#unit testing types | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steefen-blog · 3 months ago

Text

How to Choose the Best Transportable Building for You

Transportable buildings are becoming increasingly popular for their versatility, affordability, and convenience. Whether you need extra office space, a temporary home, or a storage unit, a transportable building provides a flexible solution that can be easily relocated as needed. However, with various options available, choosing the best transportable building for your needs requires careful consideration. Here’s a guide to help you make the right choice.

1. Determine Your Purpose

The first step in selecting a transportable building & Mobile COVID Testing Units is to identify its primary purpose. Different buildings are designed for various uses, such as:

Office space – Ideal for businesses, construction sites, or home offices.

Living quarters – Suitable for temporary or permanent housing solutions.

Storage units – Great for securing equipment, tools, or personal belongings.

Workshops – Designed for those who need extra space for hobbies or small businesses.

Classrooms – Used for educational institutions needing additional learning spaces.

By understanding your specific needs, you can narrow down the best type of transportable building for your situation.

2. Consider the Size and Layout

Transportable buildings come in various sizes and layouts. It’s essential to evaluate the available space on your property and determine how much room you need inside the structure. Ask yourself:

How many rooms or sections do you need?

Will you require open space, partitions, or built-in furniture?

Is the available land sufficient for the building size you want?

Choosing the right dimensions ensures that the building fits well on your property and serves its purpose efficiently.

3. Select the Right Material

The material of your transportable building affects its durability, insulation, and maintenance requirements. Common materials include:

Steel – Strong, durable, and resistant to harsh weather conditions.

Wood – Provides a natural aesthetic and is often used for homes or offices.

Composite panels – Lightweight, insulated, and energy-efficient.

Aluminum – Rust-resistant and commonly used for temporary setups.

Each material has its pros and cons, so consider your climate, budget, and intended use when making a decision.

4. Look for Insulation and Climate Control

If you plan to use the building for living or working, insulation and climate control are crucial. Insulated transportable buildings help maintain comfortable indoor temperatures and reduce energy costs. Some important features to consider include:

Thermal insulation – Keeps heat inside during winter and out during summer.

Ventilation – Ensures proper airflow to prevent moisture buildup.

Heating and cooling options – Air conditioning and heating units improve comfort levels.

A well-insulated transportable building enhances usability in all seasons.

5. Check for Customization Options

Many transportable buildings can be customized to meet specific requirements. Depending on your needs, you may want to add features such as:

Extra windows or doors for better lighting and accessibility.

Electrical and plumbing installations for functional living or office spaces.

Shelving and storage solutions for better organization.

Exterior finishes to match existing structures on your property.

Customization ensures that the building aligns perfectly with your intended use.

6. Understand Local Regulations and Permits

Before purchasing or installing a transportable building, check with local authorities regarding zoning laws, permits, and building codes. Some areas have restrictions on the size, placement, and intended use of transportable structures. Ensuring compliance with regulations will help you avoid fines and legal issues.

7. Evaluate Your Budget

Transportable buildings are generally cost-effective, but prices vary based on size, material, and customization options. Establish a budget beforehand and compare different models to find the best value for your money. Don’t forget to factor in additional costs such as:

Site preparation and foundation work.

Transportation and installation fees.

Utility connections if needed.

Ongoing maintenance and repairs.

Having a clear budget ensures you choose a building that meets your needs without overspending.

8. Research Suppliers and Reviews

Selecting a reputable supplier is crucial to getting a high-quality transportable building. Read customer reviews, check for warranties, and ask about after-sales support. A reliable supplier will provide detailed information about materials, installation, and long-term durability, ensuring you make an informed purchase.

Final Thoughts

Choosing the best Transportable Building requires careful planning and consideration of various factors such as purpose, size, material, insulation, customization, regulations, budget, and supplier reputation. By taking the time to assess your needs and compare options, you can find a transportable building that perfectly fits your requirements. Whether for work, storage, or living, the right choice will provide a functional and comfortable space for years to come.

#affordability #and convenience. Whether you need extra office space #a temporary home #or a storage unit #a transportable building provides a flexible solution that can be easily relocated as needed. However #with various options available #choosing the best transportable building for your needs requires careful consideration. Here’s a guide to help you make the right choice.#1. Determine Your Purpose #The first step in selecting a transportable building & Mobile COVID Testing Units is to identify its primary purpose. Different buildings a #such as:#•#Office space – Ideal for businesses #construction sites #or home offices.#Living quarters – Suitable for temporary or permanent housing solutions.#Storage units – Great for securing equipment #tools #or personal belongings.#Workshops – Designed for those who need extra space for hobbies or small businesses.#Classrooms – Used for educational institutions needing additional learning spaces.#By understanding your specific needs #you can narrow down the best type of transportable building for your situation.#2. Consider the Size and Layout #Transportable buildings come in various sizes and layouts. It’s essential to evaluate the available space on your property and determine ho #How many rooms or sections do you need?#Will you require open space #partitions #or built-in furniture?#Is the available land sufficient for the building size you want?#Choosing the right dimensions ensures that the building fits well on your property and serves its purpose efficiently.

0 notes

priteshwemarketresearch · 4 months ago

Text

Future of Automated Test Equipment: Growth Factors & Challenges

Automated Test Equipment Market: Trends, Growth, Analysis, and Future Outlook

During the projected period, the global Automated Test Equipment market is anticipated to expand at a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 3.6% from its 2022 valuation of USD 7.55 billion. An automated test apparatus (ATE) is a computer-controlled system that is used to test and assess electronic systems, parts, and gadgets.

The market's expansion is driven by the consumer electronics industry's increasing need for this equipment as well as the notable manufacturing time savings that result from its utilization. Furthermore, throughout the projection period, the government's initiatives to support the semiconductor sector will open up new avenues for market growth.

Request Sample PDF Copy:https://wemarketresearch.com/reports/request-free-sample-pdf/automated-test-equipment-market/1217

Automated Test Equipment Market Trends and Analysis

The Automated Test Equipment Market is evolving rapidly, driven by various industry trends:

Adoption of AI and Machine Learning – Integration of AI-driven automation improves testing efficiency and accuracy.

Growing Semiconductor Demand – The increase in consumer electronics and automotive electronics fuels market growth.

Expansion of 5G Technology – The proliferation of 5G networks requires advanced testing solutions, boosting ATE demand.

Miniaturization of Electronic Components – Smaller, more complex electronic devices necessitate high-precision automated testing.

Industry 4.0 and IoT Integration – Smart manufacturing and IoT connectivity are driving ATE innovation.

Key Companies

Chroma ATE Inc.

Aeroflex Inc. (a subsidiary of Cobham plc)

Astronics Corporation

Advantest Corporation

LTX-Credence Corporation (Xcerra Corporation)

Teradyne Inc.

STAr Technologies Inc. (a subsidiary of Innotech Corporation)

Tesec Corporation

Roos Instruments, Inc.

Marvin Test Solutions Inc.

Danaher Corporation

Others

Automated Test Equipment Market Growth Factors

The Automated Test Equipment Market Growth is propelled by several factors:

Increasing Complexity of Semiconductor Devices – As chips become more advanced, the need for efficient testing grows.

Rising Demand in Consumer Electronics – Smartphones, wearables, and smart home devices require high-quality testing.

Automotive Industry Expansion – The rise of electric vehicles and ADAS systems increases ATE adoption.

Cost Reduction in Manufacturing – Automated testing improves efficiency and reduces production costs.

Government and Regulatory Standards – Compliance with quality and safety regulations boosts market demand.

Key Points of the Automated Test Equipment Market

Market Size & Share: The Automated Test Equipment Market Size is expanding due to rising industrial demand.

Market Price: Cost varies based on equipment type, technology, and application.

Market Forecast: The industry is projected to experience steady growth, particularly in semiconductors and telecom sectors.

Market Potential: High potential in emerging markets, including automotive and IoT applications.

Market Segments

By Product • Non-Memory ATE • Memory ATE • Discrete

By Vertical • Automotive • Consumer • Aerospace & Defense • IT & Telecom • Others

By Geography • North America o U.S. o Canada o Mexico

Europe o U.K. o Germany o France o Italy o Spain o Russia

Asia-Pacific o Japan o China o India o Australia o South Korea o ASEAN o Rest of APAC

South America o Brazil o Argentina o Colombia o Rest of South America

MEA o South Africa o Saudi Arabia o UAE o Egypt o Rest of MEA

Benefits of This Automated Test Equipment Market Report

This report provides comprehensive insights into:

Current and Emerging Market Trends – Understanding industry shifts and technological advancements.

Competitive Landscape – Analysis of key market players and their strategies.

Innovations in Testing Technologies – Overview of AI, ML, and IoT-driven ATE solutions.

Investment Opportunities – Identifying lucrative segments within the market.

Regulatory Compliance and Challenges – Navigating industry standards and market constraints.

Challenges in the Automated Test Equipment Market

Despite promising growth, the Automated Test Equipment Market faces challenges:

High Initial Investment Costs – Advanced ATE solutions can be expensive for smaller manufacturers.

Rapid Technological Advancements – Keeping up with fast-paced innovations is a challenge for businesses.

Lack of Skilled Workforce – The need for highly trained personnel to operate complex ATE systems.

Supply Chain Disruptions – Component shortages and geopolitical factors affecting production.

Regulatory Compliance Issues – Ensuring adherence to international safety and quality standards.

FAQs About the Automated Test Equipment Market

What is the current Automated Test Equipment Market Size?

What factors contribute to Automated Test Equipment Market Growth?

How does the Automated Test Equipment Market Price vary?

Which industries benefit the most from the Automated Test Equipment Market?

What are the latest Automated Test Equipment Market Trends?

What is the Automated Test Equipment Market Forecast for the next decade?

Related Report

Solid State Battery Market

https://wemarketresearch.com/reports/solid-state-battery-market/90

Personal Protective Equipment Market

https://wemarketresearch.com/reports/personal-protective-equipment-market/1321

Automated Test Equipment Market

https://wemarketresearch.com/reports/automated-test-equipment-market/1217

Conclusion

The Automated Test Equipment Market plays a vital role in ensuring the quality and reliability of modern electronic devices. With growing Automated Test Equipment Market Demand in industries such as semiconductors, consumer electronics, and automotive, the market is set for steady expansion. However, challenges such as high investment costs and rapid technological evolution need to be addressed. By embracing innovations and strategic investments, businesses can capitalize on the opportunities within this dynamic market.

0 notes

aarunresearcher · 6 months ago

Text

The United States IVD market is experiencing robust growth, driven by the increasing prevalence of chronic and infectious diseases, including diabetes, cardiovascular disorders, cancer, and infectious diseases such as COVID-19. This, in turn, has heightened the need for accurate and timely diagnostic tools like IVD, thus creating lucrative growth opportunities for the market.

1 note · View note

dilf-docs · 18 days ago

Text

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) flopped, i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

2K notes · View notes

pathologicalreid · 3 months ago

Note

omg consider this a request to bury reader again lol. imagine having to go through that again…imagine SPENCER knowing you’re experiencing it again…….margot pLS IM BEGGING🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🙏🙏

black hole | s.r.

in which the BAU has to race against the clock to find you after you've been buried alive, again

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: spoilery content warning at the end of the post. lol. claustrophobia, being buried alive, death. reader does NOT die, spencer reid crashout, kids/pregnancy, blood, hospitals, spencer's addiction, being drugged, the replicator, i probably missed something!!!! word count: 5.35k a/n: guys can u believe my first fic on here was buried alive. and here we are. doing it again?

Spencer was surrounded by people who cared about him, and yet, the only person he genuinely wanted to see was nowhere to be found. He’d sent you home from the office, passing the car keys along and swiping the incomplete files from your desk.

You’d kissed his cheek the same way you’d done it thousands of times before, and he’d taken it for granted. He should’ve turned his head to kiss your lips. He should’ve left the files to finish tomorrow and gone home with you. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder right now, searching for something that wasn’t coming. You weren’t coming.

He’d sent you home, only to find himself standing in your kitchen hours later, surrounded by evidence of a struggle. There had been blood smeared across the floor, a nauseating pattern that, in his professional opinion, looked like someone had been dragged. Without enough time to DNA test the blood, he couldn’t be sure, but once the crime scene unit had typed the blood and it came back as your type, he felt comfortable in his assumption. You had been taken.

Abducted right from the home that the two of you had created for each other, a safe haven to retreat to when the world felt too cramped, too dark.

Remnants of fear lingered in every corner of the house, skylights built into the ceiling for optimum light and nightlights in every room. Spencer had designed the house for you, and Derek arranged the construction. To the average bystander, the open floor plan looked like a modernization of the original structure. To you, each wall was placed purposefully so that you’d never feel like they were closing in on you.

The first person he called was Alex. Part of him wondered if he’d chosen her because she was the only member of the team who hadn’t been around to witness this the first time. The first time Spencer had been standing in a room and had been told you were missing; it felt as though time had completely stopped. This time, it felt like a jackknife to the chest, stabbing him continuously until his legs went out from under him, leaving him gasping on the phone to his friend. The rational side of his brain tried to tell him it was because Blake lived closest, but the irrational portion of Spencer Reid was the only part of him that ever had second thoughts.

That irrational side of him was the side that was in love with you, and he couldn’t justify the probability of this happening again. The math couldn’t be completed, and Spencer was once again left in fragments, nothing more than a shattered mirror that bore the reflection of someone who had it all.

Now, back at the BAU, he stared at the confidential FBI folder that had been abandoned on the kitchen counter by your abductor. It had been dusted, only to find no sign of fingerprints. The evidence was laid out on the roundtable; each page, each horrifying photo served as a memory of what had happened to you two years ago. Left on top of the folder was a piece of paper torn from the journal your therapist had instructed you to keep. Scrawled in unfamiliar penmanship, the note read: He who fears suffering is already suffering from what he fears.

He wasn’t concerned with the origin of the quote; he’d recognize Michel de Montaigne as surely as he would his own work. No, Spencer’s concern laid solely with the implications of the quote, and there was only one outcome he could come to. After all, suffering and your name were synonymous in his mind, even after all of this time.

You kept your eyes closed, grounding yourself just as your therapist had taught you in your hundreds of sessions. Soon enough, Spencer would wake up to your soft whimpers, and he’d coax you out of your paralysis. His hands would find their way to your shoulders, skimming his palms over the cotton of your sleep shirt, and he’d pull you up.

Any minute, Spencer would use the fader to illuminate your bedroom, providing you with the light that you needed as proof that everything was going to be fine. You’d anticipated this; the second anniversary of you being buried alive was just around the corner, and with it, the trauma bubbled to the surface. Even still, you found yourself frowning at the things your senses picked up—the smell of the dirt, the hard surface you were lying on, and the eerie silence of your surroundings. It took you a moment to realize that Spencer wasn’t cooing your name, trying to get you out of your nightmare without scaring you too much.

Clenching your fists, you found yourself missing the familiar pressure of your wedding ring on your left hand, and you told yourself that this had to be a dream. Since you’d gotten it, you only ever took it off if it was absolutely necessary. You’d missed the band so much that you’d gotten a cheaper one to replace it while you had the two pieces soldered together.

You took a deep breath, immediately overwhelmed by the rich earth that flooded your senses, the scent so pungent that you could almost taste it. Against your better judgment, you opened your eyes, letting the lids flutter open while you tried to adjust to the all too familiar darkness. A wave of nausea ran through you, churning your stomach while you tried to swallow it down—not wanting to lay in a puddle of your own sick. “No,” you breathed, having half a mind to sit up and look around, but as your eyes adjusted, you estimated there were only a few inches from the tip of your nose to the roof of your enclosure.

Tentatively, you felt around, grazing your fingertips across the interior surface of your newfound prison. Opposed to the smooth silk of the casket, you were met with a rough wooden surface that grated against your skin, tugging and pulling at the ridges of your fingerprints while you tried to bury your panic.

Denial only got a person so far, and there was nowhere else for you to go except to accept it. This was happening to you again.

This time, it seemed as though you were trapped within the confines of a wooden box, a collection of old two-by-fours haphazardly connected with various nails and screws. You could smell the age of the wood, damp and mildew only served to nauseate you further when mixed with the smell of the dirt.

He’d been put in time-out. Not that Hotch would ever use such layman’s terminology to describe the action taken but being told to sit in the roundtable room and stay there until they knew something felt like a child’s punishment. A flash out of the corner of his eyes signaled that JJ and Rossi had returned from checking the house, meaning Spencer had some explaining to do.

“What did you see?” Hotch asked as soon as they walked into the room. Spencer turned his head to gaze out the windows, watching the cacophony of the joint task force as it entered the next hour. He avoided JJ’s curious eyes, knowing that she knew.

Rossi’s leather boot tapped at the worn carpet in the doorway. “There was a cup of what looked like water on the kitchen counter,” he responded, nodding at the rest of the team as they all filed into the room. “The crime scene techs took a sample of it for testing. The field test came back positive for narcotics, but we won’t have an exact makeup until it comes back from the lab.”

A test that you didn’t have time for, but Spencer felt it was unnecessary. Hearing what they knew from the scene was enough to turn his stomach inside out, the kind of information that gets delivered and then all of a sudden, your ears feel like they’ve been stuffed with cotton. He’d subconsciously tuned out any other news to protect himself while he looked at the data on the form that Rossi had given him. For a long time, Spencer had accepted that his brain was one that worked with figures and reason, but looking at the numbers in front of him—nothing processed. Every number seemed foreign to him, and nothing made any sense to him.

He stood up suddenly, sending his office chair flying behind him, the aged wheels clattering within themselves as he looked around. Horrified looks were sent to him from everyone in the room. It only took one glance at your picture on the screen for him to grab the paper from the polished wood table. “I have to… I need to…” He rambled aimlessly, staring at the paper while he blindly tried to find his way out of the roundtable room and down the ramp.

Practically bolting out of the bullpen, Spencer sought the fresh air that the campus would bring, but Hotch had told him to stay put, so he settled for the more or less abandoned interview room that neighbored Morgan’s office. The room sat unused most of the time, a fine layer of dust coating everything in plain sight.

Gracelessly pulling at the strap of his watch, he flung it across the room, each faint tick of the seconds a haunting reminder that you were rapidly running out of air. He lowered himself to the ground, sitting down before his legs had a chance to give out beneath him. If he had shut down the first time, he was nothing more than a shell of himself right now, merely a pile of skin and bones that concealed organs—like a heart that was breaking. Pulsatile tinnitus made it seem like his heart was pounding in every area of his body, causing him to pull his legs to his chest, condensing himself so he didn’t take up so much space.

A soft knocking saved him from his own pit of despair, a familiar curtain of brown hair on narrow shoulders greeted his eyes, and the soft smile that Blake gave him dripped with pity. “Do you mind?” She asked rhetorically, gesturing to a chair in front of him before taking a seat. “What is it?”

Spencer’s brows furrowed, too stressed to deduce the meaning of her question. “What is what?” Dropping his hands, he thumbed the hem of his slacks, fiddling with a loose thread to occupy his busy mind. He tried to act as if there weren’t tornado sirens going off in his head, cluing him to an impending storm—one where he was bound to be swept up.

“There’s more to this thank you’re letting on,” Blake nudged the toe of her boot against Spencer’s sneaker. “Hotch wouldn’t have taken you out of the field if there weren’t exigent circumstances.”

Sometimes, he had to remind himself that even though she hadn’t been a profiler for very long, Alex had plenty of experience in the bureau. She had a knack for reading people and reaching conclusions, and, at this moment, Spencer despised her for it. He turned his head, resting his cheek on his knee, the displacement of his face causing one of his eyes to close. “She’s pregnant,” he confessed, the weight of the secret crumbling from the air around him.

He shut his other eye to avoid the look of shock that had inevitably taken place on Alex’s face. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen; you were supposed to be able to wait three more weeks until the second trimester and be able to tell everyone. It was supposed to be a joyous moment, not a secret choked out when there were no other options. “Hotch knows?”

Blinded by his eyelids, Spencer nodded. Hotch was the first person he’d told once that little plus sign popped up. Before you’d told any friends and family, Spencer knew he had to tell Hotch about the baby; he had to keep you safe. What a waste that had been.

Just last week, you’d gone to see the baby for the first time, the sonogram had been gleefully posted on your refrigerator that same day. He knew the chances that JJ and Rossi hadn’t seen it were next to none, so really, there was no more secret to keep.

You were just barely nine weeks along, the last few days had been spent debating whether or not you wanted to do a blood test to find out the sex, and now you might never know. He’d thought you’d be better off at home. He’d thought getting away from the office at a normal time would be healthy for you, but instead his well-meaning gesture had placed you under the radar of someone who wanted to hurt you. What was worse was this person undoubtedly knew who you were and what you were afraid of, they’d probably been watching you for a while.

Guilt burrowed deep inside of his gut when he lifted his eyelids, looking at the paper he’d taken from the roundtable room. Mixed in with whatever they’d given you to knock you out had been an unlisted narcotic. The field test hadn’t been precise enough to name the drug, but in the end, Spencer found he didn’t really care about the specifics. He only cared about what he knew. Narcotics were known to cause miscarriages, and when you combined that with whatever had knocked you out—GHB, Rohypnol, whatever—it only killed more hope. It brought Spencer to a place of desolation.

He was miserable as he handed the paper off to Blake, vaguely aware of the people passing by in the hallway, rubbernecking near the door to try and get a glimpse of him. “Did the UnSub just take whatever was left over in your medicine cabinet and give it to her?”

The question was innocent enough. Maybe in another lifetime, you’d have a few pills left over from various hospital trips, but that wasn’t the case in this timeline. “We don’t keep narcotics in the house,” he answered a tad too quickly.

Interrupting his thought process, JJ poked her head into the interrogation room, “Uh, Hotch wants everyone in the roundtable room.” Her sorrowful blue eyes pierced through Spencer, with him sitting on the floor, everyone felt so much bigger than him. “The Replicator sent us a message.”

You gasped a sob, trying to rein in your emotions so you wouldn’t use as much of your limited air supply, but with every passing moment, you found it that much more difficult to hold yourself together. Reaching up a hand, you pressed your palm at the ceiling above you, pushing up at the roof of your enclosure to no avail. Paranoia was beginning to creep in, telling you that the things you were hearing were the worms in the soil preparing to return you to the earth.

Swiping your hand on the wood, you repeated the motion until you were clawing at the rotting material, attempting to burrow yourself out of confinement. The split grains tugged and pulled at your fingertips, leaving splinters to interrupt the fine lines of your prints. You were on the verge of throwing a tantrum, kicking and scratching at your confines, until one of the boards broke, bringing you to a screeching halt.

You’d kicked one of the boards loose, breaking it and leaving the void to fill with dirt. Lowering your shaky hands, you took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to regulate your breathing through techniques you’d learned over the years. You’d spent countless hours in therapy trying to help your claustrophobia, but you’d used that time to navigate things like elevator rides and tiny bathroom stalls. You never thought you would need to prepare for this to happen to you a second time.

You couldn’t halt the tears when they finally came. Part of you knew that crying would use up what little oxygen you had at a fast rate, but the other part of you, the despondent part, didn’t have the energy to care. You tried for a moment, covering your mouth with your bleeding palm to contain the volume of air you were taking in, to no avail. You had finally lost control, and the fuzzy feeling in your brain was only exacerbated by the scent of the dirt that coated your hands.

It just wasn’t fair. Subconsciously, you knew the concept of fairness should’ve been something you’d given up on years ago, but as the air surrounding you grew stale, it was all you could think about. The idea that you’d spent your morning with Spencer trying to prove to you that your bump was showing, giggling while using the false name you’d assigned to your unborn child as you insisted you were just bloated.

Slowly, you dragged your bleeding fingertips down your torso, leaving them resting hesitantly on your lower belly, the exact spot that Spencer had insisted was protruding just that morning. Bile rose in your throat as you feared what your day of turmoil meant for your baby. You had no idea how long you’d been in the ground, and you had no idea how much time you had left. Spencer would’ve figured it out—he had last time. One sleepless night, you’d made him explain tidal volume to you, and he’d let you comb your fingers through your hair while he told you the story of the last time he came to your rescue.

As you lay there, paranoid, wondering if you were imagining the pain in your head and stomach, it occurred to you that you never should have come back to the BAU the first time. The sleepless nights you’d spent combing through the trauma of your teammates, convincing yourself that what you’d been through was nothing in comparison to their scars, had been entirely unnecessary. You kept a tally of the flights of stairs you’d taken when one elevator ride would’ve sufficed, wearing the count as a badge of honor. You could count on one hand the number of elevator rides you’ve taken in the last two years—they were usually spent with your head in your hands and Spencer’s hand on your back.

You’d always compared yourself to Emily, who’d lost her life, and Hotch, who’d lost his love, and you decided that if they could return to the field after those events, then there was no reason for you to lag behind. You forced yourself to play a part you didn’t belong in, and you could never forgive yourself for it. It’s part of the reason you let your eyes fall shut when the air grows thin, wondering if there was any point in coming back to a life you weren’t mean to be living.

He'd run out of things to throw, eyeing the books that he’d left scattered on the ground, his watch still discarded somewhere in the interview room. His tie was loosened to the point that it was almost slipping off of his neck while he desperately tried to catch his breath. Each time he settled down, he remembered you were suffocating, and the cycle continued.

The Replicator had all but taken responsibility for your abduction, and the world around him had begun to spin. Quickly, everything began to make sense, repeating a crime that had been committed against you and using narcotics to knock you out.

His addiction had never been officially documented in any FBI files, but that didn’t stop Spencer from placing fault on himself. There were easier ways to incapacitate someone, and somehow, the Replicator had chosen the method that was likely to do the most harm. Spencer put his trembling hands over his head, knowing that if he’d never taken that vial off of Tobias Hankel’s corpse, you wouldn’t be in this situation now. His mind that had been previously praised for genius drew convoluted lines between the dots, making connections that he never should’ve considered.

In the doorway, Alex came to his rescue once more, holding a Kevlar vest in her hand while smiling at him kindly, “We found her.”

The distance between Quantico and the cemetery was no more than a blur to him. He had no idea when it had started to rain, but he found each pelt of a raindrop to be soothing, welcoming the constant drumming that occupied his minds, keeping him away from catastrophizing.

Rossi, Hotch, and Emily had arrived only moments before the second SUV, but they’d wasted no time in getting the cemetery staff to dig at the coordinates Penelope had found in the message sent by the Replicator. The rain made the soil move like sludge off of the makeshift casket that contained the love of his life, and he took his first step toward you when he saw the broken pieces of wood.

A familiar arm went out in front of him, blocking his path to you with a sense of fraternal protection, but Spencer tried to push Morgan away. He was the weaker of the two, exhausted by his own emotions as he shoved his way through to you. Distantly, he heard himself asking to be let through, but it wasn’t until the lid of the casket was popped that Blake spoke up for him, “Derek.”

Immediately, Derek’s arm dropped, releasing the hold he had on Spencer and allowing him to run to you. The sopping ground sept into his shoes as he ran, falling into the mud while Emily and Hotch precariously pulled you out of your enclosure. Morgan’s intention had been to shield Spencer from the harsh reality of your death, but even if you were gone, he still felt an otherworldly pull to you. After all, what was the point of promising ‘til death do us part if he wasn’t with you when you went?

Mud coated every spare inch of his clothes, but he couldn’t care less as he scrambled to take your hand in his, gently pressing his fingers to your wrist and waiting for something—anything. “Baby, please.” He couldn’t tell, the radial pulse could be undependable, so he moved his hand to your neck and crouched his head over your face, immediately comforted when he heard the faint whistle of air flowing through your nostrils.

Relief flooded his senses, inclining his head to rest his forehead against yours and nodding profusely when Emily asked him if you were alive. His chest shook with a sob as he pulled back, tugging his FBI jacket off and laying it over you to try and warm you up, the rest of the team following suit while JJ and Hotch tried to flag down the ambulance. He tuned out the frantic discussion of the team and the loud blare of the emergency vehicles.

Shifting so he was sitting on the ground, he gingerly placed your head in his lap, using his fingertips to deftly wipe away the dirt and blood that covered your marred skin. He noted a scratch on your head, and a quick scan of your body didn’t show him any visible injuries, though your hands displayed a nauseating portrait of your time in the ground, torn apart with dozens of splinters. “I’ve got you,” he cooed to your unconscious body. He looked up to see a team of EMTs running towards you, decked out in rain gear and medical supplies, “She’s pregnant.”

His words elicited a stare from one of the rain-soaked paramedics, telling him he had reached the same conclusion that Spencer had already resolved himself to. “We’ve gotta get her out of this rain,” he said, loading you onto a spine board and lifting you to the gurney so they could easily roll you to the ambulance, leaving Spencer scrambling to catch up with you. He practically threw himself into the ambulance, refusing to separate himself from you.

Spencer squeezed your hand, hoping you’d squeeze back, staying as far back as he could from the paramedics while keeping his fingers intertwined with yours.

Nothing hurt when you came to, but you could feel the familiar pressure of a bandage around your leg. Sensation traveled up to your hands, each of your fingertips precariously wrapped with cause, initiating the healing of your cuts from when you’d tried to scratch your way to freedom. Slowly, you took a deep breath, letting the antiseptic air of the hospital flood your senses.

Through your eyelids, you could see that the room around you was bright, and a soft smile tugged at your lips despite yourself—Spencer was here. You felt him now, the soft touch of his hand on your arm, the imprint of a hand you knew as well as your own. The warmth of his palm served as a brief distraction before your brain registered a dull ache in your stomach, and somehow, you just knew. A low keening sound slipped from your throat, more from the compressed escape of air than a complaint of any pain you felt.

“I love you,” Spencer whispered gently, his voice hoarse with emotion, “So, so much.” He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your battered knuckles. “Oh, honey,” he sighed, gently squeezing your hand, minding your wounds.

He was so gentle with you—he always had been. His fingertips drifted over your arm with an attention to detail that rivaled a medical doctor, minding the IV in your arm when he moved past it. You tried to mumble an I love you in return, but the words came out unintelligibly.

Spencer’s ministrations came to a halting stop at this first sign of life, “Hey,” he cooed, “What was that?” You felt the side of your mattress dip as he took a seat on your bedside, he hushed you gently, dragging a knuckle up and down your cheek while silently pleading for you to speak.

He was testing you, that much you knew. He wanted to know if being deprived of air had cost you your ability to speak. You shook your head at him, denying the implication as you cleared your throat determinedly, “I love you, too.” Your voice was gravelly, likely from all of the screaming you had done in the tomb, but it was there, and it was coherent.

The hospital sheets scratched at your skin while you tried to coax yourself into opening your eyes, the promise of seeing Spencer providing an incentive. Taking a deep breath, your eyelids fluttered open, looking up at his sorrowful eyes. Even so, he smiled at you softly, just happy to see you awake, “There’s my girl.”

The tear tracks on his face were like daggers to your heart, bringing with them a terrible reminder of whatever fear he felt when you had gone missing. You blinked additional sleep out of your eyes, focusing on him and his exhaustion, “How long?” You asked, watching him reach over for a glass of water, guiding the straw to your mouth.

He waited until you’d taken a few sips before answering your questions, “You’ve been asleep for two days.” He said, setting the cup to the side—close enough that you could grab it on your own if need be.

You made a face—two days was a long time—and sighed, relaxing back into the pillows while you tried to find the right words to say. “How’s…. Am I…?” You stumbled through the question, tears welling in your waterline before you even had the chance to ask. Swallowing thickly, you could only hope Spencer understood when you were getting at before you had to force the words out.

Your husband shook his head softly, “There’s no heartbeat.” His voice was tight, but he maintained his position as a pillar for you to lean on, keeping your hand in his just in case you needed additional support.

It didn’t hurt, not right now. You were sure the grief would hit you at some point in the near future when the sun hit your face just right or a blue car passed you by. Some inexplicable harbinger of grief would enter and exit your life just as quickly as your child had. “Okay,” you breathed, gazing at Spencer, hoping your eyes would have the ability to convey how you felt.

“They haven’t pinpointed a cause; it could’ve been any number of things, but it’s not… Are you in any pain?” He cut himself off to check in on you; he studied your expression with a stoicism that rivaled your boss.

You shook your head, “No.” The achiness you felt wasn’t strong enough to fully qualify as pain, and anything that was there, your body had already gotten used to. You were sure there was something in your IV that was assisting the numbness in your limbs.

Spencer raised his eyebrows doubtfully, “Would you tell me if you were?” He asked you, giving you a look that reminded you he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Will you just… not tell anyone I woke up yet?” You shifted uncomfortably on the bed, “I’m not ready.” You needed time to prepare for the prying eyes and barrage of questions that were bound to come with the BAU.

His head bobbed, “Anything. Anything you want,” he promised, dragging his knuckle up and down your cheek. Subconsciously, you leaned into his touch, prompting him to cup the cold skin in his warm palm. “You could go back to sleep if you wanted to.”

You hummed woefully, “Not yet. I missed the light.” Besides that, you wanted to enjoy your sedated mind before it became overwhelmed with a flurry of emotions. Right now, you felt peace, and you deserved to have that kind of silence. Surely the dam would break, but as long as you could hold it off, you just wanted to lay in bed with Spencer. “’m cold,” you mumbled thoughtlessly, thinking of it as a throwaway comment before you remembered who you married.

Spencer had a pile of blankets to his left, and he deftly pulled the top one from the pile and got to work placing it over you. “Is this better?” He asked, timidly tucking the blanket under your side and making sure you were well-covered.

Wincing, you slid your hand beneath the blanket and lifted the side, creating an opening for him to slip into. Your silent invitation was accepted when Spencer kicked his shoes off and joined you in the crowded hospital bed, “Much better.” You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, “Spence?”

“What is it, honey?” He asked, skimming the pad of his thumb over your side, his large hand splayed against your back.

Clenching your left hand into a fist, you sighed, trying to ignore the tears that were pricking your eyes. “Did you find my ring?” You remembered missing it in the ground, but you’d forgotten until just now, your finger once again intolerably bare.

A gentle kiss was pressed to the crown of your head, “Yes.” He twisted back, plucking the familiar ring off of your bedside table and returning it to its rightful home on your ring finger. “It was on the back of your sink in the bathroom,” he explained, twisting the band so the gem was facing out.

Small, sad tears trickled from your ducts. You sniffled, and Spencer’s grip on you changed—not tighter, but firmer as if he had anticipated this moment. The moment when what you had been avoiding finally caught up with you.

“I’ve got you,” he reassured you. You didn’t even have to ask for him to rub small circles on your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. As it had been for years now, Spencer was the only reason you felt safe enough to let your eyes fall shut, and even the darkness of sleep didn’t seem so intimidating when you knew you had him near.

spoiler content warning: miscarriage

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot

1K notes · View notes

haztory · 1 month ago

Text

where you are.

— continuation to bias. (yes, i am making a series. yes, i am making us work for it) — jack abbot x fellow f!reader; attending/fellow dynamic, age-gap (unspecified but reader is late 20s and up, jack is mid 40s), heavy plot, slow-burn, angst, mention of patient death, gore, medical descriptions, descriptions of c-sections and premature birth, medical inaccuracies, jack and city girl being a formidable unit together in the ER then a LONG stint of pining, yearning, and embracing of domesticity, these two taking care of each other without realizing, please heed the warnings there are descriptions of invasive and traumatic birth — word count: 4.5k — summary: The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you.

masterlist

The night had been going fine up until this point. Maybe it was that faulty line of thinking that led to this. The sudden implosion, the shatter of the steady.

Jack isn’t one to brag much about himself. There’s no grand honor in being a doctor. Private practice, sure. Maybe. In the ED, it's shit work in shit situations where actual shit may or may not be involved. He’ll tell that to anyone who asks. When the inevitable question comes—are you any good at it?—he’ll shrug and tell them, depends on the day.

He’s seen enough, done enough, worked with little more than two plastic straws and a boning knife to do a crike in the middle of a firefight in Afghanistan. He knows his way around the block, and can do more than the average ED can—that he will admit. But it's still a shit job sometimes.

He hates all of the tragedy that rolls through the doors. They all eat away at the sinews of the mortal coil, but pregnant traumas? They get to him. It’s unsteady ground, the one type of call that he’s always shown a physical reticence to handling.

There’s too much variability, too many unsuspecting errors, too much divided attention in the multidisciplinary approaches where focus has to be split for the sake of mom and baby. Crack open a body and you’re in for a world of hurt. Throw pregnancy into the mix, and now you’re one step away from God’s door asking what kind of games he’s playing.

Aching despair is wedged in each part of an obstetric trauma that makes someone as battle tested and weathered as Dr. Jack Abbot sweat and cringe with a grief too profound for words.

They wheel the young woman into Trauma One and the adrenaline surges through him like a needle straight to veins. His eyes, cold and hurried, press into Lisa. A terse instruction is barked out, your name in his lips.

“Get her in here now.”

Lisa is quick on her feet, stepping out of the OR to find you just as he cuts open the young girl’s shirt. In his survey of her body—the distended stomach dark with bruising from her injuries, blood staining every part of her body, most notably her inner thighs—his eyes find her face, shining a light in her eyes.

The pupils remain unilaterally fixed in their dilation, non reactive. And it’s then that he notices how much of a child she looks.

The sudden slam of the trauma doors welcomes you into the room, a rush in your step as you tie the surgical gown behind your back. A readied focus on your eye. The sight of you instills a relief akin to a cool splash of water on Abbot—something he notes and stores on the shelf of things to deal with later. A shelf that is starting to pile up these days with things he’s avoiding. Things that all, concerningly, relate to you.

“Tell me.”

A resident presents with speedy construction as Jack oversees the tracheostomy. Young female ejected from an MVC, tachycardic, extensive blood loss and apparent extreme cardiovascular collapse and hypoxia. Non reactive pupils indicating neurological nerve damage. EMTs conducted an ultrasound to confirm pregnancy and baby’s length at 30 weeks. Dr. Hudson, the OB-GYN specialist, is on the phone, her own hands wrapped up in an emergency delivery upstairs, asking for details just as they’re presenting them to you. But there’s value in having you in the room—you’ve told Abbot enough about your New York residency. He knows just how much knowledge you have in obstetrics for this.

The decision is made by you without further delay. Sure and serious.

“We’re getting this baby out, now.” Your suggestion meets no rebuttal from Dr. Hudson over the line.

“CT has been ordered, we’re next in line.” Dr. Basu, the attending surgeon, speaks from the side of the bed.

“For it to confirm what we already know and waste more time?” You explain, not meanly. Just direct, intense. “We’ve got vaginal bleeding, likely dealing with placental abruption and the longer we wait, the longer the baby is not getting oxygen. We get this baby out now or we lose both of them.”

Dr. Hudson’s voice rings on the other end of the line, “I agree. Keep me updated.”

Abbot’s a good soldier, takes direction without problem. He’s heard your directive loud and clear, the specialist’s agreement is just icing on the cake.

“You heard them. Let's move.”

You fall beside him in perfect time, meeting his movements quickly as skin is cut, hands move, and a baby—small, pink, and too pure for how he’s born—is introduced to the world.

The baby is passed to a resident for care, a separate team filling up the connecting OR to secure baby boy before getting him up to NICU. Your attention remains fixed on attempting to stabilize mom, or at least getting her stable enough to be put on life support so that her family can see her and make the call. Jack is by your side, equally intent as you. Grounds his feet to the floor, keeps himself firm as you speak directions to one another, pass steady compliments at performance, grit out expletives of frustration.

Intent to share in the dread of this one.

It’s not going well. The injuries are so severe, compounding on each other that right when you think you get something halfway resolved, another crash of vitals sounds through incessant beeping.

He says your name softly, an hour and fifteen minutes into the procedure, after her pulse is lost for the third time and three units of O-Pos have been pumped through her. A gentle echo in the orchestra of chaotic beeps. You look at him, blood staining your forearms, sweat beading on both of your foreheads, the dismay creasing on your face mirrored on his own.

“Anything else you want to try?” He asks. It’s not a test of knowledge, a sudden pop-quiz from your attending, but true deference.

You hardly imagine he’s had to do many emergency c-sections on the floor, much less when he was on the field, but seeing the monolith of a man equally lost like you is hard hitting. You shake your head, tired.

“Call it.” He gently issues.

“Time of death, 3:07.” The words heave out of your mouth in a shuddered breath. It’s through shot nerves and sheer adrenaline that your hands shakily pull the bloodied gloves off of them. You toss them to the floor in defeat as the respiratory therapist stops her manually pumping of the bag valve mask and Lisa shuts off the monitors.

It’s the same punch to the gut every time the words are uttered. You still struggle to get used to it.

“Thank you all for your work on this one.” Jack says to everyone in the room. The team seems to deflate at his words, solemnity a gaseous cloud that poisons the crowd.

“Let’s take a moment and honor her and the life that was here.”

It’s a tense and desolate moment of silence. They always are. It’s broken by the sound of the sneakers in the hallway and the opening of the operating doors.

“Dr. Abbot—” Bridget’s whisper stirs the room, “Your patient in two is vomiting.”

That’s all that can be afforded. The room breaks, everyone filtering out as the world continues to revolve beyond this room. As everyone makes out for the doors, he notices you stay. Staring. Reviewing.

Going through it all over, and over, and over again.

“We did everything we could.” He calls to you, ritualistically. Because it’s the right thing to say, not necessarily the one he believes.

“I know.” You tell him, because it’s true, but not because you believe it. You stay focused on the girl’s face, childlike features marred with contusions. “I just want a moment.”

“Course.” He offers quietly, “Anything you need.”

Your lips tilt at the shared mantra, a settled phrase that you find each other saying more often these days. You nod, appreciatively at him, your blessing for him to take his leave. Still, he hesitates. Holds. Waits. Staying close in case you voice a need—in case you say you need him.

He forces himself out of the room before he makes a fool of himself.

—

Abbot finds you in the aftermath. When a clean blanket is covering the girl's face, and she’s been wiped of the blood and fluids, and moved to an observation room waiting for her family’s arrival. After you both have moved forward through the night in other cases. He finds you outside of the vending machine, your gaze stuck flicking between the number of options.

“You’re supposed to put money into the machine in order to get something out.”

The sound of his voice hardly surprises you, even from behind. Almost like you anticipate him throughout the night, expect to find him somewhere nearby—these days, you practically hear him in the swirl of your own thoughts. Guiding you, teasing you, comforting you.

“I’m fighting a battle against the urge to gorge on chocolate.” You tell him succinctly, eyeing the trail mix hesitantly.

“How’s that going?”

“I’m losing.”

He huffs a breath then pulls out his card from his wallet. He steps up behind you, close enough where his chest brushes your shoulder as he reaches around and taps it against the machine's card reader. You don’t move from the innocent meeting of your bodies, out of some curious interest in seeing if he will.

He doesn’t. You shove the desire to lean into his subtle touch with a ten-foot pole, beating it until it's nonexistent.

He punches in ‘B6’ on the keypad without hesitation and watches as a Snickers bar is dropped from the rack. He bends down, reaching his hand through the slot and raises back up with a grunt, handing the chocolate bar to you.

Your stare is scolding, but you take the bar anyway. Ripping the wrapper and taking a bite of the candy. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Cushion before the blow.” He warns. Your chewing slows, eyes widening in dread at him.

“Our pregnant mom’s parents are here.” Jack explains and you sigh heavily. “She was sixteen.”

Solemnly nodding, your eyes find comfort in fixating on the tile floor. “We have her name?”

“Kerina Jackson.”

“Okay. I’ll head over now.”

“You want me in there?”

“No. I made the call, I can do it.”

“I don’t mind.”

He watches you think for a moment. Weighing the pros and cons of it all, before you meet his gaze. Looking into him as if searching for any insincerity or any indication that he might take your acceptance as weakness.

Finding nothing, you nod slowly. “Yeah, okay. Please.”

The walk to the observation room is harrowing. Your candy lays half eaten in your hand before you eventually tuck it into your pocket, appetite lost. You both convene one final look at each other at the door—a quick check-in, an agreement to step in before doing so. Jack moves, his hand on the handle of the door and holds it open for you, following in after you.

You speak first, introducing the both of you to the parents as the doctors responsible for overseeing their daughter. They hang onto your words with fevered worry. You tell them the outcome as softly as you can. Life shatters for them in an instant.

Through their heaves and sobs, you manage to croak out. “The baby is stable, for now. He’s been sent up to NICU for care. One of our nurses can take you to go see him.”

“And our daughter, where is she?” Her father asks.

Jack speaks then, “We have her ready for you in an observation room. You can see her whenever you’d like.”

“I speak for Dr. Abbot and I when I say that we are so sorry that this has happened.” You continue. They ask a few questions—what killed her? Severe blood loss. Blunt force trauma. How long were you operating on her? An hour and fifteen minutes. Are you sure you did everything you could? No. But that part stays quiet.

The room descends in a choked mood. Tempered by the soft sobs to two mourning parents who have no questions to ask but to the God that decided to take their child.

“We will be here for any other questions you have or help you may need.” Jack speaks amidst the tears. There’s gratitude at his insertion as you find yourself at a loss of what else to say. But Jack knows. He always knows. “If you let one of our nurses know, they’ll come get us.”

His hand rests on the small of your back as he guides you both out of the room. It’s a welcome feeling, a steady rock on shaky ground. As soon as the touch is there, it’s gone. He’s rounding on you, staring intently into you.

“You good?”

“No.” You shrug. “You?”

He crosses his arms, tendons in his forearms stretching for a moment as he opens and closes his palms. For a moment you see the sliver of the man—the one that is becoming more and more familiar to you. That he’s revealing slowly, a new crack into the armor each time you happen to be around when these things happen. Weary and upset in a way that stretches beyond anger at the unfairness of life. Targeted almost in judgement, in disappointment at choices—his and beyond.

It touches depths of sadness and hurt in ways that he doesn’t often let show. Visible only in the slow nod of his head and the downturn curl of the corner of his lips.

A slew of questions sits in his mind—What was she doing out on the road so late? What did she run into? Why wasn’t she wearing her seatbelt? Why the fuck was she pregnant at sixteen? Each is more devastating than the last, sticking a knife into his back and drags down, down, down the seam of his skin until he feels like he’s split into two.

His leg aches, loudly, but admitting that is forsaking a life that this young girl doesn’t get to have anymore.

“Gotta keep going.” He says, plainly. But his lips curl downward and his stare says more than he thinks it does.

Your fingers itch to grab onto him and hold him tight.

—

The sun rises slowly and with it comes the harrowing end of the shift. It couldn’t have come sooner.

You should run—make for the streets of Pittsburgh and never turn back. Let your heart race in adrenaline from something other than tragic chaos. Run for nonexistent hills that whisper a promise of calm and levied bliss as you leave PTMC and all that it holds. It’s an amusing thought. If you were stronger, more committed, you would. But the clock ticks past your scheduled exit time, your bag slung over your shoulder and yet, your feet remain firmly planted to the ground at the loading bay. Stuck, held, waiting. For something.

A sign, maybe. A reminder of why you’re here.

“I need a beer.”

Much like he’s done all night, Jack sidles up beside you. Appearing out of thin air and standing next to you. You’re brows furrow in question, having thought he had made for the rooftop like he usually does after a long shift.

“Isn’t it too early for that?” You ask.

“Never too early for a good thing.” He shrugs. “Isn’t that a ‘city that never sleeps’ specialty?”

“Touché.” You nod in concession. Silence befalls the two of you as the world sounds around you. Cars drive by as people wake up, sirens from an ambulance ring only a hair’s width away. The air is cool on your skin and you take the moment to breathe. The urge to run wanes, slightly.

“I’ve got some beer at my place.” You offer, casually. “Wanna head that way?”

Jack turns to meet your gaze. It's an innocuous invitation, smeared with exhaustion and nonchalance. Nothing untoward. Like you wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t take you up on it, just as you wouldn’t make it a big deal if he did. Your thumb points south, gesturing to your apartment, the complete opposite direction of his home.

He tilts his head after a thoughtful moment of consideration. “You take the train?”

“Bus.”

“Fuck that. I’ll drive us.”

—

Your apartment is deep in the strongarm of the city, right at the crossing between loud and hectic, and just past the Allegheny River. The building is as quaint as it is quiet, which isn’t saying much. A big, tall eyesore and Jack can’t help but scoff.

City girl staying close to what she knows.

He follows, woefully out of his element, as you guide him past the concierge and through the modern and minimalist decor of the lobby into golden elevators. You press twelve on the buttons and the elevator ascends in a quiet hum—lulled only by the whir of the machine.

Comfortable silence emphasizes the line that’s been drawn in the sand. Work staying at the steps of the hospital, far from a desirable topic of conversation, even farther from being a worthy disruption of the tranquility. Rehashing the night, wondering what could have been done differently is a task you both save for personal time in the privacy of your spaces when no one else is looking.

“Bienvenido a mi casita.” You sing, tired and a feeble attempt at jovial, as your keys unlock the apartment door. 1224, he notes. Puts it up on the crowded shelf with everything else about you he pretends he isn’t storing. He steps inside, eyes scanning the home with barely concealed interest.

It’s a small space, clean—save for the mail you have scattered on the counter and the stray bottle of cleaner that you have yet to put away. The apartment is decorated modestly, color popping in the pillows on your couch, the rug you have in the living room, the dinner mats on your two-chaired dinner table. Photos of friends, family, your nieces hang on every wall in a pleasant array. It’s lived in, alive, warm, yours.

He doesn’t realize he’s studying the place until you call from behind him from the kitchen, your head deep in the pantry. “You still want that beer? I can make some coffee instead?”

“Coffee’s good. Bl—”

“Black. I know.” You look at him over your shoulder, a twinkle somehow emerging in your eyes. From the ash of a smoldering fire that burned all that was sane, you still rise—sparking anew. He watches, curious. You grab coffee grounds and move through your kitchen, filling the machine and starting a brew.

“You hungry?” You ask.

“Are you?”

“I could eat.”

He didn’t come here to eat breakfast. He’s not sure why he even came in the first place. But he nods despite the uncertainty that makes him feel idiotic. “Sure.”

He wades awkwardly into your apartment. Unsure where to stand, how to take up less space, if he should bid his goodbye now or later. His eyes fall to a box leaning against your living room wall, beside your television that sits pathetically on the floor.

“What’s going on here?” He asks, gesturing to the cardboard with black lettering that has too many umlauts above them.

“A TV stand that I’ve been procrastinating building.” You respond, the sound of eggs cracking on the counter and into a bowl ringing throughout the room.

“How long?”

“‘bout a month.”

“Christ.” He scoffs. “You waiting for God to show up?

“Something like that.” He hums. His eyes narrow for a moment, before deciding resolutely.

“Got a tool kit?”

The morning unfolds slowly, comfortably. Jack sitting in your living room, building your TV stand to create a reason as to why he’s here. He pauses only when you plate up some breakfast. Eggs, toast, and a cup of coffee. He eats in a steady quiet with you, unsure when the last time he had breakfast with someone was.

Conversations are interspersed infrequently. Mostly unimportant; something about this new hot sauce you got from the farmer’s market and the plans you have for redecorating. He tells a stupid story about the billboard outside your apartment window that used to have the picture of the two twin lawyers and their fish man.

(“Their fish man?”

“Shenderovich, Shenderovich, and Fishman. 1-888-98-Twins.”

“Shenderovich to the second power. God, that’s awful.”

“You’re telling me.”)

Quiet things, small delights that bring the slight quirk to his lips and the gentle huff of laughter from you. The small things the diffuse the tension of the night, that force the slow revival into becoming a human again.

You take both plates when you finish, humming at his quiet thanks and returning to the kitchen to clean while he returns his attention to the stand. And it’s normal—so pointedly normal and domestic it’s a wonder this hasn’t been a routine occurrence. Jack is sore thumb in his scrubs sitting on your living room floor, your measly excuse for a toolkit beside him as he fits wooden slabs together and builds. An entirely new sight, certainly not something the version of you a few months ago would’ve thought you’d ever see, but it's a welcome one.

Weirdly, he fits. His figure, his presence, him. Makes your home feel whole, meaningful.

Time passes with little recognition. It’s a relatively simple stand—easy and mindless to put together. The Swedes are built off of functional efficiency and he sends a quiet hail mary to the Scandinavians. One moment, Jack is scanning the instructions, his eyes glancing to yours as you place a glass of water beside his mug on the coffee table next to him. Then he blinks and the stand is assembled, only the quiet hum of the morning news sounding from your television.

It’s a welcome thing. He’s never able to fully turn his mind off but in the mundane, the easy turn of the screw and the pleasing click of pieces together, the turmoil dulls to a quiet chatter and he can breathe easily. Zoned in so readily that he lost touch with reality for a second. Forgot where he was, what he was doing, who he was doing it for.

He pushes the stand into the place where your TV sits on the ground, then lifts the TV onto its surface. Settling the furniture into the place that he supposes you would want—the place he thinks it looks best.

He’s turning, content at being useful and ready to ask for your approval. Then he realizes that he’s heard very little from you while he was building.

He finds you on the couch behind him. Eyes shut, mouth slightly open as your breaths are softly and evenly exhaled in your sleep. Your hair is released from the tie you had to hold it back throughout the shift, the strands messily framing your face as you lay against the pillow of the couch. Still clad in your scrubs, your face settles peacefully as you rest. Not scrunched in frustration or stony in your focus.

Under the soft of the morning light, a sharp contrast to the fluorescents he’s always seen you under, exhaustion resounds on your face. Tamed only by the sweetened sighs of your slumber that remedy the ailment. You sleep, sweet and easy.

A stray strand of hair crosses over your nose, moving with the rhythmic rise and falls of your breaths. A twitch aches in his fingers. Spurned by need and the deep rooted ache of loneliness that craves the taste of tenderness.

He brushes the strand away from your face, eyes focused on the action, watching your face remain peacefully asleep. Relishes in the brief moment of softness he’s been afforded.

There’s a twinge of guilt as he has to disturb the solitude, yours and his, when he taps your leg gently. You stir in tired confusion.

“Lock the door behind me.”

“You’re going?” You ask, wiping your mouth, sounding disappointed at the notion.

“Yeah. You need to sleep.”

“You sure? You can stay.”

The excuse is on his tongue fighting against the urge to read into that. There was hardly a reason for him to be here today, much less one for him to linger around. Insist and bore drill into the cracks of his thick skull that this shouldn’t happen again. That this is inappropriate.

It’s pointedly not, though. He built a stand for you, you made him breakfast. That was all there was to it. That’s all that was being expected by you, because why would you expect anything further?

(You wouldn’t. Because there’s nothing going on. Despite the stares from the nurses, and the whispers of a rumored bet, and the lingering glances that get sent between you two—nothing is going on.

He’s sure of it.)

But, Jack doesn’t do things flippantly, without purpose. And walls don’t get torn down, softened, for just any reason. In the ingrained pattern that Dr. Mott insists is a defense mechanism and that Jack believes is just normal human condition, he feels the walls so carefully erected find their place once more. Fortified to shut out the possibility of some inane want for something burn without restraint within him.

The armor that’s been slowly cracking back settles onto him and he aims for a neutral expression. Curt, succinct. No room for error. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Thanks for the stand, you didn’t have to do that. But it looks great.” You trail behind him slowly as he walks towards your front door. “I’ll be calling you for all of my furniture builds. I’m spoiled now, old man.”

Here’s the chance. Stop it here, smother the budding growth of a tender seed before it takes root and spreads into his lungs. Prevent the tendons from reaching up his throat, crawling into his brain, and mold the perfect image of you into the grey matter.

He should tell you, firmly, that this will not happen again. Throw in a degrading tease, diffuse the sincerity of the moment. Get you to stop looking at him like he means something.

“Anytime, city girl.” He says, instead.

You smile— warm, relaxed, gentle and he’s ready to aim gun to temple at the realization of how much he likes it. He can only do what he knows best, what he does with everything else he stupidly seems to notice and grab onto with you, and puts it on the shelf. Half ready to lock it in a chest deep in his mind and toss the key into a cavernous abyss.

“I’ll hold you to it.” You say, content. And he nods.

He drives back in silence and the promise forged in tired smiles and quiet closeness chokes him all the way home.

a/n: i would like it known, this is the fastest i have ever put out work in a series. im just so bewitched by this middle aged man, i want him inside me.

know this is a quick one and not much happens but i'm a true believer in slow burn being both slow and burning :)

next one will be fun, promise!

#jack abbot #my writing #the pitt x reader #jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #dr abbot x reader #the pitt #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot fanfiction #jack abbot x you #i would also like it known that while jack is a capable man #the man is attracted to a woman of equal capability #city girl pulls shit together and the man has heart eyes unknowingly #shawn hatosy #jack abbott #is it crazy that i want to dissect my own fic #is anyone catching that he says he's doing nice things for reasons other than showing he cares and yet its also to show that he CARES #im begging for someone to ask me what my favorite part is because i need to discuss how much i love this dynami

935 notes · View notes

chettinad01 · 1 month ago

Text

ತಮಿಳುನಾಡಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಉತ್ತಮ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನು ಹೇಗೆ ಹುಡುಕುವುದು

ನಿಮ್ಮ ನಿರ್ಮಾಣ ಯೋಜನೆಯ ಯಶಸ್ಸು ಮುಖ್ಯವಾಗಿ ಬಳಸುವ ವಸ್ತುಗಳ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಮೇಲೆ ಅವಲಂಬಿತವಾಗಿದೆ. ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಎಂಬುದು ಪ್ರತಿ ಕಟ್ಟಡದ ಬುನಾದಿಯೇ ಆಗಿರುವುದರಿಂದ, ಉತ್ತಮ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಹಾಗೂ ನಂಬಿಗಸ್ಥ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನು ಆಯ್ಕೆ ಮಾಡುವುದು ಅತ್ಯಂತ ಅಗತ್ಯವಾಗಿದೆ. ತಮಿಳುನಾಡಿನಲ್ಲಿ ನಿರ್ಮಾಣ ಕ್ಷೇತ್ರವೇ ಜೋರಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಸಾಗುತ್ತಿರುವ ಸಮಯದಲ್ಲಿ, ಶ್ರೇಷ್ಠ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನು ಹುಡುಕುವುದು ದೀರ್ಘಕಾಲಿಕ ಶಕ್ತಿಯುಳ್ಳ ನಿರ್ಮಾಣಕ್ಕೆ ಸಹಾಯ ಮಾಡುತ್ತದೆ.

ಖ್ಯಾತಿ ಪಡೆದ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನು ಆರಿಸಿ ಬಹು ವರ್ಷಗಳ ಅನುಭವ ಮತ್ತು ನಂಬಿಕೆಗೆ ಪಾತ್ರರಾದ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರು ಉತ್ತಮ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ನೀಡುವಲ್ಲಿ ನಿಪುಣರಾಗಿರುತ್ತಾರೆ. ಚೆಟ್ಟಿನಾಡ್ ಸಿಮೆಂಟ್ ಸಂಸ್ಥೆ ಈ ಕ್ಷೇತ್ರದಲ್ಲಿ ಪ್ರಸಿದ್ಧಿಯುಳ್ಳ ಹೆಸರು. ಇಂತಹ ಕಂಪನಿಗಳಿಂದ ಕೊಂಡುಕೊಳ್ಳುವ ಮೂಲಕ ನೀವು ಕಂಕ್ರೀಟಿನ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಭರವಸೆ ಹೊಂದಬಹುದು.

ಪ್ರಮಾಣಪತ್ರಗಳನ್ನು ಪರಿಶೀಲಿಸಿ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರು ಕೈ��ೊಳ್ಳುವ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ನಿಯಂತ್ರಣ ಕ್ರಮಗಳು ನಂಬಿಕೆಯಂಥದ್ದಾಗಿರಬೇಕು. IS ಅಥವಾ ISO ಪ್ರಮಾಣೀಕರಣ ಹೊಂದಿರುವ ಕಂಪನಿಗಳು ನಿರ್ದಿಷ್ಟ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಮಾನದಂಡಗಳನ್ನು ಪಾಲಿಸುತ್ತವೆ ಎಂಬುದರ ಸೂಚನೆಯಾಗುತ್ತದೆ.

ಉತ್ಪನ್ನಗಳ ವೈವಿಧ್ಯಮಯತೆಯನ್ನು ನೋಡಿ ಪ್ರತಿಯೊಂದು ನಿರ್ಮಾಣಕ್ಕೆ ಒಂದೇ ತರಹದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಬೇಕಾಗುವುದಿಲ್ಲ. ಹೈ-ಸ್ಟ್ರೆಂಥ್, ರೆಡಿಯ್ ಮಿಕ್ಸ್ ಅಥವಾ ಪರಿಸರ ಸ್ನೇಹಿ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಬೇಕಾಗಬಹುದು. ಉತ್ತಮ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರು ವಿವಿಧ ರೀತಿಯ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಆಯ್ಕೆಗಳೊಂದಿಗೆ ಮಾರ್ಗದರ್ಶನವನ್ನೂ ನೀಡುತ್ತಾರೆ.

ಸಮಯಮಿತಿಯಲ್ಲಿ ಡೆಲಿವರಿ ಮತ್ತು ಗ್ರಾಹಕ ಸೇವೆ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ತಡವಾಗಿ ಬಂದರೆ ನಿಮ್ಮ ಪ್ರಾಜೆಕ್ಟ್ ಕುಂಠಿತವಾಗಬಹುದು. ಸಮಯಕ್ಕೆ ತಕ್ಕಂತೆ ವಸ್ತುಗಳನ್ನು ಪೂರೈಸುವ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನೇ ಆರಿಸಬೇಕು. ಜೊತೆಗೆ ಉತ್ತಮ ಗ್ರಾಹಕ ಸೇವೆ ಇದ್ದರೆ ಯಾವುದೇ ತೊಂದರೆ ಎದುರಾದಾಗ ಕೂಡ ಸರಿಯಾದ ಪರಿಹಾರ ಸಿಗುವುದು ಖಚಿತ.

ದರ ಮತ್ತು ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ನಡುವೆ ಸಮತೋಲನ ದೂಡು ಬೆಲೆಗೆ ಕಡಿಮೆ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಬಳಸುವುದರಿಂದ ನಿಮ್ಮ ಕಟ್ಟಡದ ದೀರ್ಘಾಯುಷ್ಯಕ್ಕೆ ಹಾನಿ ಆಗಬಹುದು. ಮೊದಲು ಸ್ವಲ್ಪ ಹೆಚ್ಚು ವೆಚ್ಚವಾದರೂ ಉತ್ತಮ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್‌ನ್ನು ಆರಿಸುವುದು ಬೇರೆಯಾದ್ದಲ್ಲ, ಆದರೆ ಉತ್ತಮ ನಿರ್ಧಾರ.

ಪರಿಸರ ಸ್ನೇಹಿ ಆಯ್ಕೆಗಳು ಈ ದಿನಗಳಲ್ಲಿ ಹಲವಾರು ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರು ಪರಿಸರ ಸ್ನೇಹಿ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಆಯ್ಕೆಗಳು ಲಭ್ಯವಾಗಿಸುತ್ತಿದ್ದಾರೆ. ಇದರಿಂದ ತಾನೇ ಪ್ರಕೃತಿಯ ಮೇಲಿರುವ ಒತ್ತಡ ಕಡಿಮೆಯಾಗುತ್ತದೆ. ನಿಮ್ಮ ನಿರ್ಮಾಣ ಯೋಜನೆ ಪರಿಸರದ ಬಗ್ಗೆ ಹೊಣೆಗಾರಿಕೆಯಿಂದ ಇರಬೇಕೆಂದಿದ್ದರೆ, ಈ ಆಯ್ಕೆಗಳತ್ತ ಗಮನ ಹರಿಸಿ.

ಸಾರಾಂಶವಾಗಿ, ತಮಿಳುನಾಡಿನಲ್ಲಿ ಉತ್ತಮ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರನ್ನು ಹುಡುಕುವುದು ಎಂದರೆ: ಒಳ್ಳೆಯ ಹೆಸರು ಹೊಂದಿದವರನ್ನು ಆರಿಸಬೇಕು, ಪ್ರಮಾಣಪತ್ರಗಳನ್ನು ಪರಿಶೀಲಿಸಬೇಕು, ಉತ್ಪನ್ನಗಳ ಗುಣಮಟ್ಟ ಮತ್ತು ಸೇವೆಯನ್ನು ಗಮನಿಸಬೇಕು. ಚೆಟ್ಟಿನಾಡ್ ಸಿಮೆಂಟ್ ಅವರಂತಹ ನಂಬಿಕಸ್ತ ಪೂರೈಕೆದಾರರಿಂದ ಕಾಂಕ್ರೀಟ್ ಪಡೆಯುವುದು ನಿಮ್ಮ ನಿರ್ಮಾಣವನ್ನು ಭದ್ರವಾಗಿಸಿ, ಭವಿಷ್ಯವನ್ನು ಬಲಪಡಿಸುತ್ತದೆ.

If you want more information visit this website Chettinad Cement Contact us: 6385 194 588 Facebook https://www.facebook.com/Chettinadcements Twitter https://x.com/ChettinadCement Instagram https://www.instagram.com/chettinadcements/profilecard/?igsh=dWg2Y2lwbWNqcTBp Youtube : https://www.youtube.com/@ChettinadCementIndia/shorts

#concrete production #concrete industries #types of cement test #concrete best cement #cement manufacturing units in india

0 notes

red5cars · 7 months ago

Text

prev | next

cw brief mentions of pregnancy

hook-up culture was one of the only ways you could get your fix without commitment. it’s hard to maintain any real relationships now, especially as a full time student (and slut). but you’d always been careful, having taken contraceptives, keeping condoms on you, etc etc.

though, none of them are 100% full proof.

you stare at the pregnancy test, wide-eyed. someone bangs on the bathroom door of the gas station, urging you to hurry up. but you can’t, the implications of those two little lines keeping you stuck to the seat.

when you ask your friends, they dismiss you, saying “you’re a smart girl, you’ll figure it out.” and when you call your parents..

you block out the interaction from your memory.

with no financial or emotional support, you are forced to scour the internet for a solution. an abortion is too expensive, and you can’t raise this thing when you’re about to enter your junior year of college.

all hope seems lost, till you find the shadiest ad on craigslist;

Looking for Baby to adopt. Surrogate or already pregnant. Will provide care for entire pregnancy.

it seems like a scam, even more so as you open it and skim through the benefits (a roof over your head, food and water, nearly $25k to start). everything about this seems too good to be true. after all, can you really trust something you saw on craigslist?

still, your eyes find a phone number and email address at the bottom of the ad, belonging to some guy named johnny mactavish. the foreign name throws you off even more, surely a name like that isn’t located in the united states of fuck all. though, it seems like you have no other solutions.

hesitantly, your mouse hovers over the ‘reply’ button, the clicking sound ringing in your ears, settling your fate.

——

johnny knew it was futile to post an ad looking for a surrogate on craigslist, but he didn’t see any other options (or rather, he ignores them). simon and him have been retired for some time now, settling in some small state. the woods offer some sort of privacy, a silence that comforts them rather than makes them shake in their sleep.

it seemed natural that having children would be the next step after living here for so long. johnny thanks tommy for finding a pretty bird and producing a nephew since it would’ve been harder to convince simon otherwise. the riley’s don’t seem like family men, yet simon is carving a little bear to send back to manchester, congratulating tommy on the announcement of his baby girl.

it makes johnny warm, but he can’t help but feel jealous. sure, simon is everything to him, his whole world, but it’s hard to procreate when all you got is a prick and shitter.

so he set up his little offer, though he might as well be suppressed with how nearly no one has reached out to him.

johnny’s about to take down the ad, ready to talk to simon about doing things a different way, when he suddenly gets a reply.

> this isn’t a joke, right?

johnny raises a brow at this, swiveling back to the computer and typing up his response.

< would nevr joke bout smth srs

and when five minutes passed, he presumed that would be the end of this little interaction, fueling johnny’s desire to take down the post.

that is, till he gets another response.

> well, is the position still open then?

he feels his heart stop, eyes widening as he reads the phrase over and over. a certain excitement wells in his chest, and he gets back on the keyboard before he can run out the room and tell simon the good news.

——

his last reply consists of a time, date, and address.

#sgt soap #lt ghost #ghoap au #ghoap x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #cw pregnancy #call of duty #reds writes

1K notes · View notes

lonerhole · 15 days ago

Text

Nakshatra Places

(from The Book of Nakshatras by Prash Trivedi)

Krittika: Places with hot climates; Deserts & Arid lands; Agricultural lands; Cattle ranches; Meadows; Tropical forests; Volcanic areas; Military Bases & testing grounds; Government Buildings; Universities; Rehabilitation Centers; Orphanages; Mines in general; Factories & Industrial areas using fire in one form or the other; Fireplace, Furnaces, Heating devices within homes.

Rohini: Farms, Orchards, Gardens, Agricultural Estates, Places where herbs grow; Bus Stations, Train Stations & Shipping Yards; Ponds & Swimming Pools; Banks & Financial Institutions; Marketplaces; Bars, Restaurants, Hotels; Tourist Resorts; Studios for creative arts of all kinds; Places where gemstones are founds.

Mrigashira: Forests, Fields & Meadows; Deer Parks; Villages and Small Towns; Bedrooms; Playgrounds; Nurseries; Nursery Schools; Recreation rooms; Entertainment places of all kinds; Streets, Footpaths & Roads; Lawns & Gardens; Forest trails; Art & Music studios; Small shops; Markets and other sales places; Astrological & Psychic institutions.

Ardra: Geographical places where natural phenomena like thunderstorms, hurricanes and tornadoes are common; Research laboratories of all types; High tech studios and shops; Hospitals; Communication centers like radar facilities, radio stations, television studios, telegraph offices; Nuclear power plants; All factories dealing with poisonous chemical processes; Escalators; Military bases where weapons are stored & maintained. In today's day and age every home has its share of Ardra because of electrical wirings and appliances.

Punarvasu: Areas near Ponds, Lakes & Rivers; Farmlands; Pilgrimage Spots; Villages & Small Towns; Post offices; Transportation Places like Bus Stations & Train Stations, Airports; Space Stations; Renovated Buildings; Public Parks; Homes; Home Land; Hostels; Hotels, Bed & Breakfast Places, Inns, Motels etc. ; Restaurants; Temples & Treasuries; Markets; Rehabilitation Centers; Missions; Educational Institutions; Public & Political Assembly Places; Roads; Science Museums; Antique Shops; Community Halls.

Pushya: Rivers, Docks, Wells, Reservoirs, Fountains, Pools, Canals; Boats and House Boats; Public Places; Nests; Homes; Breweries; Women's House Quarters, Hostels and Residences in general; Aquariums; Temples & Churches; Hotels & Restaurants; Foster Homes; Child Care Centers; Maternity Hospitals; Schools; Dairy Factories & Dairy Farms; Laundromats; Manors & Public, Government buildings like parliament etc.; Charity Organizations.

Ashlesha: All places where Snakes & Reptiles dwell; Secret service Institutions (CIA, FBI etc.); Hospitals; Law Firms; All Factories dealing with Poisonous Chemical Processes; Drug Stores; Pawn Shops; Sleazy Places where Illegal Prostitution & Drug Peddling thrive; False Cults & Religious Institutions like ISKON etc.

Magha: Deserts; Forests; Capital Cities; Libraries; Museums; Palaces; Ancient Monuments & Sites; Govt. Offices; Residences of Top Politicians; National Monuments; Stages & Performance Halls; Ceremonial Grounds & Buildings; Crematories; Places of Religious, Spiritual Significance.

Purva Phalguni: Hot tropical landscapes; Flowery landscapes; Beaches; Entertainment halls; Exhibition places; Bedroom; Tourist resorts; Spas; Living rooms; Art galleries; Beauty parlors; Markets, especially the kind related to Venusian products; Pretty cottages, buildings and homes.

Uttara Phalguni: Forests; Gardens; Estates; Public Buildings; Government Buildings; Stadiums; Entertainment Halls; Residences of Rich & Famous People; Palaces, Towers, Large Halls; Playgrounds; Cathedrals & other magnificent buildings; Public Assemblies; United Nation's Buildings; Libraries.

Hasta: Agricultural Fields; Grazing Pastures; Home Gardens; Art & Craft Studios; Market Place; Stock Exchange (Wall Street etc.); Casinos; Betting Shops; Amusement parks; Fairgrounds; Factories.

Chitra: Capital Cities; Places of Architectural Importance like "Taj Mahal", "Eiffel Tower", "Empire State Building" etc.; Stages, Performance Halls and Theatres; Places frequented by artisans, merchants, consumers and women; Markets; Trade shows; Wardrobes, Closets.

Swati: High Cliffs; Places where winds blow strongly; Agricultural land; Coral reefs; Marketplaces; Business Centers; Banks; Financial Institutions; Sport Complexes; Airports (both civil & military); Educational institutions; Aeronautical facilities & testing grounds; Computer & Software related centers; Research facilities of all types; Diplomatic enclaves like Embassies, Consulates, etc.; parliament Houses; courthouses; commuter places like Train stations, Bus-Stations, etc.

Vishakha: Rocky Rough Terrains; Mountains; Big Cities like New York; Breweries; Bars; Liquor Shops; Brothels; Theatres; Military Bases; Ceremonial Halls & Grounds; Interrogation Rooms; Warring Grounds; Danger Areas either in the City or designated by the Military.

Anuradha: Forests; Mountains; Caves & Caverns; Lakes; Isolated Landscapes; Old Ruins, Castles, etc.; Stadiums; Metropolis; Technological & Industrial areas; Study & Research Places; Temples & other places used for the Practice and Study of Religion and Occult/Spiritual Topics; Places of Occult Significance; Organization Headquarters.

Jyestha: Hilly Inaccessible Terrain; Hot Tropical Jungles; Government Buildings; All places related to Telecommunications & Media in general; Airports; Hospitals; Military Bases; Capital Cities; Manors, Forts & Palaces; Old-Age Homes.

Mula: Deserts; High Mountain regions where special herbs are found; Dense rainforests & other such inaccessible places; Frozen deserts like Antarctica; Bottom of oceans, lakes, etc.; Hidden subterranean caves; Earth's core & all layers beneath the Earth's surface; Small isolated islands & places; Big institution buildings; Supreme Courts & other courts of justice; Abattoirs; Cremation Grounds and Cemeteries; Places connected to Death & Death Rituals; Agricultural Wasteland; War-grounds; Drought areas; places where mass calamities have taken place.

Purva Ashadha: Oceans; Lakes; Aquarium Parks; Swimming Pools; Docks, ports; shipping yards; Temples; Boats; High Class Estates; Air ports; Luxury Islands & Hotels; Beauty Salons; Amusement Parks; Art Galleries; Music Concert Halls; Places where pompous functions & high society gatherings are held.

Uttara Ashadha: Prairies; Flat Savannahs; Mountainous Forests; National Parks; Wildlife Sanctuaries; Bird Sanctuaries; Reservations; Government Buildings & Grounds; Courts; Temples, Churches and other religious buildings; Universities; College Campuses; Military Bases; Traditionalistic Towns & Cities; Elite Gentlemen Clubs & Societies; Sports Stadiums; Cricket Grounds.

Shravana: Universities; Libraries; Schools; Colleges; Public Auditoriums and other places of public gatherings; Recording Studios; Hospitals; Telephone Companies.

Dhanishta: All places related to music and other creative arts ranging from Schools to Studios to Dance Halls, etc.; Meditation Rooms; Managerial Offices; Real Estate Agencies; Gardens; Science Labs; Factories with high tech equipment or producing high tech equipment; Amusement Centers and Sports Stadiums; All places related to sports; Financial centers and institutions like Banks etc.; Safes where wealth and valuables are stored.

Shatabhisha: High-tech Studios & Environments; Off Shore Drilling Stations; Space Stations; Airports; Observatories & Planetariums; Physics & Chemistry Labs; Bars & Nightclubs especially Techno Clubs; Factories; Hospitals; Nuclear Waste Dumps and Waste Dumps in general; Recycling Stations; Herbal Centers; Water Treatment Plants & Reservoirs; Oceans; Sea-Side; Temples, Meditation, Yoga & Zen Centers; Outer Space; Film & Television Studios; Processing Labs; Hunting Grounds.

Purva Bhadrapada: Cemeteries, Morgues, Cremation Grounds; Factories; Heavy industries of all types; Land Fills; Dark Alley Ways; Centers for Occult Studies and practices of a dark nature; Operation Theatres and Terminal Illness Wards; Asylums and Penitentiaries; Churches; Top Secret Military Research Bases; Atomic Power Plants; Places where high technology equipment is kept; Night Clubs and all other places associated with dark entertainment.

Uttara Bhadrapada: Libraries, Temples & Museums; Occult Book Stores; Ancient ruins; Historical Places; Cremation Grounds; Holy Sites and Pilgrimage Places; Caves; Mountainous Caverns; Meditation Centers; All places suitable for meditation and quiet activities; Charity Organization Compounds; Forests, High Mountain Ranges and other uninhabited solitary places; Bottoms of Lakes, Deep Seas & Oceans; Social Welfare Centers; Centers for Psychic and Spiritual Research.

Revati: Roads, Railroad tracks, Airports; oceans, seas, Beaches; shipping yards; stage; cinema; Orphanages; Monasteries; Ships, Aero-planes, Trains, Cars, etc.; Bus Stations, Transport Industry; Public Auditoriums; Clock Towers/Watch Towers; Light Houses; Driving Instruction Schools.

Ashwini: All places related to Equine professions—Grazing Lands, Stables, Horse Tracks etc.; Hospitals and Places associated with the Medical Profession; Places where Herbs grow; Botanical Gardens; Sporting Grounds; Race Tracks of all kinds; Roads, Railway Track and all other types of Paths meant for Transportation; Military Bases; Research Centers; Technological & Industrial Centers; Health Clubs & Gymnasiums; All places where Initiations and Beginnings are done; Kindergartens & Primary Schools.

Bharani: Extreme Exotic Landscapes; Volcanoes; Areas with Volcanic Soil; Volcanic Tropical Islands like Hawaii and Polynesian Islands; Farmlands; Kindergartens, Nurseries, Nursery Schools; Children Parks; Amusement Parks; Morgues; Cemeteries; Funeral Homes; Maternity & Child Wards in Hospitals; Intensive Care Units; Gynaeology Hospitals; Film & Photography Studios; Exotic Nightclubs; High Courts; Fertility Clinics; Streets and roads with busy traffic.

#vedic astrology #nakshatras #astrology #jyotish #sidereal astrology

474 notes · View notes