much more entertaining than his web fluid, completely disregarding his current project to walk towards you on the loveseat. “You think I’m distracting?” he teases. 

You can’t say anything, your voice is suddenly useless.

“Tell me more,” he adds.

You clear your throat before continuing, “You know.” You didn’t want to tell him still, too embarrassed that you were caught ogling your boyfriend. 

“No,” he continues to tease, “I don’t actually. Tell me.”

Still flustered, you rise from the couch with a grin on your face, trying to escape the situation entirely. As you stand, you feel a warm hand grab yours. You turn to face Peter’s sickly sweet doe eyes. “Hey, wait,” he kisses the top of your hand, “what’s on your mind, bug?”

Guiding you back to sit close to him, you finally speak your mind, “I’m just…You’re just so cute when you work.” 

A cocky smile finds its way onto Peter’s features, “Aw, you think I’m cute?” 

His face is suddenly very close to yours as he tries to rub it in. Pushing his face away you look at him, “Yeah, you’re annoying too.”

“Woah! I thought I was cute,” he looks at you offended, “What happened to that?”

A giggle leaves you as you lift your hand to hold the side of his face. Peter leans in as he expects a kiss, to which he is quickly interrupted by your voice, “Oh, you are, don’t worry,” you start, “you’re annoying too, bug.”

He leans back with one sharp motion. A pained look twists his face as he brings his hand to his chest as if you’ve actually hurt him, “Ouch! That was pretty low.”

“Mhm, sure it did,” you respond sarcastically, pulling him in for the kiss he’s been aching for this entire time. It’s sweet, but incredibly short as Peter pulls away abruptly.

“I thought I was annoying?” a smug expression written on his face, still within inches of yours.

Your eyes are still focused on his lips, clearly yearning for his touch, “Shhhhh.”

Pulling him back in for another kiss, he finally complies, giving into your touch to kiss you properly this time. 

--this is just something sweet, because it's only wednesday and im so tired already. my ask/inbox is open...so send me some ideas for future fics, or if you just wanna talk i'm all ears! please support your writers by liking, commenting, and reblogging!!!! ok, bye ily <333.

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 琅琊榜/Nirvana in Fire.

Nirvana in Fire is a 2015 historical series best described as either a complicated succession drama set in the premodern Chinese imperial palace, or the story of a man who didn't die a decade ago and has decided to make it everyone else's problem.

And really, I almost feel silly giving my glib little summary, because Nirvana in Fire is so well-known of a property. It's a classic for a reason, and that reason is that it's legitimately very good. This show is what happens when you adapt a solid story, get a bunch of very talented actors, and throw a huge amount of money at it. It's incredibly popular and highly acclaimed, and it earned all of the hype.

Still, while I bet there are few people adjacent to c-drama stuff who've never heard of Nirvana in Fire, I'm sure there are plenty who haven't watched it. After all, it looks like one of those slow, serious shows with a lot of ponderous talking and no joy. If that's the impression you've been given, I could imagine looking at the 54-episode commitment and saying, I don't need that in my life.

I am here to tell you you're wrong. It is a banger of a show. It's tense. It's funny. It's heartbreaking. It’s exceptionally clever. It’s jaw-droppingly stupid. It’s romantic. It’s tragic. It has smart plots and bizarre subplots. And that's not even touching the thing with the yeti.

So in case you're one of those people who's heard of Nirvana in Fire, but has put off watching it for one reason or another, I'm here with five reasons I think you should try it.

1. Epic Shit

Did you like the Lord of the Rings? More specifically, did you really like the second Peter Jackson film? Great, then you're all set for this.

I guess I could have called this Game of Thrones without the dragons, but that's not actually the vibe at all. Game of Thrones is much more sensational and salacious, with all the blood and butts and what-not. The Tolkien comparison is more apt, I think, because Nirvana in Fire is equally about as wholesome as you can get in a property where dudes are still getting stabbed all the time.

This is a show about vengeance. And yeah, justice for the fallen, sure, that's fine too. But mostly it's about a bunch of good people joining forces to make sure the bastards who did wrong pay, with their lives as necesary.

The problem, though, is that these bastards are incredibly powerful, which means that a pure brute-force approach isn't going to work. Accordingly, this quickly becomes a story about the power of smart teamwork to exact retribution on some people who can (and did!) legally get away with murder -- and our heroes are some of the people with their necks most on the line if anything goes wrong.

Don't let the Middle Earth comparison fool you into thinking this is all epic swordfights. It's not. (I mean, for one thing, as well-funded as this project is, it doesn't have Peter Jackson Money.) The vast majority of the tension in the show comes from dialogue and slow, terrible realizations. The fight scenes are almost a relief from the nail-biting intensity of intimate conversations about getting a letter from somebody's ex-wife or returning a book.

All told, the show has that incredible almost-RPG vibe of going through all the little subquests and cutscenes you find along the way to defeat the final boss. The plot carefully unravels a multi-tendriled mystery told to you by people in incredible costumes. It doesn't get much more epic than that.

(Nirvana in Fire is also a cautionary tale about how you should be very careful with who gets invited to your birthday party.)

2. A chronically ill protagonist

Okay, right in the first episode, it is established that the main character has three whole completely different names and an old nickname. I'm going to call him Mei Changsu for the duration of this rec post, but let the record show that I could just have easily gone with one of the other three.

What you learn in that same first episode is that Mei Changsu used to be a palace insider, the cocky son of a noble family, only now nearly everyone he used to know thinks he's dead. Also, he's not far off from being actually dead -- he has an unspecified terminal condition that's mostly managed, provided he stays in his little mountain hideaway with his handsome doctor bestie and doesn't return to his old stomping ground and start kicking over hornets' nests.

So guess what he's about to do.

I have to make a note of how brilliant the casting is here: Hu Ge is an action actor! He is a kickpuncher of a man! And I think it's great that you can sort of see his frustration, as well as Mei Changsu's, at having to spend the whole series wrapped in countless layers of fabric and/or lying in bed while everyone around him gets to be the badass action heroes.

Mei Changsu's not faking it, either -- he's actually dying. He expends his energy where he thinks it's necessary, and sometimes that means he has to spend the following week in bed. He's constantly frustrated with himself for what he can't do anymore. He's racing a clock, and that clock is his own failing body. If he dies, the only hope anyone here has for justice dies with him.

He gets two love interests that the show treats pretty much equally. One's a lady general who wasn't even a love interest in the book. The other's the handsome prince who was initially going to be his textual romantic partner in same book, until the author hopped genres from danmei to general historical drama. I can't even call this a love triangle, because there's no competition. He just gets a wife and a husband -- in that he gets neither, because circumstances and his own illness keep him distant from them. He lies to both of then about his condition (among other things). He wants to be with them both and knows he can't be with either. And they in turn have to learn to accept what of him they can and can't have.

(Also, Nihuang (her) and Jingyan (him) are both incredibly gorgeous, which is exactly what bisexual genius Mei Changsu deserves.)

Obviously this isn't a perfect representation of life with chronic illness, largely because Mei Changsu is an incredily wealthy man who lives in a universe with what's basically magic medicine. However, I've seen the story's treatment of him and his condition resonate with a lot of chronically ill viewers, so even with the fantasy layer on it, there's definitely something there.

3. Dave

I have already told the story of how Meng Zhi became "Dave," but long story short, he's such a Dave that I legitimately forget his character's real name. He embodies Daveness. He's The Ultimate Dave.

Dave is an excellent fighter, a loyal friend -- and a terrible liar. He's possbly the only straightforward character in the entire show. When he's asked to be duplicitous, he's comically bad at it. Dave will never do a heel turn. I was misled at first by his semi-evil facial hair, but I have seen the error of my ways. Dave is pure lawful good.

And the reason I list Dave as such a selling point is that having a Dave means you always know what's going on. This is because Dave never knows what's going on, and he has no ego about that, so he asks questions, and other characters have to explain to him what just happened, and that is how you figure out what's going on.

It's an incredibly smart move on the drama's part, because some of the (very fun) schemes are so complicated that there's no way for you, the viewer, to understand them just by watching. Without the internal monologues and omniscent narration of a book, the machinations are opaque. You need things explained -- but why would the schemers explain their schemes? Well, Dave needs some exposition, so here you go.

So if you're worried that you might be left feeling stupid by a show where so many sneaky people are hatching so many complex plans, worry not! Like the good man he is, Dave has your back.

4. A Million Amazing Antagonists

If you like bad guys, this is a show for you. This show has brilliant bad guys all the way down. It has bad guys at every turn. It has bad guys for every taste. Welcome to Big Liang's Big Bad Guy Emporium, where we guarantee you'll walk out of here with a bad guy you like, or your money back!

(And yes, this set of pictures is also to say that their costume budget was entirely well-spent.)

Without getting too far into spoilers, I will say that the basic situation underlying the whole series is this: The emperor has done a lot of bad things, and he has enlisted a bunch of people's help in hiding those bad things, so much so that many of those other people have done even more bad things the emperor didn't even know about -- and then everyone has gone to great lengths to cover those up as well. Our protagonists spend the whole series unraveling this colossal shitshow and bringing people to task for their crimes.

So really, if you're going to spend 54 episodes taking down the baddies, they've got to be baddies you love to see taken down. And these are -- in part because all of them have crystal-clear, rock-solid motivations for their actions. Nobody here is a moustache-twirling comic-book-villain baddie. They're all bad for reasons that are very understandable in their individual contexts. And not a single one of them is going to go down without a fight.

5. World's Best Mom

(Sidebar: The fact that four out of five of my reasons to watch the show are individual or groups of characters should be your strongest indicator that this is an intensely character-driven story.)

This is not a Dead Mom Show. Okay, some moms are dead, but mostly this is a Moms Are Alive And Often Cause Problems Show, which is a lot of what makes the palace drama so delicious. But there is one Good Mom who stands out above all the rest: Consort Jing.

Played with perfect grace and devastating politeness by the stunning Liu Mintao, Consort Jing is a skilled doctor and excellent baker who starts the show with a low-level status among the women of the palace. She swallows down all kinds of mistreatment because she's not in a place to oppose it -- and when she can retaliate, it must only be through soft power. She loves her jock son with all her heart, but because of both their relatively poor positions in the hierarchy, she doesn't get to see him all that much. She wants to be an asset to him, while all the time she has to fear becoming a liability.

She is also the smartest person in any room that she's in, unless she's in a room with Mei Changsu, and even then it may be a tie.

There are lots of great characters in the show that I could have highlighted here, and plenty of them are women, but Consort Jing in particular never ceases to impress me. She is trapped in a gilded cage, married to a man who [lengthy list of spoilers that are traumatic to her in particular], and held hostage by how every time she even looks like she's out of line, it puts both her and her boy in danger. She's the most vulnerable of any of our good guys. Kind of like Wang Zhi, she's got to be clever or she's dead.

Consort Jing is not part of Mei Changsu's original plan. She figures out his plan and makes herself part of it -- and entirely remotely, as she and he aren't even in the same room until episode 40 or so. She puts herself in great danger to make sure he succeeds, not because it will necessarily do her any good, but because Jingyan needs him. This woman has been captain of the Mei Changsu/Jingyan ship for like twenty years already.

Oh, and did I mention her outfits?

I love you, Consort Mom.

Are you ready to watch it yet?

Get it on Viki! Get it on YouTube! Get it on YouTube but in a different playlist! (And also maybe get it on Amazon? Not in my region, but maybe in yours.)

I will warn you that it does take off running -- I think I saw someone say it introduces nineteen characters in the first episode? I was worried that I'd be too innundated by situations and flashbacks and names to be able to follow. By the second or third episode, though, I was rolling with it. So if you feel like you're struggling at the beginning, stick with it a bit. See if you don't feel it start to click.

...Man, reading over this post has left me going, oh, but I missed that! and that! and that guy! And yeah, the truth is that there are just so many great things about the show that limiting myself to only five (and being limited to only thirty images) was tough. I'm sure that people reblogging will add their own must-see elements.

Truly, this is a show that deserves its reputation. It may not be for everyone, but if this is the kind of thing that you like, it is a shining example of that thing.

Besides, you have to love a production where everyone was clearly having just a whole lot of fun being big ol' costumed dorks.

[thedreadvampy]

I mean fundamentally the thing about Israel/Palestine that makes people uncomfortable is not that "it's complicated" it's that it's extremely fundamentally morally simple, it's just difficult

there is not a morally acceptable solution that will be accepted by the expansionist Israeli government or its allies in Europe and America

the balance of power has remained basically the same since Balfour handed the country over. Israel has the power to displace and kill Palestinians without accountability because it's backed by the majority of major world powers. there's fundamentally no back and forth of power. Palestine and its people were sold from the control of the British to the control of Israel for the political convenience of a bunch of people on different continents. there's no retribution or wrestle for power. Israel has had power over Palestine for decades and Palestine, despite Palestinians occupying the land for millennia, has never had power over Israel.

the fundamentals of the situation are discomforting because Israel is in many ways the last surviving bastion of the type of turn-of-the-century colonialism which the contemporary economy of Britain, America and much of the West is rooted in.

that's why the media and political classes are so invested in the Israeli party line - not because Israel ~controls the media~ or whatever but because the fundamental existence of Israel is the interests of the British ruling class, for example. It is in the interests of the British ruling class that we accept as a basic precept that there are Civilised and Uncivilised nations, and that it is right and good and natural that the Civilised nations should be able to decide the fates of the Uncivilised nations, for their own profit, without brooking any complaint from the Uncivilised Peoples. The structure of Western capitalism requires, as well, that we accept that any number of deaths and any amount of suffering among the Uncivilised Peoples is an acceptable price to pay for the comfort of Civilised Peoples. That's why the media classes are more interested in pearl clutching that somebody slashed up a hack painting of a famously antisemitic and genocidal British lord than in the loss of swathes of priceless and irreplaceable artworks, historical relics and Human Fucking Lives in Gaza.

it isn't complicated. it's just uncomfortable because fundamentally it lays bare the basic reality of colonial capitalism, and generally we in the UK are sort of trying to pretend we're over that whole thing even though we're obviously not, politicians just try to be a bit less obvious about it. so it's discomforting to people to be faced with the rawness of Israel's open colonialism, and so those who can't or don't want to divest from Britain's own ongoing colonial endeavours end up tying themselves in knots trying to justify why it's Fine Actually.

while obviously Israel is a Zionist project so it can no more be decoupled from Judaism than the British empire is decoupled from Christianity, the conflation of Jewishness and Israel is a mostly irrelevant (and harmful) distraction from the underlying Problem With Israel, which is that it's an incredibly 19th century European style of colony in 21st century Asia, and the nature, consistency and ferocity of its colonial project has been pretty unchanged for like 3-4 generations.

but it's a very successful distraction because

a) a lot of people do actually hate Jews a whole bunch so yeah antisemitism is a genuine and legitimate fear, but it doesn't connect to the core issues of genocide, oppression and colonialism (and conflating Israel with Jewishness does play into existing antisemitic ideas of the Jewish perpetual foreigner and perpetual dual loyalty)

b) people want it to be complicated. They don't want it to be simple in a way that would create discomfort for them. We don't want to acknowledge that to free Palestine we'd have to take a hit to our own economies by not selling arms to Israel. We don't want to acknowledge that what's practiced openly in Israel is the same structure of systemic injustice underpinning almost all British and American foreign affairs, but with more of a veil over it. We don't want to challenge the underlying assumption that there are those who should rule and those who should be ruled over. But with the assertion that Israel=Jewishness, and the rewriting of history to say there's an Endless Cycle of Violence on Both Sides, Who Can Say Where It Started Really, you're off the hook! It's Complicated! Who Can Really Say?

(this Who Can Really Say thing is fascinating in itself. It's not like it's ancient history! it's been slightly over a century since the birth of the Israeli project! you can look it up! we have the news articles! we have the correspondence! this is my grandparents' generation not the distant mists of time!)

but yeah like fuck 'Israel controls the media' bullshit. It does not require a Shadowy Jewish Cabal of Puppetmasters to create mass appeasement from the media and ruling class, and if you think that's the best explanation you're fucking gross. The media and political establishment of Europe and the US are not being Controlled By The Wicked Jews. They are colonial projects. Israel is a colonial project. Their interests are aligned. It's not complicated it's So Fucking Simple. Our ruling classes, whether in Tel Aviv, Washington, Westminster or Berlin, are enthusiastically invested in the project of global apartheid. It makes them money. It maintained them power. It is in their interests to preserve the impunity of the occupying state where it shores up the civilised West vs barbarian East paradigm. It is not "too complicated" it's just huge, implacable and miserable to recognise.

[nolita-fairytale]

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | part twelve

summary: luca meets the kimura family. you and joe grieve together.

warnings: angst, grief, death, fluff, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, very little connection to the storyline of the bear.

word count: 4k

listen to: the official 'burn your life down' playlist

a/n: while this is in fact the second to last chapter, i will write more of them. teehee. but also, can we believe we only have one more chapter left?! let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist.

part eleven | masterlist | part thirteen

This is not how you pictured starting October, grieving the loss of the matriarch of the family you once called your own, while on the precipice of something new. Straddling the intersection of the old guard and the new feels more complicated than you imagined, because how does one manage to feel so full, so loved, yet consumed by so much despair all at once?

Not to mention the merging of your two worlds: your old life in London and your new one in Copenhagen.

Your new one in Copenhagen with Luca. 

The ceremony, mostly just for ritualistic purposes, considering Aiko was cremated – something only the Kimura siblings had been a part of, was held in the backyard of the Kimura. childhood home. You watch as your worlds collide, like two cars crashing into one another – something that seems inevitable, yet still manages to be equally strange, jarring, and confusing. Luca reaches across to shake Astrid’s hand, initiating the action of the merging of your two words. 

“I’m Luca. It’s nice to meet you. I’m so sorry for your loss,” he says, his voice compassionate and kind. 

“Thank you,” Astrid replies, a small smile on her face as she looks Luca in the eyes. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances but. Thank you for coming.” “‘Course.”

“It’s so good to see you,” you exhale, a sigh of relief leaving your lips as your best friend wraps you up in her arms. 

You and Luca had shown up just before the ceremony started, and hadn’t even had a chance to say hello yet. Truthfully, you weren’t sure if it’d be right, if it’d be appropriate to show any earlier, wanting to give Joe, Astrid, and Lina the time they’d need beforehand. 

“I’m so glad you were able to make it,” she says, squeezing you tighter than normal. 

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world,” you assure her, as you pull back from your embrace. “It was a beautiful ceremony.” 

“Thanks,” Astrid nods. “Think she would’ve rather liked it.” 

You take a good look at your former sister-in-law. She looks tired, sad – the kind of tired and sad you get from running the entire show, from project managing your own mother’s posthumous arrangements. 

“Thank you for coming,” Astrid repeats, her compliment genuine, before zeroing in on Luca. “The both of you.” Somehow, in the midst of her mother’s funeral, Astrid still has the energy to send you a look – that look – the kind of look that says ‘we WILL be talking about this hottie later.’ 

“Love?” Luca asks you, as you turn your head to look at him. 

“Yeah?” you ask back. 

“I’m going to head back inside,” he begins, placing a gentle touch against your low back. “Let you say hello to your friends. But please. Take your time.” 

As you open your mouth to say something, it’s as if the timing couldn’t be better (or worse, but you’ll figure out how you feel about it later), as you spot both Joe and Lina approaching. They exchange a few words quietly between each other, walking over to you, Luca, and Astrid.

Joe walks with a sureness that comes from a lifetime spent being the golden son in a family full of daughters, while Lina keeps close to his side, protectively. 

“Hey, thanks for coming, mate,” Joe says, immediately extending a hand in Luca’s direction. His voice is warm, friendly, yet distant, as if he’s putting on his bravest face to get through this afternoon. 

“I’m Luca. Hi,” Luca introduces himself, meeting Joe’s assuredness with his own. 

“Joe. Joe Kimura,” Joe replies, shaking the blonde’s hand. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Luca says, courteously, your hand brushing against his at your sides. Joe only nods, his lips pressed together in a polite, yet tight smile, before shifting his attention over to you.

“Joe,” you address him, a small smile on your lips as you greet your ex-husband. “It’s-, it’s good to see you.”

It’s strange really, standing next to your new boyfriend, one that brings you comfort, that makes you feel safe and loved, in a moment of sheer vulnerability and heartbreak across from your ex-husband. 

“Hey. Thanks for coming. She would’ve been so happy to see you here,” he says, something softer in his voice as he refers to his late mother. Joe pulls you into a friendly, yet strained hug before releasing you. 

“Yeah, of course,” you reply, pulling away. “I really wanted to be here.” 

He nods, watching as you take a few steps backwards, so that you’re standing side by side with Luca once more. Lina lets out a disappointed sigh before greeting you, her greeting much more tense with Luca as he introduces himself to the last member of the Kimura family he’s yet to meet. The exchange is thick with awkward tension, but there’s no animus in it, from anyone, really. You don’t talk for long – just a few exchanges back and forth as everyone meets everyone – till Luca reminds you that he’s got to go on his way to meet up with his mum. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you offer, before excusing yourself from your conversation with the Kimura siblings. 

You know this home well, pushing through the crowd of people gathered in the family home, and out the front door. You’re not surprised that so many people have shown up to celebrate the life of Aiko Kimura, the legacy she leaves behind, apparent. 

“No need to rush, love. Feel free to stick around for as long as you need,” Luca says, with patience and grace in the words he says. 

You nod, giving him a half smile as you reply, “Yeah, I will. Have fun with your mom too.” 

There’s a pause between the two of you, both of you unsure of how to fill it. There are so many things you want to say, with no idea of where to start, or how to say them. 

“This is weird, right?” you ask, chuckling as a means to break some of the tension. 

He nods, cracking a half smile of his own, “Yeah, there are other ways I’d imagined meeting your ex-husband.”

You shake your head incredulously, as you sigh. The reality of the situation would be humorous if it were under any other circumstances, really. 

“How ya holdin’ up’?” Luca asks you, checking in before he goes. 

“I’ll uh… let you know when I know,” you answer, honestly. 

He mutters something under his breath, something about understanding, as he pulls you in close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, hugging you close. 

“Thank you for coming. Thank you for being here with me,” you whisper, against his chest.

“No need to thank me, my love. I’m here for you,” he reassures you, something genuine in his voice that instills a confidence in his words. 

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

“You could stay, y’know?” you hear the voice of the youngest Kimura sibling say, causing you to turn away from the photo board that hangs in the Kimura family living room. 

“What do you mean?” you ask her. 

“Come home,” Lina says this time, much more insistent, much more desperate. “You and Joe-.”

“Lina,” you warn her, as your face falls, because you’re not sure you can let her finish that sentence. 

You feel for her, really, and you can only imagine that it’s easier for her to focus on resenting your new boyfriend than it is to feel the pain of this loss. 

Lina sighs, shaking her head, her jaw clenched, “So it’s serious then? You and… the pastry chef?”

You wait a beat before answering,

“Yeah. It is.”

She shakes her head again, this time with an eye roll as she purses her lips disapprovingly. It’s as if she’s turning a decision over in her head, opening her mouth to say something, before closing it, going back to the drawing board. 

“But he’s an Arsenal fan,” she finally scoffs, with a snort, trying her best to add a little humor to what feels like an impossible situation by nitpicking at his favorite football team.

You laugh, adding your own playful eye roll to the mix this time. 

“I never said he had great taste in football teams,” you chuckle back, earning a groan from your former sister-in-law. 

The two of you share a look, one that says, ‘I love you, you dummy,’ and you can see that she wants to say something else. You don’t know what it’ll be about this time, so you wait patiently, giving the youngest Kimura the space to get out whatever it is that’s eating her. 

“I just-. I never understood… why you and Joe… why you couldn’t work it out,” she drags out, a disappointment in her voice as she finds the words she wants to say. 

So she doesn’t want to talk about her mom. 

You sigh, accepting that fact, while racking your brain for how to explain the question that consumed you for a year after. 

“Because, Lina…” you trail off, choosing your words intentionally. “It just wasn’t-, because I don’t know if we were supposed to. I-.” You pause once more before continuing with, “Because we just… grew apart. Wanted different things. And we both deserve to go find them, even if it means it’s not with each other.” 

You watch as she takes in your answer, only just beginning to process your explanation, as a man you recognize as Uncle Kevin approaches. 

“Sorry to interrupt, ladies. Lina, will you come help me with something in the kitchen?” he asks. 

“Sure. Yeah,” she nods her head, beginning to turn away from you. 

But Lina pauses; she’s not ready to go just yet. 

“It really is good…” she says with a sure nod of her head. “... to see you. I’m glad you came.”

Lina turns once more, following her uncle into the kitchen, without a look back. You take a deep breath, because it all just feels heavy. You’ve always been close with Astrid, but your relationship with Lina was different. She was much younger when you met Joe. While you and Astrid became close friends, much closer in age, you’d always suspected that Lina had put you and your relationship with her brother on a pedestal, the reality of your assumption becoming glaringly obvious now. 

You can only imagine the divorce was something hard for her to stomach, to understand, especially with her limited life experience. You remind yourself not to take it too personally as you slip outside, making your way back into the backyard where the memorial service was held earlier that day. 

There’s another photo board outside, propped up against an easel, with an entirely different collection of photos than the one inside. You smile to yourself as your eyes savor the familial images: younger versions of the Kimura children with their mother at the beach, baby Lina with a mess of noodles all over her high chair, covered in sauce, a photo of Joe’s graduation…. You reach out to touch one of the photos – a photo of you, Aiko, and Joe together, the day of your wedding. 

You can feel the lump in your throat growing, your eyes welling with tears as you’re suddenly overcome with a deep feeling of sadness. A few tears run down your face, and you sniffle, wiping them away quickly, as soon as you hear the sound of footsteps behind you. 

“I told Lina to be nice,” Astrid grumbles, as she approaches you and the photo board. 

With a quick raise of your eyebrows, you turn to Astrid before telling her: “Lina thinks I should stay.”

“Lina is barely twenty five and I don’t quite think her brain has fully formed yet,” Astrid quips dryly, and you know she’s not entirely wrong. 

“I can only imagine this is… all pretty confusing for her,” you say, suddenly feeling a little guilty for being here in the first place. 

“She’s young. She’ll get over it,” Astrid shrugs, brushing off your concern. 

To a stranger, her response would seem cold, callous, unemotional, but you know that Astrid has had to play the role of the eldest daughter her entire life. 

She’s had to be strong for everyone her entire life. 

“She always was a hopeless romantic,” you observe, turning your attention back to the family photos. “Lina.”

Astrid nods slowly, “I think she looked up to you and Joe. Looked to the two of you and saw what love could look like.”

“Just because it ended doesn’t mean we don’t still love each other,” you offer. “It’s just… different now. We’re not… in love, but we both still care for each other. Shouldn’t that be worth something too?”

“I think she’ll understand when she’s older,” Astrid replies in an attempt to offer you some kind of comfort. 

“How’re you doing?” you ask her, the words feeling silly as soon as they leave your mouth. 

“I’m… just going to be happy when this is all over,” Astrid admits, the fatigue in her voice more evident than ever. “Dunno if I’ve even had time to be sad. Been too busy doing… all of this. Think maybe I’ll crash the minute it’s over which… is bloody scary and also… guess, it’s something I’ve been waiting for too.”

You nod in concurrence, “Well, if you do, you know you have me. Right now I’m a phone call, a hop, skip, and a week away. You know, till we go home.”

She nods, stealing a glance your way, a small smirk on her lips in response to your usage of the word, ‘we.’ 

“And then of course,” you continue, slyly, hoping to plant the idea in her head now. “You can always eat, pray, love in Copenhagen… you know… if the mood strikes you. I feel like that would be, you know, healing.”

She snorts with laughter, “Yeah, I’ve got to get out there again anyways.”

There’s a short pause between the two of you, and Astrid’s still stuck on what you said earlier. 

The ‘we’ of it all, really. 

“So Luca’s really something. Showin’ up to your new girlfriend’s ex-husband’s mum’s funeral? That takes guts,” she says, prodding you for more information on Luca. 

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t think the bloke could be even more handsome in person and yet….”

You chuckle in response.

“Yeah he’s… he’s pretty perfect,” you exhale, sitting into the feeling. 

“It’s exhausting sometimes… trying to keep up,” you joke. “Only, then he tells me that I don’t have to be perfect and I can just be myself which… is even more annoying because it’s more proof that he is.”

“Well, I like him,” Astrid adds smugly, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“Yeah?” you ask, a stark contrast between her and Lina’s reactions. 

“Yeah,” she nods, enthusiastically. Her face softens as she says what comes next. “You look well-loved. That’s why I like him.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, hesitantly. 

“You look like you’ve found your heart again,” Astrid answers. 

And as you search her face for a reaction, for truth to her statement, you can see it in her eyes that she means it. 

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

After spending a little more time with Astrid in the backyard, you decide it may be time to find Joe. You’re not sure what you’re expecting, but you think that you should prepare for almost anything. It doesn’t take long to find him inside, so you wait for the right moment, watching him accept condolences from a couple you recognize as neighbors, as they’re on their way. Your heart pounds in your chest, your nerves skyrocketing because it’s all just so… weird… as you approach. 

“Joe,” you call out to him, your voice grabbing his attention. 

He turns to you, a small smile on his face as he sees that it’s really you standing behind him. 

“Is now a good time to say hello?” you ask, trying your best to be respectful. 

“Yeah, ‘course. I-,” he begins, before pausing, looking around the room. “You want to get out of here?”

“Wh-?” you start. 

“Fancy a pint? I just don’t know if I can do this whole perfect son act for much longer,” he scoffs, a playful and mischievous tone in his voice. 

“Uh… yeah,” you agree, unable to hide the surprise in your voice. “Yeah, fuck. I could use a drink.”

You shouldn’t be surprised, really, as you follow Joe out of the house. Your brain is flooded with memories of sneaking out of the theater to go get french fries, of parties to head to another party, out of his childhood home when you were staying with Aiko during your first holiday with the Kimuras. 

There’s a pub down the street that you walk to, feeling naughty for leaving without saying goodbye, and relieved that you’re getting to escape from the bleak, depressing awkwardness that is any funeral. You remember this pub – one you and Joe used to frequent because it was only a few blocks away – when you’d moved to London. It’s a short walk and the two of you can’t get there fast enough, eager to flee the scene of grieving relatives and humorously sad music. 

You and Joe find two seats at the bar, sitting side by side as you clink the glasses of your ice cold pints. 

“Cheers,” you say. 

“Cheers,” he parrots, the both of you taking your first sips. 

“Fucking hell, I had to get out of there,” Joe exhales a huge sigh of relief. “Been at it all day. Makin’ other people feel better about my own mum’s death. I don’t know how anyone does this.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda fucked, huh?” you reply with a sigh. 

“Funerals are weird. I’ll tell you that, mate,” he agrees, lifting his glass to his lips once more. 

“This is…” you start, nervous yet bold in speaking truth to the moment. “... also weird, don’t you think?”

You watch as he thinks it over, a small smirk on his face as he agrees, “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

A beat. 

And then another. 

And you’re lifting your glass once more to your lips to take another sip of the amber liquid that brings you comfort in the moment. 

“Is it alright? That I came? That we… came?” you ask, a little more seriously now. 

Joe turns his head to you, and you can see that your consideration means a lot to him. He nods slowly as he answers:

“Yeah. I meant what I said before – that she would’ve wanted you here.” 

He pauses once more, taking another drink from his beer glass. 

“As for Luca. Well, it was bound to happen at some point or another.” You nod, your eyes fixed to the resin-sealed wooden bar top as you listen to him. “I think we both knew that this day would come… Can’t say it’s a walk in the park but… dunno if most things are supposed to be anyways.”

“Yeah I uh… I certainly feel like bambi learning how to walk for the first time on the wobbliest of legs,” you offer up, reassuring Joe that you have no idea how to navigate this either. 

“Yeah,” he sighs. 

“But,” you begin again. “We outgrew each other, yeah. Doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. About any of you.”

Joe nods slowly, because he knows you’re right. He admires you for how fearlessly you’re charging into this conversation, and wonders if it’s the new boyfriend – Luca – whose helped get you to this point. 

He can’t tell whether he wants to thank the bloke or if he’s envious, deciding that it’s probably a little bit of both. 

“Doesn’t mean we can’t have a different kind of relationship,” you add, avoiding the cringe factor of using the word friendship, even though it’s what you mean. 

Joe waits a beat, because he really would like to be friends, because he really does still care about you too. 

“So how’s life treatin’ you otherwise?” he asks, as an olive branch – a yes to letting your relationship transform into something else. 

You spend the afternoon catching up, ordering baskets on baskets of chips, and sharing what he’s missed over the past few years: that you have a restaurant now, that you’ve come around to cold brew, even though you swore you’d always hate it, all about the Mikkelson twins and how much he’d probably hate their wild streaks. In return, Joe tells you all about his new teaching job at a uni, that he’s recreationally been playing with the symphony as of late, and that he’s just taken a little break from the dating scene. It feels strange and normal all at once. While Joe feels familiar, like getting to spend time with an old piece of yourself, this rhythm and new kind of relationship that seems to be unfolding before you feels foreign, the dichotomy stretching you to opposite ends of its spectrum. It’s not something you ever saw for yourself – becoming friends with your ex-husband – but in the moment, as the pathway presents itself to you, you’re not sure you mind. 

“I miss her. So, so much,” Joe finally admits, as the conversation returns to the matriarch you both love with your whole hearts. 

“I know. I do too,” you say, reaching for his hand this time. 

He looks at you, a softness in your eyes in response to the gesture, and with a small smile, you pull your hand away. 

“I want to make a dish… for her at the restaurant. To honor her. And everything she taught me,” you finally say, almost as if it’s a declaration. 

You search Joe’s face for a reaction, his expression beginning to break as his eyes begin to water. 

“I think ehm,” he begins, his voice breaking. “I think she’d really, really like that.” 

He clears his throat, because he’s not sure he wants to cry right now. 

“You better send pictures,” he demands jokingly. “And you’ve got to make it for us, the next time you’re in town.” Joe pauses once more, as if he wants to make it crystal clear what he really means when he adds:

“You and Luca.”

Your heart swells and breaks all at once, in response to Joe’s blessing, because it means so much and so many things. 

“Yeah. I-. We will. I promise,” you agree, your voice caught in your throat. 

Joe nods once more, a finite kind of motion as he straightens up in his chair. 

“C’mon. Think we should head back.”

And as you walk with Joe, it’s as if you both take your time, no longer in a hurry to get back to the Kimura family home as quickly as possible. There’s a weight with each step that contributes to the slower pace, and it’s hard to ignore the deep sadness that’s taken root inside of you. On one hand, it’s been a long, heavy day of grieving the loss of the Kimura matriarch – a woman who taught you how to cook, who loved you as her own, who poured every fiber of her being into building a family that knew they were loved. On the other hand, as you stand across from Joe on the street he grew up on, giving each other one more goodbye hug that lasts longer than the previous, this moment feels monumental. 

Somehow, you feel the shift, the changes between you and Joe, even deeper than the day you signed your divorce papers. You’ve moved on and so has he in his own way, and you know that as you turn to go, you’re only just beginning a new chapter with him. 

And with Luca, because it feels even more real now, more than ever.

The magnitude of it all hits you, as you straddle this ending and your new beginning. 

 It all feels very grown-up – very adult – and you can feel the pieces of you that you’ll leave behind as you do ‘said growing up,’ fall by the wayside.

“Goodbye, Joe,” you say, one last time as you try your best not to let your voice shake. 

“Take care, darling,” he says back, releasing you. 

And when you turn to go, all you can do is cry, grieving these endings, new beginnings, and the parts of you that you must leave behind.

[felassan]

Some DA facts collected together, from recent tweets -

GhilDirthalen: "the frostbite engine didn’t do ending slides, so the slides you see in DAI are actually paintings that quickly spawn in your bed room. You can zoom out during the end with fly cam" John Epler: "i remember when we were trying to do these and we're like 'hey can we display still images' and the answer was 'uhh it's a lot more complicated than you think' so this was the solution. i set up all the cameras, and I THINK level design handled all the scripting logic" JE: "anyways videogames are basically held together by magic and hope and it's a legitimate miracle anytime one gets finished"

JE: "When you 'sprint' on a horse in DAI it doesn't really do much because frostbite couldn't stream in levels fast enough, so we just added speed lines and changed the camera so it felt faster. JE: "i've carried the guilt of this for years. guilt is an ocean, and i'm tired of drowning." "feels like I just murdered Santa Claus in front of many of you" [source], "feels like i just declassified Area 51" [source]. "i'm just glad the truth is finally out there" [source] Seb Hanlon: "ME1 did it first" JE: "just to be SUPER clear, riding a horse is faster than being on-foot, but the difference between normal horse run and horse 'sprint' is non-existent except for making it look faster". "the base horse speed is faster than unhorsed run speed, but horse sprint doesn’t move you faster than normal horse speed" [source] JE: "there were three days on that project where my entire job was ‘try to make horse sprint feel faster’" User: "I swear to god John I knew it, I fucking knew it, none of the mounts have different speeds, either?" JE: "i actually don't know the answer to that one, i just set up the gameplay cameras and did what what i was told." Seb: "but they have different sounds /screams in Red Hart" JE: "no one believed that's what a Red Hart really sounds like but they are fucked up animals."

Seb: "The save system in DAI loads with all doors in the area closed. This is a problem if there’s a door between you and a party member when the save happens, because they can’t open doors. If they can’t path to you, they get teleported to join you before the fade-up from black." Seb: "This “system” was rigged entirely in Frostbite Schematic logic quite late in development once we realized it was a problem." JE: "i vaguely remember that the first time we really saw this problem was when we were putting together the Redcliffe demo for... whatever event we showed Redcliffe at." Seb: "Yeah I think that was the map I tested the teleport-fallback in. Dorian was there in those saves for sure?" JE: "yeah 100%. it was when you first end up in the future and you're fighting your way to the locked-up followers. i think we were playing it in Hanged Man or Neverwinter and we discovered 'oh shit our followers can't get to you'"

Seb: "Zither’s first-pass ability icons originally echoed a broad swath of iconic album art. The UI art team made me so happy. Why didn’t it ship? Ain’t nobody chasing down those IP clearances for an April Fools DLC."

JE: "in DA2 Mark of the Assassin, if you let Baron Arlange live after the first encounter with him, he shows up very deep in the background of several scenes, creeping on Hawke and the party around stalagmites and around corners." "no one asked for this but i put it in as a little treat because i thought it was very funny. i still do. oh the scene where you get captured in the vault by Prosper and his guards, that's the same 5 (6?) guards just cycled through multiple times." [source, two]

JE: "i've told this story before but the reason Iron Bull's romance scene takes place in a separate tower is because the mocap for everyone walking in on you assumed that there was a doorway, and the player's bedroom ended up having stairs. so we moved the scene to the Sex Tower"

Seb: "DAI: To enable party followers’ AI to use their defensive abilities (dodge/block/parries), enemies spawn a “telegraph volume” as part of their ability wind-ups. This tells the party AI what kind of reaction it can use to counter (if it’s not on cooldown and it can branch in time)." "“Parry” telegraphs are the ‘weakest’ (can activate block, dodge, or parry abilities); “dodge” telegraphs are the ‘strongest’ (dodge or get fucked). There’s an all-abilities AI cooldown on these responses; before this was added, I saw Cass perfect block for minutes at a time." [source]

Seb: "the Qunari Ashaad in Trespasser is the only combat creature I personally implemented; and the only one intentionally plays both ranged and melee. and it was great fun watching play-testers climb a ladder to close and shut down his range attack—and get kicked off by the sweep"

Seb: "I’m still personally pleased that the Red Templar faction in DAI has such a strong overarching principle: “power corrupts”. The more elite the creature, the less human they are."

Seb: "Both the Children in DAO Awakening and the Harvester in DAO hide their extra body parts *inside* their torso mesh before they appear."

Seb: "Varric in DA2 is the most specialest snowflake; he’s not like any other dwarf because his rig includes all the Bianca animation bones."

Seb: "DAI’s Emerald Graves was the map where we hammered out the conceptual balance of using abilities based on the enemy composition and position."

Seb: "There’s an animation-driven movement mode in DAI that’s only used by a handful of large creatures; the dragon and the Red Templar Behemoth are the ones I remember."

Seb: "“making two combat creatures at melee range face, and not slide past, each other when they’re playing attack animations” took a surprising amount of problem solving on DAI; most of the basic-attack animations have both moving and standing variations for this reason."

Seb: "30 seconds of good combat gameplay takes more-or-less the same development effort as 10 minutes of good combat gameplay. Which is more than you’d think. IYKYK."

Seb: "The original concept for the Grand Fear Demon at the end of DAI’s Fade was a “level boss” - instead of a single big combat creature (like a dragon), the idea was it was so big it would attack out of the darkness with “limbs” (creatures) that shared a health pool. Cut for scope."

Seb: "The core combat ability animation/effects/branching system in DAI is called “CSM”, for “combat state machine”. It’s the third generation spiritual successor to the first system called CSM that I worked on, built for a project called Revolver…"

Seb: "The “impassable” purple fire zones in Trespasser were a tremendous pain in the ass, because both: - making them do enough damage fast enough to be a lock-and-key for invincibility powers as intended - keeping party members from following you in and getting bug-zappered" User: "I hate to tell you this but my first time through, I was determined to get through and I did not know that invincibility powers were literally down the stairs so I spent 10 minutes and eventually managed to get through with some mage shenanigans" Seb: "by the time we got to trespasser there were so many abilities you MIGHT have that MIGHT JUST get you through that we gave it our best shot and said “good enough”" User: "I died at that thing SO MANY TIMES until I realized there was an invincibility boost, lol" Seb: "clearly signaling “THIS IS A THING YOU WILL DO LATER” without saying it, especially if it’s a mechanical systems thing, can be surprisingly difficult"

Seb: "during development on DAI someone made a staff that, when used (hit the ground with the butt animation) spawned a bunch of nugs that ran off in all directions. for checking pathmesh bounds, obvs"

[agoddamn]

@cardinalgoldenbrow not quite. Something else fell into Duviri.

Not a whole person, but a piece so significant and meaningful that it kicked off the entire paradox meltdown sequence.

The Lotus's hand.

The Lotus had enough conceptual weight to her to give the Drifter the power of the Void, a power the Lotus herself never even had. She is so strongly connected to the Tenno that she connects the Drifter to them by way of her own hand.

Why, then, wouldn't that be conceptually powerful enough to birth a denizen of Duviri?

Gender? Means nothing. Thrax is male and can be spawned from a female Drifter all the same.

Timeline? Duviri experiences time in a way that isn't linear to the Origin System. We already know this thanks to Teshin having been living in Duviri a long time by the time the Lotus's hand lands even though they fell at about the same time.

Let's look at the major beats here.

First, why is Ballas the Warden to Kullervo? "Because he's an Orokin, he's a ruler, the Drifter saw his portraits as a child!" Yeah, plausible, but by that logic Tuvul should be the Warden. Tuvul drove much of the Zariman project. His statues are all over it. The Commons are even named for him. If the Drifter were unconsciously reaching for any authority figure, it should have been Tuvul.

Speaking of authority figures, Executors don't rule Duviri. A king does. Kullervo's texts talk explicitly about Executors and other things about the Origin System in a way that doesn't match Duviri's canon. Why import Ballas as an authority figure and then demote him to Warden all while acknowledging that he ought to be an Executor?

Let's read Kullervo's story.

Hated Kullervo, did you truly believe he could love you? 

Oh, huh. Kullervo was in love with an Executor. One of the Seven. That's--rare. Who would love one of those assholes?

Kullervo's criminal trajectory is most strange. He was in love with an Executor, killed an Orokin to prove it, obeyed a direct Orokin order (why does an authority figure call this a crime?), killed someone like a mother to him--an Archimedean he was trying to rescue from Orokin custody, odd detail there--then attacked the Orokin again, then orchestrated the Night of the Naga Drums.

Man's got loyalties like a ping-pong ball, huh? Why?

The children's rhymes tell a rather different story.

An enslaved warrior torn from his mother. He was born to fight, eventually learned a truth of his birth, saw his home lost. He bursts into a rage, murders, and then kills himself.

This is much much much more straightforward. You'll notice that the children's rhymes don't mention Origin System concepts like Executors, either. Nothing about love.

Why all the complication?

Two distinct narratives, both tossing in details that beg for more elaboration. Why do this, as a writer? Why spend the voice actors' time like this?

I can only think it was done on purpose.

Two different stories, two different readings on the same person. One from Ballas, one from children.

(Huh. They say Kullervo is a friend to children, don't they?)

The Lotus lived very different lives from the perspectives of Ballas versus her Tenno.

Natah was born to war, a mimic spy with a purpose. She left her family--not by choice--and killed her fellow Sentients as the Lotus; a betrayer. She then orchestrated the Night of the Naga Drums; a betrayer twice over, the mother of a bloodbath.

Ballas sees her as a betrayer, someone who loved him and threw him away.

We see beats of Margulis's story here, too--an Archimedean that was like a mother, killed in a struggle that wouldn't have existed if not for the choice of resistance.

Kullervo isn't literally the Lotus, but I believe that he was conceptually born from her.

His stories contain the major beats of her life, only slightly twisted by perspective. Those details are so specific--in love with an Executor? Betrayed their own kind, and then their 'ruler'? A mother figure (so specific! Why not just have her as his mother?) who was an Archimedean, killed because of resisting the authority that ruled them both?

Kullervo is made up of her pieces, like a collage.

I believe that Ballas's presence and the sudden mention of Executors when that doesn't match the rest of Duviri are supposed to be clues to us that something from the Origin System has leaked in to birth Kullervo, that he is not simply an independent figure that existed in the past. When Teshin and Albrecht rolled into Duviri, they did simply that--they entered Duviri and adopted its ways while they lived there. They didn't come with an entire chapter of a story that isn't from the Duviri Tales.

Another point to Kullervo being born from Duviri is that he is treated like he exists in Duviri. Nobody says that he suddenly appeared like Albrecht or Teshin. Acrithis talks about him as if he's a part of the story. They all know his history. It's only the Warden who relates such a different history.

I think that the name Kullervo probably did exist as some minor character in the original Duviri Tales. The Drifter's subconscious applied this to the tangle of trauma that the Lotus conceptually exists as.

tl;dr Kullervotus

[pensat-i-fet]

Not important enough (Rúben Dias x Reader)

**Another request I got a couple of weeks ago that really intrigued me when I first read it and I finally got what I thought was the right idea for it. I hope you enjoy a bit of angst and fluff on this lovely Sunday afternoon ❤️**

Word count: 2753

Masterlist

Wattpad

Your eyes hurt from staring at the laptop’s screen for too long so you took your glasses off to massage the inner corner of your eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure building near the bridge of your nose.

“Take a break”, said Rúben but you shook your head while keeping your eyes closed. “Come on, don’t be stubborn. You won’t be able to work properly while your eyes are teary from how tired they are”.

“Are you the doctor now?”

“Yes, it’s Dr Dias’ advice to take a break”.

You chuckled seeing his serious face. He was definitely not a doctor but he was right. So you got up and walked to the kitchen to make a cup of tea that could help you wake up a little.

“I could make it for you”, offered your boyfriend.

“I appreciate it but you never get the milk ratio right. And you always forget the honey”.

His pouty face made you laugh again and you got up on your tiptoes to peck his lips.

“I still love you despite your inability to make good tea”.

“It’s just you being too complicated”.

“I prefer high maintenance. Sounds more expensive”.

Even though Rúben couldn’t make tea, he was very good at getting your favourite biscuits so you could have them with your cuppa.

“Thank you. I can’t even remember when I last ate”.

“You’re working too hard”.

“Well, this project won’t finish itself, sadly. But it’s almost done. And then we enjoy showing it off to the world”.

Rúben moved closer to wrap his arms around your waist. “Everyone will see how smart you are and I’ll have to fight them all off. As if being pretty wasn’t enough for you. No, you had to be a genius too”.

Laughing at his joke, you turned to face him. “Well, when they see you by my side, they’ll know to keep their distance”.

“See me?”

“Yeah, you’re coming to the presentation, right?”

“Why would I? I’m not a doctor”.

“I’m not a football player and I go to your matches”, you said, removing his arms from around your body.

“It’s not the same, you understand football and can enjoy it. What am I supposed to do at that presentation? I won’t get anything you all say. I’m a dummy”, he tried to joke but you weren’t in the mood for jokes.

“It’s not about understanding it, Rúben. It’s about supporting me like I support you”.

Grabbing your cup, you went back to your desk. You were fuming but didn’t want to argue more. You were exhausted from all the hard work your boyfriend didn’t even care about.

“Of course I support you. I spent the last week worried about you working too much, trying to get you to take breaks, worried about your health…”.

“Sorry to be such an inconvenience to you”.

“That’s not what I meant. I like being worried”, he groaned, realising he just kept saying the wrong thing. “I don’t like being worried but I like looking after you. I don’t mind. I just…”.

“You look after me for weeks but can’t spend two hours sitting on some comfortable chairs listening to me talk about something I’ve worked on for months”.

“I told you, I won’t understand a thing so it’d be boring for me…”.

“Boring? You think I enjoy seeing 6-0 wins against Nottingham Forest?”

“You’re missing my point”.

“I’m not missing any points, Rúben. I see this very clearly. I'm not important enough for you to make a small effort”.

He flinched at your tone. You didn’t raise your voice but he could hear the hurt you felt in every word.

"It's like you only care about my career because it makes you look good".

“What? What does that even mean?”

"Every video you do, every interview is the same. Look at me. I'm so smart and I date someone smart. I'm not going out with bimbos like all the others".

“That’s not what I’m doing”.

“You might not notice but it is. It seems to me that you talk more about my career with others than you do with me”.

"Is that how you feel?"

"Yes, sometimes it is. Right now, for example".

“I never meant to make you feel like that”, he says, his voice so low you could barely hear him.

“Yeah, well…but thank you for giving me an excuse to not go to your matches. I also find them very boring. But I’ll make sure to tell everyone I’m dating a footballer just to show off”.

Rúben was hurt by your words but cared more about how he had been hurting you by doing something he wasn’t even aware of, so he just left you to keep working. When you were angry, you needed time to cool down. So he would give you time.

But by the time he was getting ready for bed, you were still working and he didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would try to get you to stop working so you could rest. But now he feared another argument happening so he didn’t say anything.

The following morning, Rúben woke up and found your side of the bed was empty and it looked like you hadn’t slept there. That really worried him. He knew you were capable of staying up all night working. You told him about all the times you did that in uni during exams.

But you weren’t working. You were asleep… on the sofa. He shook his head, noticing your bad posture. Now you’d be angry at him and in pain. Great.

“Wake up”, he said gently, caressing your face.

“No”.

“If you want to sleep, you need to go to bed. Your back will kill you later for sleeping here”.

You finally turned to face him and he noticed the way you looked at him. No longer angry, but still hurt.

“What do I need to do so you forgive me? Name it and I will”.

“Too late to pretend you care, Rúben”, you said, getting up and going to your bed.

He followed you, but when he saw you cover your head with the blankets, he let you rest. There will be time to talk later.

                                       **

Bernardo worried seeing how weird his friend was behaving since he got to the training centre. He didn’t push him around once, so there was something wrong for sure.

“What’s going on?”, he asked, sitting next to Rúben, who had been staring at his phone for a while.

“Huh?”

“You’re acting weird. Everything alright?”

“Sure, other than the fact that my girlfriend doesn’t even want to speak to me because I’m an idiot”.

“What did you do?”

“She’s been working on this huge project for months and has to do a presentation next week”, he said, and Bernardo kept nodding to show he was listening. “And she thought I would go to the presentation but I didn’t expect her to invite me. I mean, that’s for doctors and such. I’m not smart enough to be there. So she got angry at me for not supporting her”.

“She’s got a point”.

Rúben sighed. “I know she does. But that’s not the worst thing. She thinks I only care about her career because it makes me look good to date a doctor. But that’s not true”.

“So”, said Bernardo, looking at Rúben’s phone. “Your solution to that is buying flowers? Really?”

Rúben locked his phone, annoyed at his inability to fix this. “It’s a start. She likes flowers”.

“I think what you two need to do is talk”.

Rúben knew his friend was right but still bought a bouquet of flowers on his way home. It couldn’t hurt, right?

“Hello?”

No response. Maybe you were out. That’d actually be good because you need the fresh air.

“Hi”, you said, taking your laptop from the kitchen to go back to your desk.

“You don’t need to hide from me”.

“I need silence to work. And are those for me?”

“Yes, I just thought it could cheer you up to see some fresh flowers. I got your favourites”.

“Thanks”, you said, but barely looked at the bouquet and went back to your desk.

Rúben knew he should allow you all the time you needed to stop being angry but he had to leave in two hours.

“Please, let’s just talk and fix this. I have to leave and I don’t want to be away from you knowing you’re mad at me”.

“We can talk when you come back from the match”.

At least you wanted to talk. “Ok. I’ll leave the tickets under your name like always…”.

“Don’t bother. I’m not going”.

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

“Too boring. And I have work to do”.

“But you’re always at my matches supporting me”.

“Yes, I know. I wish the support went both ways instead of being so one-sided”.

With that, you closed the door and Rúben knew there was nothing he could do. So he picked up his things and left. He could drive around the city for a couple of hours and try to relax. But the guilt didn’t allow him to do it.

You hated arguments. Always had. But arguments with Rúben hurt even more. Still…you were right to be angry. You were only asking for two hours of his time when you had spent God knows how many at matches. Even travelling to other countries to support him.

But then you went to the kitchen and saw the flowers and felt terrible for being so harsh. You could feel the tears in your eyes while you got the vase and placed the flowers there. He was trying but just didn’t understand why he had hurt you so much.

Somehow, you managed to sleep for a couple of hours. And when you woke up, you headed to the shower to get ready for the day. There was a lot of work that needed to be done. And then there was Rúben.

Rúben also only slept for a couple of hours, which wasn’t ideal before a match. But he couldn’t stop thinking about your argument. And knowing you weren’t going to be there supporting him really showed him how painful it must have been for you to hear he wouldn’t attend your presentation.

The match was thankfully pretty uneventful. Otherwise, he would have been in trouble because he hadn’t been able to concentrate properly at all. His teammates must have noticed how silent he was but didn’t say anything. They knew he didn’t take it well when his performance was subpar so they just assumed that was what was bugging him.

“Hi. Can you drive me home?”, he turned when he heard your voice and found you standing awkwardly. “I called an Uber to come to the stadium so…can I go back home with you?”

He nodded, not believing you were there. “I thought you weren’t coming to the match”.

“I’m always here to support you, Rúben. No matter how badly you mess up”.

He finally had a reason to smile and the smile only got bigger when you hugged him. “I don’t deserve you”.

“Don’t say that. And I’m sorry I was so mean to you but you really hurt me”.

“I know”, he said, moving back to look at you. “I get it. And I’m sorry. I’d love to go to that presentation even if I don’t understand anything. I want to support you, always”.

“You don’t have to…”.

“But I do. And…yes, you were right about me showing off how smart you are. But it’s not to pretend to be better than others. It’s just because I can’t believe someone as smart as you would want to be with an idiot like me who only knows how to kick a ball”.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You also know how to head a ball”, you joked, making him laugh. “You aren’t stupid, Rúben. I would never date someone stupid. I've got high standards”.

“I feel very stupid now”.

“Wait until you go to the presentation, then”.

                                     **

After months of hard work, it was time to show it to the world and you were absolutely terrified.

"Why are you staring at yourself like that?", asked Rúben when he got inside the room and saw you standing in front of the mirror, only wearing a towel after your shower.

"I forgot everything I've ever learnt".

"No, you haven't. Did you take something for your anxiety?"

When you shook your head, he went back to the kitchen to grab a glass of water and then took one of your tablets from the nightstand. You thanked him and took the tablet, letting out a big sigh afterwards.

"Need anything else?"

"No, I just have to get dressed and do my hair and makeup. Nothing too fancy. I won't take long".

You grabbed the clothes and went to the bathroom. And just twenty minutes later, you came out and Rúben couldn't stop staring at you.

"You look so sexy".

"I'm not supposed to look sexy, Rúben. I'm supposed to look professional".

You went back to the mirror to see your outfit again. Was the skirt too short? Should you do the top button of the blouse too?

"You look professional. But also sexy because you just can't help it".

That made you chuckle. "Heels or flats?"

"Heels and that skirt…".

"Rúben, you're drooling".

"And that's just from imagining it. When I see you actually wearing them, I'll need CPR. Thank God I live with a doctor".

You rolled your eyes and found the earrings you wanted to wear before putting on your heels.

"See? You didn't faint".

"No, but is this normal?", he asked, grabbing your hand and putting it on his chest so you could notice how fast his heart was beating, which only made you roll your eyes again.

"Let's go or we'll be late".

Only five minutes into the presentation, Rúben realized how wrong he had been. Boring? This topic was fascinating!

He actually enjoyed listening to the physios whenever they chatted with each other about the player's injuries. Even if he didn't understand many words they said. But he made himself feel better thinking he probably knew them in Portuguese but not in English.

By the time you were done with the presentation, he was even more impressed by how smart you were. And you always played it down saying you just knew the same as every doctor but Rúben could hear other people whispering about how brilliant your presentation was so he knew that brain of yours was very special.

Everyone stood to applaud you and your colleagues but no one did as enthusiastically as Rúben. Actually, one of the men on his right looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"She's my girlfriend", he said, pointing at the stage.

The only boring part was having to wait for you by the car. So many people wanted to talk to you and congratulate you…but Rúben just wanted to get his girlfriend back.

"Finally!", you said, approaching the car and taking your shoes off.

"You were so brilliant!", said Rúben, lifting you in his arms and spinning you around. "Everyone talked about how good your research was. You should have heard them. And you looked so good too. My extremely smart and sexy doctor".

You were still laughing when he finally put you back down. "I take it wasn't boring then".

"Boring? I have so many questions. Let's get in the car and you can start answering them. That last bit about the muscle tissue blew my mind".

"I'm a bit tired of talking. Could we leave the questions for tomorrow?"

Rúben realized how exhausted you looked and nodded. "Sure, whenever you can and want".

You got into the car and closed your eyes, trying to calm down after such an intense event.

"But just one thing. That first procedure you explained, could it be applied to athletes too? I think our doctors would love to hear your presentation".

Opening your eyes, you turned your head to look at your boyfriend. And you couldn't help but smile at him and his excitement. "Do you want me to do the presentation again but for them?", you laughed.

"Only if I get to be there. I'll bring a notebook to take notes and everything".

"Don't worry. I heard you're sleeping with the professor, I'm sure she'll let you borrow her notes".

[angel-fics]

no no no i NEED a pt 2 for ‘In The Room Where You Sleep’ it was a work of art 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

It Will Come Back (part II to “In The Room Where You Sleep”)

Summary: After accidentally giving Dalton a free show, you decide to take a step back from your friendship with him. Dalton does not take kindly to that.

Warnings: Dalton being extra creepy, stalking, murderous intent, reader feeling unsafe, reader’s conflicting emotions, unhealthy responses to being caught masturbating, unsafe sex (wrap before you tap, folks), rough sex, penetrative sex, cream pie, implications of a breeding kink, suggestive comments, Reader letting Dalton off too easy for purpose of plot, noise complaints from neighbors, reader has a perversion kink, fluff kinda. THIS IS A NSFW WORK OF FICTION! MINORS DNI! ALL READERS ARE HELD PERSONALLY RESPONSIBLE FOR THEIR MEDIA INTAKE!

“So, did you sleep well last night?”

Oh fuck.

Did he know?

He couldn’t have…

*Astral Projector* Yes the fuck he could have.

“I slept fine, why?” You narrowed your eyes in false confusion and tried to keep the suspicion from your tone. You knew Dalton could’ve very well seen what you’d been up to last night, but he had told you that he rarely ever projected anymore. And hardly ever on purpose.

As you silently and awkwardly ate your breakfast, you tried to sort out your feelings on how Dalton’s potential peeping had made you feel.

For one, you felt grossed out. You were doing something so private and intimate, it felt like a violation to be watched, unaware and vulnerable. You were also angry at him for those very reasons. You would’ve been grossed out if it was anyone, but it was Dalton. Your friend Dalton, who you trusted and relied on. There was a bit of guilt, too. You were masturbating to pictures of him that he had sent. That was incredibly pervy, and it hadn’t occurred to you to feel guilt until the possibility of him knowing became real. You also felt kind of used, like you were some free, live action porn for him of get his rocks off to.

That’s where the complications started within you, too. There was a part of you that felt electrified when Dalton had first buried his face into that pillow and smirked at you. So knowingly and predatory. Your core clenched at the thought of him finding you like that, desperate and wanton for his touch. You wanted to know how he’d reacted, how much he’d seen. If how he was acting now was any indication, he’d liked what he’d seen.

It made you feel proud and sexy, which wasn’t right. It was gross. He was gross. That’s all you should feel about him and his actions.

Potential actions. You still didn’t actually know how if he had seen or anything. He was acting suspicious, or maybe you just felt that he was because he had grabbed a pillow that was covered in your cum.

“Why are you being so quiet? Is everything all right?” Dalton lifted his head lazily from that damned pillow, his face filled with concern. It amplified your guilt.

That wasn’t the face someone made if they were creeping on you. It was the face a genuinely worried friend made. Maybe more if you weren’t such a paranoid freak.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit tired, I guess,” you replied, trying to sound more alert and upbeat. You took in a deep, calming breath. This was Dalton you were with, he’d never done anything to make you feel unsafe. It was why you had feelings for him in the first place.

“What were you up to when we stopped talking last night? Working up a sweat?” Was he pressing his nose into the pillow and sniffing it?

“What?”

“You’re wearing workout clothes?” Oh.

“Oh, yeah. Um, no, I didn’t do much after you started doing your homework. Just on my phone,” you said, shrugging nonchalantly. You were feeling very chalant right now, very fucking chalant.

You were wearing workout clothes because they were at the top of your clean clothes pile. The one you hadn’t gotten around to folding yet. After your little self-session last night, you fell asleep without putting your clothes back on, so you’d woken up naked when he started knocking on your door.

Actually, you’d been in such a rush, that you hadn’t even picked up your clothes from last night. You discreetly peered over at where you knew you’d tossed them. The t-shirt was there but your panties weren’t in sight. You knew it was unlikely from how you’d thrown them, but maybe your underwear where under the large shirt?

“Yeah, luckily I managed to turn my assignments in good time. I actually thought about coming over after I was done, but I didn’t want to wake you up,” he informed you sweetly. And he was. So sweet.

But it was so hard to separate what you knew about him from what you suspected he’d done. And it was going to eat away at you until you knew the truth. At the same time, what if you were wrong? Would your relationship with him -platonic or not- survive your accusations?

“I probably was still awake. But it’s all good. You’re here now, right?” You had so been looking forward to spending the weekend with him. You had even planned on telling him how you felt now that you had the opportunity. Now, you just wanted to be alone.

“Yeah, of course. We’re gonna have a great time this weekend.” As his gaze raked up and down your body, there was something so lustful, it can almost be seen as malicious. Your trust in his innocence was withering away.

“I don’t know about great, but it’ll be nice. Just relaxing and hanging out. We can watch movies or read. Order take out and play games,” you replied casually, trying to sound more excited than you were.

“Oh, so we’re going middle school with this sleepover, yeah?” Dalton laughed and rolled over on his back, propping a long leg up and letting the other dangle.

“Big talk for the guy who hates literally every standard college experience. Since we’ve started school, I have not seen you have sex, drink or do drugs. You literally only went to a single frat party because Chris forced you,” you teased, forcing yourself to be more relaxed.

“I don’t hate every college experience, I just prefer being sober,” he corrected, very pointedly leaving out the ‘sex’ part of your list.

You got up to throw the trash from your breakfast away, and made a point of looking like you were freshening up your room. You picked up yesterday’s t-shirt with your toes, noting the lack of panties under them and silently panicked.

Where the fuck did they go? They were right here last night. You were sure of it.

You remembered that Dalton could interact with the physical world while in the Further and slowly turned to him, now thoroughly convinced that he had spent some time in your room last night.

“Hey, Dalton? When you’re projecting, you can move things, right?” You knew he could already. When he had told you about it, he had also shown you how it worked to prove it to you.

“Okay, that was random. Yeah, why?” You don’t know what he saw in your face, but he automatically sat up straight on your bed.

“Did you come in here last night? Like, did you project in here when I couldn’t see or hear you?” Your tone was accusatory and panicked, your voice raising slightly in volume as a result.

A short pause. “Yeah,” he answered, his face losing all humor and friendliness. It looked pleading and defensive.

“How long?”

From the amount of time it took for him to answer the question, you knew that anything that came from his mouth would be a lie.

“Just a second. When I finished my homework, I wanted to see if it was cool for me to come over. I didn’t want to wake you up by calling or texting, so I decided to come check on you. I left as soon as I saw. Even if you weren’t sleeping, I figured you wouldn’t want me to come over when you were like that,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

It didn’t work and you could feel yourself mentally withdrawing from him. It wasn’t just the peeping, it was the lying, and how he only felt badly about it when you seemed uncomfortable with it. Not because he was actually sorry. Actually, no. He hadn’t even apologized, so he wasn’t even fake-sorry.

You took a moment to think on it, keeping your face as neutral as possible. Calling him out on it wouldn’t do anything, neither would sending him away. He could come in whenever he wanted and do anything to you. You swallowed the part of you that was excited by that by reminding yourself that most people found that repulsive.

There was nothing that you could do to keep yourself safe from him, especially if you made him angry. There was also nothing you found yourself wanting to do either, a small voice in your head reminded you.

The thought of him no longer in your life was heartbreaking, devastating even. As upset as you were, your intense feelings for him were still there. But, this wasn’t healthy or what you knew as normal. For that part of yourself, you felt like taking a break from him was what was necessary.

“Okay. Sorry you had to see that,” you chirped after a few moments of fluttering around your room. The fact that you had to apologize to him felt like cement in your mouth with every word.

“No, I’m sorry. It was invasive. I should’ve just texted you or something,” he insisted.

How could someone who sounds so sincere and caring be such a pervert?

The rest of the weekend was tense. Really tense. When you watched a movie, you made sure to sit at the opposite end of the couch from him. You didn’t talk to him as much, and you barely initiated any conversation yourself. The night was the worst part. You couldn’t just offer up Carla’s room to him to sleep in, and you couldn’t send him to the couch because that would make him suspicious.

You did make sure that you weren’t sleeping under the same blanket as him, but that still didn’t relax you enough to sleep. Even if you had made sure to wear your most concealing pajamas. You spent the whole night faking slumber, wondering if he was walking around your dorm like some sort of ghost and watching you. The worst part of it was that you had no way of knowing if he was projecting or not. His chest was rising and falling slowly, and his handsome face was peaceful. You inwardly screamed, not being able to help the invasive thoughts telling you that under different circumstances, you’d be blushing and unable to sleep for an entirely different reason.

If last night hadn’t happened, you’d be wearing your most revealing nightie and eager to cuddle close to him in your bed. You felt guilty for having masturbated at all last night and potentially ruining your friendship for it.

In the morning, you nearly jumped with joy when your roommates informed you that she was returning early after ruining her dad’s birthday by getting drunk and slugging his indoor pet donkey. It was the most ridiculous thing you had ever heard of and you would’ve laughed out loud if you weren’t so relieved.

You were careful to seem very sad and disappointed when you told Dalton the news. He laughed at the excuse and asked if it was real. You showed him the text and he pulled you into a hug while chuckling.

You wanted to melt into him and hug him back. Forty-eight hours ago and you wouldn’t been through the roof with happiness. Instead, you curled your hands into his shirt and tucked your face into his neck so he wouldn’t see your expression of discomfort.

As soon as he left that afternoon, you made special care to lock the door and immediately ran to your room, hiding under your blanket until Carla stumbled through the door, grumpy from her hangover.

*~*~*

Dalton was upset. For many reasons. All different. All relating to you.

He should’ve been ecstatic. That’s how he wanted to feel. That’s how everything in his life was positioned to make him feel.

He got to spend the night with you, even getting to sleep next to you in your bed. He ate with you, watched movies with you, and he laughed with you as he finished getting dressed after his shower. He didn’t imagine the way you admired his bare torso after he toweled his hair dry.

But you barely talked to him. You wouldn’t touch him, and god, he wanted you to. He wanted to touch you, but he could tell that you evaded him on purpose. You let him hug you, squeeze your hand, nudge you with his foot to make sure you were paying attention to the movie. When he woke up in your bed his arm wrapped around your tummy, you looked restful and happy while still asleep.

And after he left because your stupid roommate couldn’t hold her fucking liquor, you texted him a ‘thank you’ with a kiss emoji. A kiss emoji. Just like you had that night. The night you had confronted him about.

He didn’t expect you to be so okay with it. And after the shock wore off, he was flooded with relief and satisfaction. That had to be an invitation, right? You wanted him to. You liked it. You wanted him to do it again, if he wanted to. He knew you noticed your missing underwear. You must have known that he took them. And you had let him keep them.

But you hadn’t been texting him as much.

On average, your texted Dalton a lot more frequently than he texted you. Not because he wasn’t interested or because he was a bad texter. You were just very enthusiastic and had a lot more to say to him. He was as quiet in his messages as he was in real life.

It was different after the sleepover, though. You were drier, and distant. Instead of actually talking to him, you would simply react to his messages. He hated it. He knew you liked him more than that, so why we’re you acting so weird?

Weeks went by like that. Suddenly, you were always with your classmates, who were your close friends all of the sudden. You wouldn’t call him. You had stopped sending him pictures of yourself in your chat after that first night. He only ever really saw you in person when he followed you around campus.

Dalton’s mood worsened with everyone during that period, and it was damaging everything in his life. Since it was spring, his art teacher wanted him to focus on nature, and creation, and rejuvenation. As if he could care less about that right now, and she noticed. His grades suffered as as result of him taking out his problems on his canvas.

His social life was even more stale than it usually was. He stopped hanging out with the few friends he had, stopped talking to everyone except his mom and Chris. And that was only because both women refused to not talk to him at least twice a day.

But Chris respected herself a lot more than his other friends did, so when he saw you on a date with some other guy and tried to ditch her, she confronted him on his behavior.

“What the fuck is up with you right now, Dolphin? And don’t say nothing, because you almost walked into traffic a second ago!” Her voice was loud and he tugged her to somewhere more dark and quiet.

“Did you see her? With some other guy?! I don’t have a problem, she’s the one with the fucking problem!” He started pacing as he snarled at Chris, glaring venomously into the direction of the restaurant where he could see you sitting across from some douche.

I could fucking…

Fuck, she looks beautiful…

She’s mine! She should be dressing up like that for me!

I should go in there. Fucking bend her over and take her right there…

Make everyone watch as she screams my name. She’d pull me in, too, her pussy would just suck me right in…

She’d kiss me, and I wouldn’t even care about seeing that dumb bastard’s face until she stopped…

Then I’d bash his fucking face into the table…until it was ruined…until no one could recognize him…until he stopped moving…

I’d keep fucking her, too. She’d want it. I saw how she is, she was still playing with herself even after she came. Her greedy cunt would need me to fill it. Fill it up all the way. Make it stick and she’ll be with me forever…

It took Dalton approximately six minutes and twenty-two seconds to realize that Chris was talking to him. And that he was really lucky that it was too dark here they were to see his erection.

“…ook, I’m sorry man. I really thought she was into you. But if this is the reason you’ve been acting so weird lately, then you have got to get a grip. It’s not fair to either of you for you to be acting like this,” Chris chastised all in one breath. She looked like she’d been doing so since the moment he’d zoned out.

“You’re right, and I’m sorry. It’s just, I thought there was a moment when we were going forward. I guess I was wrong. We should go, I think I need to be alone right now,” he apologized sincerely. And that was the truth. He was sorry. Not nearly as sorry as he was angry, but he wasn’t going to take that out on his best friend. He knew better.

He’d take it out on you.

Dalton had been projecting more often since that night. There were multiple instances with spirits, but he wouldn’t be deterred from seeing you. He was getting better at it, too. He was able to make himself visible to others while in his astral form, he tested it on Chris. He was even able to control his body and project while he was awake. He could do his homework while watching you shower.

He even got to see you touch yourself sometimes. He stopped doing it to himself that first time, controlling his body so that when he went back in, he could suck at the crotch of your panties while getting himself off. It was more connected to you that way.

He knew you still loved him, that’s why he was confused as to why you distanced yourself. When you came, it was his name falling from your tongue. When you opened and closed your messages, it was his contact you were constantly checking. You would even type out messages before deleting the words and throwing your phone in frustration.

So now, sitting in his dorm and glaring at the picture of you kneeling in front of the mirror, he debated how he should confront you on your date.

D: “Me and Chris were going for ice cream and saw you at that nice Italian place. You looked pretty. Was the food good?”

He wouldn’t ask about the guy. This wasn’t about that overstepping asshole trying to steal you away from him. It was about you, and whether you would lie to him.

You took a moment to reply and to his complete surprise and joy so strong that he could sing, you also sent a photo. Your lips were stained pink and glossy, wrapped around a thick boba straw. The angle was from above so you were looking up all innocently into the camera as you sucked the brown sugar tapioca pearls into your mouth. Dalton felt himself stiffening and adjusted himself in his seat as he read your message.

You: “Thanks. Honestly, I couldn’t really focus on the food. I was on a date and the guy ordered for me and spent the entire time talking about how much of a man he was. I didn’t even like what he ordered. I would’ve preferred being there with you.”

His heart skipped a beat and he forgot all about how upset he was with you after reading the end of your text. Wished you were with me? Like as a date?

D: “Sounds awful. Please don’t tell me he left you with the check, too.”

He added another mirror picture, this time fully clothed and making a comically inquisitive face at the camera. He still wasn’t sure where you were on this potential reconciliation, but he had high hopes given how long your message has been. You hadn’t been texting him more than one or two lines in ages.

You: “After ORDERING. FOR. ME. he casually mentions how he likes to split the bill to make sure women aren’t using him for his money. Dalton, the main course itself was $40, not including sides and appetizers. I threw my lap towel at him and took off.

You: “This fool expected me to pay for food that I didn’t even fucking order or like, after acting like he was some big shit the entire time. Dick head was lucky I didn’t toss my plate in his lap. Splitting the check? Get the fuck outta my face.”

Dinner date etiquette was a big deal to you. You had very vividly described it to Dalton when he had asked once and it was ingrained in his mind. If you asked someone on a date, then you had to pay for the outing. Exceptions can be made in certain situations, but only once a relationship was established. Askers have to pay on the first date, especially if they planned it out. Dalton empathized greatly with your situation, and was filled with even more hatred for the jackass. Still, were you only talking to him to vent about a bad date? Were you just jerking him around at your own convenience?

Your next photo was of you at your desk, you hand cupping your throat and you making a comically shocked face. Your eyes were rolled to the ceiling, your brows furrowed, and your mouth opened to an ‘o’. Dalton’s pants tightened when he thought of the other ways he could get you to make that face, none of them funny.

D: “Don’t let one experience ruin the restaurant for you. Next time, I’ll take you and you can order every little thing you think you’ll enjoy. My treat.”

As ridiculous as it made him feel, he thought it necessary to lighten the mood and show you that he meant his text as casually as possible. So, his responding photo was of him making what Chris had referred to as the “rizz face”. He made a finger gun across his chin and bit his lip in an enthusiastic and “seductive” smile. He let his head fall loudly onto his desk in embarrassment as he hit send.

You two had gotten food together plenty of times. It wasn’t odd. But you never got food at nice or upscale places like the one Dalton had seen you at. Even the semi-nice corporation chain places, like Olive Garden, it was rare. And usually only if you two were splitting a single meal. College students.

His invitation, while open to rejection, was very clearly set in a less-than-friendly way. At least he thought it was. Dalton assumed you’d see it that way, too, since he’s never once brought up fine dining to you before. This was his chance to get back in your good graces. And hopefully, be more than friends, if you accepted.

You: “That sounds nice, actually. I’d love to. Just not until I can stomach going since that jerk kinda ruined it for me. I didn’t even want to go, but Carla insisted.”

Bro, fuck Carla, man! Your next messaged came in a few seconds later.

You: “Luckily, she felt so bad that she profusely apologized and bought me boba before going to her girlfriend’s. My great suffering has ended.”

Your next picture was of you smiling into the camera with your nose scrunched cutely and your hands inverted under your chin in mock-innocence. You looked adorable. But Dalton was confused. Why the hell would you go out with a guy you didn’t even like when you could’ve been hanging out with him? It made him angry at you all over again.

D: “Why bother going out with him then? You could’ve just called me, I would’ve brought you something to eat and you would’ve actually had a good time.”

He didn’t send a photo. Neither did you after taking ten minutes to reply.

You: “Wanted an excuse to dress up.”

Dalton nearly crushed his phone in his hand. What the fuck were you doing to him? He was so sick of this chasing bullshit. He was done with your little game. You were his, and he wouldn’t accept you going out with another guy to get compliments on how pretty you were. Especially not when he was willing to spend every waking moment of his life showing you how ethereally beautiful he thought you were. He would kiss the ground you walked on, not order food you didn’t like. He would worship you, not expect you to pay for an overly priced meal. If he were able to, he’d spend entire lifetimes pleasing you and satisfying you in ways that you couldn’t even imagine and that dumb fuck you went out with wouldn’t even be capable of.

Leaving you on read, Dalton grabbed his jacket and his shoes and stormed out of his dorm, nearly sprinting to get to you. Once at your door, he barreled into your dorm, barely noticing that you’d forgotten to lock it again.

Startled at the noise, you jumped from inside the bathroom and glanced between him and your phone multiple times. Dalton then remembered that he stupidly forgot to bring his phone with him when he decided to come over.

“Dalton, what the hell?” You crossed your arms over your chest and Dalton felt his mouth water at the way it made your tits look in the lacy tank top you wore without a bra.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts and reflect on what the hell he was doing, Dalton returned to his clarified anger.

“What the hell is your problem? You’ve barely talked to me in weeks and then I find out you’re going out with some fuckhead that you don’t even like when I’m right here. Begging for your attention and always available when you want or need me. You lead me on and then ignored me for other people, what do I have to do to get to be with me. Because I know you want to, so don’t bother with any of your bullshit because I’ve fucking had it with you!”

As he vented his grievances with you, he stalked over to where you were and grabbed you by your shoulder tightly. He pulled you to him closely enough that your noses were inches from touching. A part of him sang at having you so closely to him but his anger and desperation for you were so strong that his only forms of expression were physical and rough.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?! You break into my house and yell at me, and somehow you’re the victim of my behavior? You know exactly why things changed! You know why I had to go on that date! I didn’t say anything, but I know the truth, Dalton. I know what you did that night,” you confronted him, pushing him away but not actively trying to escape his hold. Dalton’s hands slipped down to your wrists, latching on when you made no move to pull away from him.

“Then why did you not tell me to leave when you found out? Why did you not say anything, tell me the truth that you knew I was lying? You let me sleep in your bed with you, baby, you let me touch you. If you think you’re all that angry about what you think happened, you sure aren’t acting like it,” Dalton hissed, tugging you close and breathing into your hair.

Your body was hot so close to his and your hair was softly tickling his chin and throat as you shook your head in denial.

“No. No, that’s not true. I just knew that saying anything wouldn’t have stopped you from doing it again,” you rebutted, glaring up at him.

You were right, he had continued because you hadn’t said anything. And you hadn’t spoken to him properly in over a month. Still, even if you couldn’t see it, Dalton knew you were lying to yourself.

“If you had said something, I would’ve stopped,” he conceded, pulling away from you. “But you can’t deny that you want me. You invited me in, over and over again. And I came running every single time. Even after seeing you with that prick. What I did isn’t some kind of dealbreaker for you. You can lie to yourself about it, but you can’t lie to me. Don’t let me in with no intention to keep me because I will keep coming back.”

When the distance shrunk between his body and yours, it was you that initiated. You glowered at Dalton smugly.

“And how exactly do you know that, Dalton?” You knew exactly what he had done, and you were goading him to make yourself seem morally superior and him less credible. But moral or not, he was still right.

“The calls are coming from the inside the house, aren’t they, sweetheart? You knew all this time and you were what? Putting on a show for me? You can’t have known which times I would’ve shown up, meaning that you were fucking yourself at every opportunity thinking I was somehow watching you. I bet you were there with your fingers pumping in your pussy wishing I would do something about it,” he accused, stroking light fingers up and down your arms.

When you hardened your glare before looking down at your feet, Dalton knew he was right. He smirked down at your before pulling a hand up and using two fingers to guide your face up to look him in the eyes.

“I can, you know, do something about it now. You just have to admit it.”

Your response was a bit more defensive than he would’ve hoped. “Admit what?”

“I want to know how you feel about me. If I hadn’t made it clear by now, I’m hopelessly in love with you. I’d do anything for you and I absolutely hate that this is the way you’re finding out about it. I’d have rather taken you out on a date and showered you with gifts and made you feel loved before actually telling you. But I get I’ll have to settle for making you angry and then fucking all of it out of you. Would you like that?”

Dalton would always remember his first kiss. It was sudden and rushed and he didn’t have enough time to actually kiss back, not that he’d wanted to. He appreciates that it’s something that he and Chris don’t talk about. It makes it all the more sweeter to think about his first actually kiss being with you.

You brought his head in slowly but lost all control when your lips met his. Dalton’s eyes squeezed shut as he grabbed the sides of your face to pull you in even closer. He gasped into your mouth, using the opportunity to lick the seam of your lips with his tongue. He had never kissed anyone, period, much less using his tongue. Everything he was doing was the result of instinct, movies, and the attempts you and Chris have made to verbally teach him how to please a woman.

You pull your mouth away from his but Dalton can’t take his lips from your body now that he’s had a taste. His lips burn their way down your throat, his kisses open-mouthed and desperate. Dalton is eating up your moans, using them to fuel and guide his actions.

“I adore you,” you gasp, fisting handfuls of his hair to keep him on you. You couldn’t have separated him from you if you tried. “I couldn’t separate what I thought was right from what I actually wanted and I’m so sick of being away from you. I wanna be with you, Dalton. I just want you, all of you.”

Dalton shoved you into the wall, pinning you there with the length of his own body. His cold fingers crawled along your ribcage, digging into the plump flesh there harshly. One of his knees shoved itself between your legs and he used his grip on your sides to settle you on his thigh.

“You’re going to feel all of me. I’ve been waiting far too long for this, so you are going to take it. You hear me? Be a good girl and enjoy it,” he hissed in your ear as he left a biting kiss on your lips, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth.

The little sounds escaping your mouth drive him nuts and he didn’t even bother trying to restrain himself from grinding his erection against the crotch of your sleep shorts. They barely covered anything anyway, but he still wanted to feel you bare. You rode his thigh with no shame, leaning in to kiss him again.

Dalton still didn’t know much about kissing so he didn’t protest your taking control of his lips. He accepted anything you gave him and moaned when your tongue slid into his mouth to taste him. Your hips jerked harder on him when he did and he grinned wickedly at uncovering one of your kinks.

Your hands pulled at his shirt and as he yanked it over his head, Dalton began walking backwards to your bedroom. When the backs of his knees hit your bed, he let himself fall into a sitting position, hauling you into his lap. His hands found your hips and guided you to start grinding against him again. Your hands went to your own shirt and as soon as you or chest was uncovered, Dalton was lowering his head to softly kiss and lick your breasts. One of your hands went to his hair and tugged at the roots . He moaned and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, circling his tongue around the peak.

“Dalton…shit,” you sighed, rolling your hips down on him. His erection was sliding against all of the right places, but you needed more.

He pulled off you with a pop and started aggressively biting and sucking marks across your chest at random. His hand tracked from your hip to the back of your head. He gather some hair in his hands and used it to yank your head back, forcing you to arch into him and push your breasts closer to his face.

Dalton could feel your arousal soaking through your panties and shorts and into his sweatpants. His tongue traced broad lines down your belly until he was laying back onto your bed and sliding you along his stomach and chest until your pussy was hovering above his face.

“Gonna make you cum first. Been looking forward to this for ages. You want me to have a taste, right?” His fingers curled around the waistline of your shorts and was already tugging them down your hips along with your underwear.

Your nails dug into the backs of his hands as you stopped him. “What if I’m too heavy for you?”

Dalton response was to knock your hands away from his, leaving red scratches, and drag your shorts off the rest of the way. Left completely bare, you barely got a word in edgewise before he drew you down onto his mouth. And it seems like he took the term “eating you out” a bit too seriously because he was lapping and swallowing at your lips and clit like a man starved. His tongue started thrusting in your wet heat, his grasp on your thighs threatening to bruise your flesh as he heaved you impossibly closer.

Your hands slapped onto the wall in front of your loudly as you started to ride his nose and tongue. Your head was thrown back and you were cementing out without abandon. Your dorms were bigger than Dalton’s but the walls were just as thin, yet it didn’t occur to either of you to care about your neighbors hearing.

Your release was quickly approaching, and when Dalton began suckling on your clit while simultaneously thrusting two fingers into you without warning, you lost yourself in euphoria. You lost control of your limbs, your body jerking and twitching violently as you came. And Dalton didn’t let up once, moaning around your folds as if he were the one cumming.

“Dalton? Dalton, let up.” He didn’t, smacking your hand away when you tried to push his face away from your pussy.

“I told you that you were gonna take it, and I’m not done yet,” he growled before running his nose up your slit to your clit and thrusting his tongue inside you once more. You yelled at the overstimulation and tried to lift yourself off of him but Dalton’s grip on your thighs tightened even further, refusing to let you move.

Ten minutes of calling out his name and begging, he tossed you aside into your back and climbed on top of you. Dalton dove in for a deep kiss, clearly wanting you to taste yourself on his tongue. You whimpered against his lips and locked your legs around his hood, using your feet to push his pants down his legs.

Dalton lifted his hips just enough to make the fabric go down and kicked off the offending material. He lifted up one of your knees to his ribs and lined himself up with you, all without breaking eye contact. Sealing your consent with a kiss, Dalton swallowed the shout you let out as he thrusted into you slowly.

Dalton knew he wasn’t going to last long but he was determined to give you one last orgasm and set a quick and even pace to build you up again. He buried his face into your neck kissing and biting at the soft skin as he pounded into you. His hands were glued to your shoulder and thigh, pulling your body in thrust for thrust. His head flew back in a roar when your nails raked down his back as you chanted his name over and over again. The sound of flesh slapping against wet flesh, your bed groaning and banging into the wall, and the both of your joined moaning sounded like music to Dalton and he could spend the rest of his life listening to this one melody.

“Oh, fuck, Dalton! I’m so close! I’m gonna cum!” Dalton felt that familiar pressure in his balls when he heard the sound of your whines. He tried to keep up that same steady pace so you wouldn’t lose your orgasm, but as soon as your walls tightened around him, he lost all control of himself.

He started slamming into you wildly, only after his own orgasm now. He was going so roughly that you started hitching up on the bed and had to grip the headboard to keep Dalton from potentially giving you a concussion. His hips pumped into you almost viscously and you knew you had to help him over that blissful edge.

You started kissing up his jaw and bit down on his earlobe, scratching down his chest and abs, before whispering breathily into his ear. “Cum in me Dalton! I want your cum! Give it to me! I want you feel you fill me up!”

For an added good measure, you grabbed one of his hands and spread his palm over your pelvis so that he could feel himself moving inside you.

Without a very loud shout of “Fuck!”, Dalton filled your womb with his seed before collapsing on top of you. You could feel his pushing heartbeat agent yours and wrapped your arms around him to prevent him from rolling off of you.

It took you both a few seconds of heavy panting to realize that there was still a pounding sound echoing throughout your room.

“Can you two shut the FUCK UP ALREADY!”

Both you and Dalton went completely still for a moment before bursting out into crazed laughter. You huddled together in your bed before Dalton clambered up and walked over to your bathroom.

He took just long enough that you were beginning to consider getting up yourself before he came back out again, armed with a damp rag and a bottle of your favorite lotion. He sat beside you and carefully began cleaning you up. You felt yourself blushing when he admired his cum leaking out from your hole. Then he warmed up the lotion in his hands and massaged your sore limbs, leaning over and kissing all of the marks he left with small whispers of “I love you” as his lips trailed down your body.

You dragged him down back next to you you and he positioned your body to be laying halfway on top of his, kissing your forehead and wrapping his arms around you. It didn’t take long for you to begin dozing off when he startled you with a softly spoken question.

“You’re my girlfriend now, right?”

You giggled and kissed his nose with an enthusiastic “Yes,” before allowing yourself to drift off.

*~*~*

Wow, this was probably longer than the first one! Hope y’all like it! Again, the first part and this sequel were both inspired by the Dalton imagine made by @glodessa

Also tagging these people who asked for a part two before I actually posted this

@explosiongamora

@flaminghotcheetoos

@nessabarrettsqueen

@purplevioletshoes

@12idk1234

@igotmajordaddyissues

@nyx22-blogs

@elizabe-thh

THIS CELEBRATES 60 FOLLOWERS ON THIS ACCOUNT! THANK Y’ALL SO MUCH FOR LIKING AND FOLLOWING! BE SURE TO KEEP SENDING IN THE REQUESTS BECAUSE I LOVE WRITING THEM FOR Y’ALL!

[kennahjune]

HI OMG HELLO

Just a little obsessed with the whole “projecting my interests onto Steve” train I have going so here ya go—

Steve who has an interest in mythology of just about any kind but specifically Greek Mythology because “holy shit everyone’s gay.”

Steve’s hosting the usual Saturday hangout at his house because it’s the one time everyone’s schedules line up. He’s sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, Robin on the floor to his right and Dustin to his left. Everyone else is spread among the couches and armchair, squeezing together in a way that seems more uncomfortable and over heated than the Devil’s asscrack.

Dustin was going on a ramble about something science-y. Robin and Mike would cut in occasionally with their own arguments and begin a whole new debate. Steve wasn’t paying much attention though.

His focus was on Eddie, who was staring intently at the living room window. Specifically the one that held his mothers flower vases.

When there was a break in the argument where everyone caught their breaths and gathered their thoughts, Eddie struck.

“What kind of flowers are those?” He pointed at the light yellow vase with a complicated floral pattern.

Steve paused and debated answering. He knew it was a trap. The flowers in that vase held a long story— one that everyone in the room would be subjected to hearing if Steve couldn’t help himself.

But Eddie was looking at his expectantly, Dustin tilting his head in curiosity, and even Mike eyeing him with a genuine wonderment.

So, Steve naturally conceded. “They’re hyacinths.”

Argyle whistled lowly. “Pretty name.”

Steve grinned. “Yeah well— they get their name from one of the prettiest people in history. In my opinion anyway.”

That seemed to pique everyone’s interest. Bad move on Steve’s part. At this rate, he’s gonna crack and go on a rant. Nobody wants to listen to his rants.

“Who do they get their name from?” Will asked, pulling his feet up to sit crisscross on the armchair. Mike was sat right next to him on the seat, squished into the arm but making no complaints. Mike nodded at Will’s question, as if agreeing that he also wanted to know.

Steve shifted and pulled one leg to his chest, resting his arm on it and fiddling with his hands. He avoided eye contact with just about anyone, before cracking a little more and looking at Robin.

With the nod she gave him, Steve felt himself break.

“They get their name from the Roman Prince Hyacinthus.”

Nancy hummed and took a sip from her Coke. She waved her hand as if urging him on. Steve continued.

“Um— well Hyacinthus was a Roman Prince beloved by all, including the God Apollo—“

“But isn’t Apollo a guy?” Mike interrupted. Looking over, Steve saw the pure curiosity and something that looked like hesitation on his face. Next to Mike, Will looked equally if-not-more hesitant but also very happy (?).

Steve allowed himself a small grin and nodded. “He is indeed. Hyacinthus is actually the first openly gay Greek character that we know of.” Steve’s smile brightened at the grin that made itself present on Will’s face and look of pure endearment on Mike’s.

“Anyways— Apollo fell in love with Hyacinthus but so did Zephyros, the God of the West Winds. Hyacinthus chose Apollo over Zephyros, however. And one day while Apollo and Hyacinthus were being all couple-y or whatever in the fields and playing discus, Zephyros took advantage of the winds and sent a discus spiraling straight at Hyacinthus and it ended up killing him on impact.”

He paused to take a breath, the story taking hold of him. Steve could feel the rush of excitement at finally talking about it— this story was his favorite and the next part always got him.

Among his break, he looked up and started at Eddie’s eyes on him. Of course, everyone’s eyes were on him, but Eddie’s shone with such a fondness that Steve felt himself having to do a minor breathing exercise to calm his heart down.

He cleared his throat with a cough and picked up where he left off, tilting his eyes down and keeping them on his fidgeting hands.

“Well— um, it was typical ‘if I can’t have you no one can’ fashion but the death shook Apollo to his very core and after trying everything in his power to get Hyacinthus back he finally gave in and grew the hyacinth flowers from the grass wherever Hyacinthus’ blood touched ‘to keep him in the sun where he belonged’.”

And with that, Steve looked around at everyone in the room. El’s eyes were filled with wonderment. Sitting next to her, Max looked shocked— though, at the story or Steve, he was unsure.

Jonathan had a small smile playing at his lips as well as Nancy. Argyle gave him a thumbs up and a “cool”.

Mike and Will were both seemingly buzzing with excitement and joy, Steve could see it in their eyes and on the matching grins they wore.

Dustin and Lucas— the latter sitting behind Steve on the couch— we’re both grinning at Steve and talking over each other, trying to tell him several different things at once.

But over the chaos surrounding him, Steve’s eyes were drawn to Eddie’s. Doe eyes filled with fondness and endearment. Steve’s grin turned to a bashful smile and he was quick to turn away.

He instead focused on Dustin and Lucas, pretending to not notice when Will followed Mike to the kitchen. From the knowing glint in Jonathan’s eyes, he also knew what was happening. They shared a snort and cheersed their Coke cans.

When the night was over and Steve was fresh out of mythology tales to tell the Party, everyone began leaving.

Mike, Will, and El left with Jonathan and Argyle. Nancy drove Robin, Dustin, Lucas and Erica as well as Max— who was spending the night at the Sinclair’s.

It was when Steve went to clean the living room that he noticed he never saw Eddie leave.

Instead, the metal head was standing by the window in the living room. The same window with the hyacinths. Steve furrowed his brow in confusion and walked over.

The moment Steve was within reaching distance, Eddie pulled him into his side. Steve let out an ‘oof’ sound, and caught himself on Eddie’s chest. Rather than pulling away from the other, Steve made himself comfortable and settled into Eddie’s side with his head on his shoulder.

“I love hearing you ramble,” was the last thing Steve heard before Eddie kissed him soundly.

[dearshelby]

The dearest guest | T.S

Summary: Tommy promised to attend her birthday party.

A/N: This is for Daisy's (@peakyltd) birthday and followers celebration. I went for the prompt "Is it too late for a birthday kiss?" because I thought it was very Tommy coded, hope you like it <3

The scent of clean bedsheets relaxed her tired muscles, her birthday party was a success, she got many gifts, the cake was delicious and yet, nothing was better than her own company after a long day.

Only one thing was lacking for everything to be perfect, but that, she chose to ignore, aware brooding over the subject would only ruin the special date. It didn't matter, she tried to convince herself.

But it did, she had especially requested Tommy's presence, inviting him personally and in advance so he wouldn't schedule anything else. He said he'd come. He didn't.

It didn't matter, he's an idiot and not to be trusted, she thought, pulling the blanket over her back. However, much to her surprise, the sound of a car parking in front of her house was followed by three strong knocks on the door.

Slowly, she got out the bed, heading downstairs and peeking through the peephole before letting him in. Tommy entered the house slowly, leaning against the wall.

"Seems that you had a big party," he eyed the balloons she chose not to pop in the kitchen.

"Yeah, everyone came, everyone," she cynically smiled, not bothering to hide his absence upset her.

He sighed, staring at her through his eyelashes, it was the closest she'd get to an apology. Tommy reached for something in his pocket, revealing a small white box, the label was covered by a ribbon bow. Without ceremony, he handed it to her.

"Thanks," her eyes widened as she opened the gift, red lipstick in her favorite tone, but what really surprised her was the braid - a french and overpriced one, which only sells on the fancier side of London.

"Here," he started, "let me put it on you,"

Tommy gently took the makeup from her hands, holding her chin between his thumb and index. She tensed up as he stepped closer, minutes ago she was ready to let him go, ending their project of relationship since he didn't seem able to put any effort in it.

But when he looked so focused on her, with dilated blue eyes and a cute pout, she just froze in place. Tommy was a complicated and unpredictable man, she liked him, she liked him a lot.

"There," he said once he was done.

"Uhm, how does it look?" she asked, ignoring the heat on her cheeks.

"Red," he answered, "beautiful,"

A shy smile showed on her lips and quickly vanished, him being sweet by then didn't change the fact he didn't attend her party.

"Is it too late for a birthday kiss?" he flirted.

"Well, it's past midnight so yes,"

Frowning, he slightly nodded, shocked by her rejection.

"Why didn't you come?" she finally asked.

"Love, I-"

"You don't want anyone to know? That we are…something?"

"Michael was arrested,"

Her stomach sank at the explanation, she thought so badly of him and in the end, he spared time to visit even though he was full of problems.

"Tommy, I- I'm sorry," she rested her hands on his shoulders, "I'm sorry, I didn't know,"

His jaw clenched, at this point he should be used to people assuming the worst of him - not that he was a saint - but it still upset him.

"So can I kiss you now?"

With a sly smile, she attached their lips together. Her birthday was officially perfect.

[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 ~

[coffee-master]

Kai and Lloyd probably spend a lot of time together (season 1-2) while waiting for the Ninja to return from their missions. Is Kai a good big brother to Lloyd ? Does this somehow affect Lloyd ?

I bet this front change anything about the fact that Kai will be the most worried when Lloyd is possessed by Morro. Maybe he worried even more because he doesn’t see Lloyd as his student that needs to become the green ninja, but as a kid he wants to look after.

Kai & Llody would become very close to each other.

Kai doesn't see Lloyd as some kid of student or anything, Lloyd is just a child.

A little bratty one, but still a child. He's without his parents, so it makes Kai think that Lloyd is a little lost.

It reminds him of his chidlhood with Nya, where he had to take care of everything and grow up.

It makes Kai feel compassion towards him and can't help himself but feel like he needs to do something about this.

So during season 1 Kai is often left alone with Lloyd to babysitts him.

The situation doesn't bother him and even though he'd like to do something more to help the ninjas, he decides not to waste time and use this time productively.

He spends a lot of time with Lloyd and tires to play with him and teach something.

Lloyd isn't pleased with this at first (because he's the son of fearfull Lord Garmadon and ect..)

But one time Kai caught Lloyd not being able to tie his shoes.

The young Garmadon obviously didn't want to admit that he couldn't do it and was ignoring it. He was also lightly scared that Kai would make fun of him.

Kai noticed that and decided to show him two ways to tie his shoes as an excuse, to teach him that. Lloyd would be a little confused and then Kai suggest going to bake cookies together for everyone, to which Lloyd agreeded.

After that Lloyd started actually like Kai, listen to him, enjoy the time with him and would be nicer to him.

They'd build a bound, to other ninjas confusion.

Especially Nya's at first she woudn't understand why her brother would be so nice and carring to a little brat that broke her hair straighteners as a prank.

Later Kai & Lloyd would be even closer. To the point where Kai'd treat him like a younger brother.

But there's more.. since Kai here is the Samurai X.

Lloyd & Kai: *watch as the ninjas having fun with their weapoons and powers*

Lloyd: Uh! It's so unfair!

Kai: What?

Lloyd: Why they have all the fun and we have to stay on the Bounty? It's not fair!

Kai: Yeah, world isn't fair little guy. *ruffling his hair*

Lloyd: Hey! Don't do this!

Kai: Hah, sorry little bud.

Lloyd: I just want to help.. Why can't we fight with them?

Kai thinks what to say: ....

Kai sights: Wanna hear a secret?

Lloyd excited: A secret?!

Kai: Yeah, a secret, but it has to stay only between us, can you do it?

Lloyd: Yes!

[Later]

Kai: *takes Lloyd to the Samurai X armor*

Lloyd excited & suprised as hell: YOU'RE THE SAMURAI X?

Kai: Yup.

Llyod: Cool!!! How did you do this- is That why Nya doesn't like Samurai X and thinks he's a thief of her project?

Kai not proud of himself: Kinda?

Lloyd: Hey, why didn't you tell anyone? You could just go with them on missions and..

Kai: It's complicated. Besides I wouldn't leave you alone on the boat. *smiles lightly*

Kai: Remember you can't tell anyone.

Lloyd: Even Nya?

Kai is quiet for a second: Even Nya.

Kai: Let it be a secret between us brothers. *smiles and pats him on the shoulder*

Lloyd looks at Kai completely shocked: B-brothers?

Kai smiles at him: Of course! You're my little bro.

Lloyd: *trying his best not to show how much he is touched by this*

Kai confused: You're ok Lloyd?

Lloyd: Yeah.. Hey Kai?

Kai: Hm?

Lloyd: Could I take a ride once..? *smiles*

Kai: ...

Kai: Maybe someday. *smiles*

And since that day Lloyd started calling Kai his brother.

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