#i can walk unassisted

[existennialmemes]

Reject Toxic Positivity. Embrace

Cathartic Complaining

Save me your silver lining, now it's time for pout and whining.

Pretending your problems aren't problems isn't "having a good attitude." It's Denial. The word for that is denial. And it's way less useful than just complaining about what's wrong.

[the-moogle-of-your-nightmares]

one thing i was not at all prepared for about having to go without glasses for a week is how the navigating my environment itself isn't a huge barrier--i have to be really slow and careful and it's annoying, but it hasn't actually stopped me from doing things including in the 'god this is going to be a hassle, i don't even want to start' way--but the major loss/change in sensory input as well as Oh God the HUD is Wrong is apparently a huge depression trigger. replacements cannot happen soon enough

[karmaphone]

I feel like such an asshole for wanting a wheelchair some day even tho I know it would help me move around more than I do now without as much* pain

[fingertipsmp3]

Guess who fucked up her knee again??? And AT WORK no less

[beauzos]

i wanna go to the museummmm i wanna go so baddd but my dad doesn't want to go so i can't 😔

[nobdoy]

My mom gets so mad at my dad for having a disability and I just. Don't. Understand.

[cardiganblues]

It’s going 2 be cold and rainy tomorrow and I get to stay with my bf and then it’s going to be chilly on Sunday and I’m going to wear a sweater and we’re going 2 go to a winery and Halloween thing with my mom and her friend

[brynns-travel-blog]

I found a friend!

Or rather, a frog arrived on my bathroom and told me we were going to be friends. And really who am I to argue with that face?

[gallusrostromegalus]

Lived through my emergency mouth surgery!

Lightly terrorized the medical staff by cheerfully telling them ketamine is a drug you can literally physically outrun before surgery, then getting up and walking to the front room unassisted way before I should have afterwards.

[briarpatch-kids]

Let's talk mobility aids!

Canes

Canes are for when you need to take a little bit of weight off of one side of your body, need a little help with balance, or need a little extra stability when you walk. It's an easy mobility aid to find and get, and it's pretty easy to figure out how to use. Have the cane sized so the handle sits at wrist level, then hold it on the opposite side to the one that hurts. Match your cane strikes to the steps on the hurt side. It will hurt your arm, elbow, and shoulder sometimes, but having a properly sized cane will help.

Rollators

Rollators are kind of the "next step up" in support. They come with more restrictions, you get limited to ramps and stuff, but they're also the least restrictive wheeled mobility aid because they're light and easy to pick up and toss around. They also have a seat a lot of times and a basket so you don't need to carry stuff. They're for when you need a place to rest, something to lean on when you walk, better balance assistance than a cane, and less weight bearing than a cane. I also found that it helped me with fatigue quite a bit. There's two main kinds, euro style like the first, and regular like the second. There are other fancier ones but I'm covering the basics here.

Rollators are my favorite mobility aid and I've used everything from canes to a fancy high grade power chair. They're just the perfect balance of help and freedom. They provide so much support for how far they go.

Crutches

Arm crutches are pretty neat! They're a lot more ergonomic than a cane. In fact, some people use a single arm crutch as a cane. They distribute the weight a little better, so it's not all on your wrists, and they support you better than a rollator can. The major cons I found are that they take two hands to use so you can't carry much and I had a really hard time trying to learn to walk with them. A lot of people who use forearm crutches have other mobility aids and use the forearm crutches when they want to or need to walk.

Manual Wheelchairs

These are for when walking becomes more difficult than pushing a wheelchair. There's no weight being put on your legs and feet and depending on your needs, you can get really specific with your adaptations if you have a custom wheelchair verses a standard wheelchair. My first custom chair looked like a monster truck because i took in the woods and gravel, my second custom chair after I got sicker has a head rest, a backrest that holds me up, and a little electric box that I can attach that helps me push. The difference between getting a standard and custom wheelchair is dependent on how much money the user has, what kind of needs they have, and what kind of medical access they have. (One is not more "real" than the other.) I highly recommend getting a cushion for under your butt if you have a standard chair without a cushion, I used a standard full time for 6 months and a cushion made a huge difference.

Mobility scooters

Mobility scooters are for people who can't walk long distances, but can still walk with the help of a cane or unassisted. If you can walk around your house, but not really much else, a mobility scooter might be the aid for you! There's a lot of different styles and battery life lengths and handling abilities so try a few different scooters out if you can.

Powerchairs

Powerchairs come in a couple different types or "groups" depending on your needs. Group 1 is the kind of chair you're probably most familiar with. It's basically for someone who needs a powerchair to get around their house, the doctors, office, and grocery store. You can't do any custom seat cushions or anything, but it's for people who don't need it. Think of like... someone who can walk pretty okay still, it just hurts to walk or they're off balance or a little weak feeling. A lot of times more elderly people will use these, if you're more active look into group 2

Group two chairs are little more durable, a little more stable, sometimes you can switch the captains seats out for custom seating... They're what a full time powerchair user would use if they don't need specialty functions like tilt or recline. They also often have 6 wheels rather than 4 like the group 1 chairs have.

Group 3 powerchairs are reserved for specific diagnoses like muscular dystrophy, ALS, and other severe neurological and neuromuscular illnesses. These are also called "rehab" chairs because they're for making sure severely disabled people have quality of life. The tilt function is for pressure relief, though you can also get things like elevation so you can raise and lower your chair, and some of them can recline flat. There are other avenues of moving grade 3 power chairs beyond the joystick as well in case someone can't use their hands or doesn't have them. (Head controls, torso controls, and straw controls called sip and puff are alternatives.) They can go on a little worse terrain than group 1 and two chairs and go a little farther, but if they get stuck they weigh 350 lbs and it's awful.

There's a few other types of mobility aid that I don't know enough about, like ankle foot orthotics and gait trainers, but these are the basic "mobility aid" most people will come across.

If you use another type of mobility aid and want to educate people, add it on!!

[shhhsecretsideblog]

#3, prenatal massage

Healing Hands

Great setting for this prompt! Thanks for the request, really hope you like it! And thanks to @gravid-transluna for being my beta 💜 Content: fpreg, inconvenient birth, clothing birth, unassisted. 2,652 words

Prompt: “I’ll be fine, it’s not like my waters have broken-”

“Look… My ankles are swollen; my back aches; my hips hurts; my boobs are sore; my bladder is being used as a punching bag and I’ve not seen my feet for weeks! I am going to get that massage.” Kate told her husband in no uncertain terms, standing by the front door and struggling to pull her coat around her large and low-hanging pregnant belly.

“Fine.” Tom sighed, resigned to his wife’s argument. “At least let me drive you, I can wait in reception and take you home afterwards.”

Kate had received a gift voucher for a prenatal massage from a friend at her baby shower. Unfortunately, with finishing her job and getting everything ready for their new arrival she’d completely forgotten about the voucher and was swiftly running out of time. She had been feeling practice contractions on and off all week but today she’d had quite a few and Tom was getting a bit nervous about the idea of Kate going out, convinced she was in labour.

As they walked to the car the mother-to-be felt the start of another cramp begin to tighten across her middle. Kate placed her hand on the side door of the car and took a deep breath releasing it slowly.

“Babe, you’re having contractions.” Tom warned, seeing his headstrong wife go unusually quiet. Again.

“They’re not real contractions.” Kate assured. “Anyway, I’ll be fine, it’s not like my waters have broken-” she paused, feeling suddenly… off and noticed the slightest dribble of liquid run down her inner thigh. For fucks sake.

“Kate? You okay?” Tom asked her over the roof of the car from where he stood at the open driver's side door.

Great timing baby, Kate thought with annoyance. She so desperately wanted that massage, with all the stress of painting and decorating the nursery, finishing her job before maternity leave, not to mention the burden of carrying around a 7lb baby wherever she went. She was really looking forward to having a nice 45 minutes of relaxation and calm.

“Hmm.. yeah fine. Just a kick.” Kate lied easily. She would be having that massage dammit, especially if she was about to spend the next god-knows how many hours labouring and birthing a child. She deserved to start off calm and relaxed before the chaos rained.

Kate pulled her coat under her bum as she sat down in the car, hoping the thick fabric would absorb the slight leaking from what she suspected was her waters beginning to break.

~•~

She didn’t have any more cramps… contractions in the car driving to the spa, and Kate was thankful and reassured. Perhaps it wasn’t her waters, or perhaps she was just in the very early stages of labour. There was no need to panic, or to tell Tom.

When she arrived at the spa for her appointment she was given a dressing down and was directed to the bathroom to change. “I’ll just wait here for you, hun.” Tom said, kissing her cheek and sitting down in a chair in reception, pulling out his phone to play games.

Kate had another cramp whilst changing out of her clothes. “Hoooo….” She breathed slowly through the rising wave of tightness. “Hooo… okay baby, I get the message. Just give your mum one hour to have this massage. I’m gonna need it if you’re on your way soon.” She affectionately rubbed the bare skin of her rounded stomach, standing in just her knickers as she braced through the pain.

Wrapped in the dressing gown, Kate met her massage therapist outside the treatment rooms and was led inside. It was dark, very low soft lighting, the smell of lavender was thick in the air and a soft instrumental sound played through the speakers in the ceiling. It was calm and tranquil and perfect. After a quick discussion and assessment form, Kate was briefly left alone to remove the dressing gown and lie herself down on the massage table, on her side beneath the provided towel. It took a bit of negotiating with her slow and heavy body, and it set off another cramp, but she was soon lying along the cushioned bench with a pillow between her legs and a soft fluffy towel draped over her semi-naked body.

Anita, the massage therapist, had wonderful healing hands, Kate thought as she closed her eyes and held her bump. Pressing and massaging all along her spine and hips, Anita’s nimble fingers worked their magic and helped soothe all the overworked and taxed muscles in Kate’s body which had been strained and put to the test during this pregnancy. With the gentle acoustic music and the aroma of oils and incense, Kate felt for the first time in a long time - truly relaxed. That is until the contractions ramped up.

In the darkened room Kate had no concept of time, but she found herself breathing heavily and it felt like she was bracing herself every few minutes for the next wave. A groan slipped out from her mouth during a particularly fierce one.

“Is the pressure okay?” Anita asked softly. “Harder? Softer?”

“Mmnhh… more pressure please.” Kate moaned. “On my hips…”

Anita continued her work, focussing on Kate’s hips and pressing into her lower back and the tops of her thighs, the fluffy towel draped across the parts of her body not being worked on. But the contractions kept coming - longer and stronger - and Kate gripped the towel which was covering her belly and breasts, squeezing it tight between her tensed fingers. Soon she was groaning again, longer this time.

“Are you alright?” Anita’s voice laced with concern for her heavily pregnant client.

“Yeah…oooff! Just some kicking and cramping. But I’m fine.” Katie schooled her face to a natural and relaxed expression. She knew her labour was progressing by the steady waves of pain that kept on hitting, but she could not handle the idea of moving or having to deal with these contractions without Anita’s magical hands pressing into all the right pressure points, making the pain bearable.

So she did the only thing she could… She kept quiet and kept breathing, letting the expert fingers of her massage therapist ease the pain of her advancing labour.

Half way through the appointment Anita had her change positions; first to lie on her other side so the masseuse could tackle Kate’s other hip and thigh; then the mother-to-be was moved to a padded chair where she was instructed to sit backwards on it, effectively straddling the cushioned seat and resting her forearms on the tall backrest. The movement was arduous and with it Kate became very aware of how low the baby had moved - practically sitting just behind her pubic bone. She was glad to be sitting wide-legged over the chair as she didn’t think her thighs could close now with how deep the baby was nestled.

Anita ran her expert hands up and down the length of Kate’s spine, her fingers sliding over her bare skin with the aid of the fragrant massage oils. “Mnnnhhh… lower…” Kate grit as yet another contraction twisted across her belly contorting it into a tight ball, the labouring woman desperate for Anita to press deep into her flaring hips to relieve the pain.

Somewhere deep within her an urgency was rising, Kate couldn’t work out where but the pressure was forceful, aggressive and overwhelming. She whimpered and moaned, the weight and fullness in her pelvis bubbling up closer and closer to boiling point.

“What’s wrong?” Anita asked, removing her hands from Kate’s body, fearing she had hurt the mother-to-be.

“Hoooo…. Don’t stop! Mnnnhhh…” Kate moaned heavily into the crook of her elbow, tiling her hips backwards towards the other woman chasing the healing hands, her belly squishing between her legs and resting on the cushioned chair.

Against Anita’s better judgement, she followed the instructions and continued pressing into the pregnant woman’s lower back and hips.

However, Kate’s moans could no longer be construed as noises of relief and relaxation; her whole body was tense and tight, her fingers gripping hard and white knuckling the back of the chair. The pains were coming every couple of minutes now - she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. The pressure soon reached breaking point. Without instruction she felt all her internal muscles squeeze downward and she let out a deep and primal grunting sound.

Anita’s hands vanished in an instant. The masseuse said something but Kate couldn’t hear it; her sole focus was on the giant heavy mass sitting on her cervix and it needed to come out. Now. She gasped a breath and pushed, uncontrollably, too shocked to do anything other than follow her body’s instincts. Somewhere in her peripheral a door was opened and closed - she’d been left on her own, labouring and pushing, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. All that mattered was the baby's head that was starting to part her folds.

~•~

“Are you Tom?! Kate’s husband?!” A woman came rushing into reception looking as white as a sheet, seeing him and immediately making a beeline towards where he sat.

“Yeah? What’s wrong, where’s Kate?”

“I- I think your wife might be in labour.” Anita blurted out, breathless and panicked.

“Damn it.” Tom cursed, pocketing his phone and rising immediately to his feet. “Erm, okay, what’s happened, is she alright? What makes you think she’s in labour?”

“B-because… because I think she’s pushing…”

“What?!” Tim shouted, and the pair ran down the corridor towards the treatment rooms.

Tom’s heart was in his throat as he followed after the freaked-out massage therapist. Pushing! Surely she couldn’t be pushing, she was barely in labour when she went in. Tom tried to reason with his overactive thoughts that were jumping and leaping ahead to a whole host of problematic scenarios. Maybe the girl was mistaken, or just got scared at seeing a woman in labour.

Tom’s fears were soon realised as they approached the treatment room and even with the door shut the sounds of Kate groaning could be heard through the wood. He felt sick, she can’t be having the baby now, she just can’t. Jumping headfirst into the unknown, Tom nervously opened the door, stepped through, and at the sight before him his stomach fell to the floor.

Squatting the wrong way over the chair with her back to him, and wearing nothing but her underwear, his wife growled and moaned and strained. Oh my god she is pushing! Tom stood there for a beat, jaw hanging open, frozen at what he was seeing. But when he started to see the shape of something begin to bulge between her obscenely wide bent legs, the fabric over her crotch tenting as something slipped out and then retreated, Tom jumped into action.

“Holy shit!” Tom cursed before running over to his wife. “Oh my god Kate. Talk to me babe, what’s happening?” He wrapped an arm over her upper back and crouched beside the chair, trying to keep his voice calm yet loud enough to be heard over her animalistic grunting.

“Tom…. Mnghhhhh! It’s coming outtttt!!!” Kate cried and disappeared into another pushing grunt.

“Call an ambulance!” Tom shouted at the scared looking Anita. “—No, wait! Help me get her off this chair.”

“Babe,” he said softly to his wife, “listen to me. We need to move you, the baby is coming and I can’t help you like this.”

“Mnghhhhhh!!!! Can’t move!!!!!” Kate clawed at the back of the chair, standing up on wide legs straddling the seat, the baby crowning into her knickers.

“Hold on to me darling, that’s it.” Tom moved Kate’s shaking hands onto his shoulders so her weight was on him instead of the chair. He pulled the padded chair out from beneath Kate’s awkward squatted position, and with strength he didn’t know he possessed, casually tossed the furniture aside so he could stand directly in front of his labouring wife. “Are you alright standing Kate? Or do you want to move positions?”

“Hoooooo oh Tom… I can’t be having the baby here!” Kate mewled.

“We don’t have much of a choice hun.” Tom said with a smile, trying to be a reassuring face in this totally unexpected situation. Looking down he could see the obvious shape of the baby’s head pushed against her underwear. “I think the head is almost out sweetie. We need to get these off.”

Tom tried to shimmy Kate’s panties down while Anita ran off to call the ambulance. His wife was trembling from head to toe, he could feel the shudder of all her muscles beneath his hands as he tugged the underwear down past her hips but her stance was too wide to get them much further.

“Hold on sweetie, I’ve almost got them off.” Tom muttered, ignoring the painful clawing of his wife’s nails as she gripped his shoulders, focusing instead of making room for the emerging baby. Their baby.

“Mhhhhh— oh Tom!!! I need to pushhhhh— I’ve got to PUSHHHH!!!” Kate roared with the force of the contraction that pushed the baby further south, knees dipping to open her hips and make more room for the excruciatingly large shape that was barrelling through.

Tom stretched the fabric of her underwear as far as it would go, pulling it just beyond the apex of her thighs, managing to get his hands between the clothing and his wife. And he felt it, the soft and bloodied surface of their baby’s head stretching his wife wide open. He barely had time to awe at the miracle, his first contact with his child before the head slipped out fully into his palms. Kate sobbed with relief.

“Oh my god honey, the head’s out!” Tom couldn’t wipe the shock and happiness from his face as he held the baby’s crown. “Can you move your legs a little bit, Kate? Your undies are still on.” He said with a laugh.

Nodding, in shock and still catching her breath, Kate moved her legs and after her husband pulled them to her ankles she ungainly stepped out of them. It was the weirdest sensation, moving with a baby still half inside of you. Kate could feel the baby’s head brush against the tops of her thighs but also the kicks that still flexed in her womb. She placed an unsteady hand between her legs and felt her child’s newly born head.

“Hi… hi baby.” Kate murmured, breathing still laboured. “You just couldn’t wait for me to get that massage could you?”

Tom laughed, but then he saw something flash on Kate’s face, signalling a sudden change. “You okay?”

“Unghh…. Oh I think— I think— yup, here comes the shoulders…” Kate groaned and began to sink to her knees, Tom reacted quickly and kept her steady as she lowered to all fours. “Oh fuck!!! Mnghhhhh!!!!!!”

With Kate deep in the midst of the next contraction Tom scrambled on the floor to kneel behind her as the baby slipped further out. One shoulder, two shoulders, and then in a gush of fluid the body and legs shot out of Kate’s body and slipped into Tom’s hands.

“A girl! We have a girl darling!!” Tom blubbed as his daughter coughed her first breath and started crying. “Here she is!” Tom said, handing the newborn to his wife through her legs.

“Oh my god…” Kate sobbed, pulling her baby to her bare chest and rubbing her tiny little back gently. “Look at you… oh my god. You’re perfect.” The tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she stared in fascination at her baby.

Tom picked up a towel from the massage table and placed it around his wife and daughter. Kate looked up at him in shock, tearful, exhausted, unable to say anything but the obvious. “I had the baby.” She whispered. He knelt beside her and lovingly kissed his incredible wife. The paramedics arrived 15 minutes later.

[genderqueerdykes]

disabled intersex trans person getting evicted, needs help

hello there. i am physically & mentally disabled trans person who is currently applying for disability, and i am about to lose my housing. I use a wheelchair & cane and cannot walk unassisted. i make $245/month while i'm waiting for my approval. i make a moderate amount of income on the side with my various online stores, but things have been tight.

i have been doing my best to pay my portion of the rent when and where possible, but i had no idea we had fallen this far behind as i have received very little communication about being behind rent, as my roommate is the only one who gets communication from the landlord and i have to go through them. some months my roommate hasn't collected from me, which lead me to assume they were covering or finding other funding.

i have also been the primary source of income and food for the household, which has completely depleted my resources and health and well being, causing my already poor health to spiral out of control, making it difficult to stay on top of paying rent when I am also responsible for paying for and providing for our other needs as well.

i feel stuck, terrified, and unsure of what to do. i need help either find a way to set aside funds to pay this off, or just leave in the event that we do get evicted. i was living in a hotel for 2 weeks before i got here and i thought staying here would be stable, but it is not. i have nowhere else to go in the event that the eviction goes through. my roommate can live with his family, but i have nowhere to go. i am in desperate need of help. thank you for listening, reading, and interacting with this post.

you can support me here:

or here:

pay pal: glittergraphicnightmare @ gmail . com

cash app: glitterGraphix

venmo: @ equinoxian

my QP can accept e-transfers if you are canadian, or u can tip this post. thank you again.

[chronically-ghosted]

fade into you

rating: Explicit (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 4K

summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father. 

warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter

a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!

🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist

I wanna melt in I wanna soak through I only wanna move when you move I wanna breathe out when you breathe in then I wanna fade into you

“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp – 

You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.

You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.

Right now, it just makes you burst into tears. 

You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin. 

He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob. 

“Baby, look at –,” 

“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.” 

When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed. 

You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans. 

Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts. 

His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face. 

With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.

“Baby . . .”

You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.

“Mama?” 

Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.

Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.

“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.

“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.” 

You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats. 

“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.” 

“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times. 

“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”

“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”

“Talk? Mama talk?” 

He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.

“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”

He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around. 

“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”

Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours. 

“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle. 

“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.

“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.

“See, we’re all okay.” 

Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver. 

“Ew.”

A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye. 

“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”

“Dieter!” 

He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”

Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”

You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”

The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking. 

“She’s out?” 

“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”

“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him. 

Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”

Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear. 

“Dieter?”

“Yes, O Love of My Life?”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.

“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?” 

“Mhm hm.”

His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site. 

“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass. 

You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”

His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.

“B-baby, your back –,”

“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.” 

He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard. 

“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”

Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth. 

“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable. 

With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”

An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”

“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”

You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.

“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.” 

You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense. 

“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”

Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick. 

“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.

When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk. 

Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him. 

“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening. 

“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.” 

He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”

He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”

“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.” 

With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were – 

“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?

“How do you need it, baby?”

The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them. 

“On my side, but between my thighs?” 

His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe. 

“Please.” 

He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –

He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue. 

When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.

“I love you.” 

That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.

“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you. 

The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”

“Dieter, please.”

He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream. 

A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back. 

“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”

Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock. 

“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?” 

You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher. 

“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”

A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies. 

He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”

“Just put your hand –,”

You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs. 

“That’s it, baby, take what you need.” 

Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.

Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.

You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house. 

“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.” 

Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.

“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair. 

“I meant what I said, you know that right?”

Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.” 

“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”

You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.

Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.

“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”

Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach. 

A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams. 

+

[jakescakeislateforourdate]

Holding You

Boys in the Boat

The cast from the movie: Joe Rantz, Bobby Moch, Don Hume, George “Shorty” Hunt

Fluffy cuddling sessions with some of the boys

Enjoy this garbage!

Joe Rantz:

He’s such a busy body that it’s hard to get him to slow down for 10 whole seconds. He’s always had to work, it’s the story of his life. So comfort is foreign to him.

The first time he holds you of his own, unassisted accord is during tryouts. He can’t get a good reading on his position and is fretting over the money and schooling. He’s practically tearing out his hair trying to make it all work out. He’s so frazzled that his brain goes numb and he can’t seem to make decision on anything.

He goes for a walk through the library and finds you tucked into a deserted corner. It’s quiet, isolated, and finally a thought pings off the blocked thinking centers of his brain.

How about a hug?

You noticed his labored footsteps approaching and then to him with a smile. And then he’s draping himself over you, letting his arms find the curve in your spine and nestle there. His chin fits perfectly on your shoulder where his cheek can brush past yours.

And then he sighs, leaning more of his weight on you. He’s clearly exhausted. “You alright there, big guy?”

“No.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I just…” he closes his eyes and relishes the moment, “just wanna be like this for a bit.”

His rough hands smooth down the back of your sweater. His hair tickles your ear. You can feel the swell of his chest as he takes in deep breathes. He relaxes and straightens up, pulling you against him. His lips meet your temple stay planted there.

This is just what he needed. His brain starts to function again. He takes careful note of how you feel tucked into him, the scent of your hair and sensation of your breath on his jaw.

Eventually he’s back at an equilibrium and pulls away. He presses a kiss to your forehead and fiddles with some strands of your hair, eventually he starts peppering kisses all over your face.

“Thank you,” he says between each peck, “‘feel so much better now.”

Bobby:

Bobby always kept his room unearthly cold, leaving his windows wide open all day and through the night. It’s because he piles blankets on his bed. And also because he spends a lot of time cuddling with you. He’s a devout cuddler and would prefer to never get out of bed. Most days you get up first and leave him to wallow by himself.

So, he hypothesizes that he can make you stay in bed longer if getting out is much less favorable. Therefore, the room must be frigid.

This is how most mornings go. Bobby shifting slightly in your grasp. His wiggling rouses you. A cold clamminess clings to your cheeks and makes you grateful for the heap of blankets over your shoulders. It’s wintertime, and even the blankets would not be able to keep you warm if it wasn’t for the doubled body heat trapped under them.

Bobby is tucked flush against you. He’s touching you from his face tucked into your neck all the way down to your feet which at sandwiched between his.

You shrug the blankets up a little higher, the morning is still so young that you can afford to sleep in a little.

Bobby grunts, squeezing you between his biceps. You kiss his temple and stroke his shoulder blade, fingers skating over the thickened muscles of his back. He’s a little stiff from the extended practice he had yesterday.

“You’ve got to stop leaving your windows open.” The cold nips at your ears.

Bobby grumbles unhappily, “No.” There’s an audible hiss as he sucks in a frustrated breath and wedges himself into that warm crevice between you and the mattress.

As you’re forced on top of him, coldness rushes to the surface of skin the sheets had protected. “Bobby!”

You can feel his lips curling into a smile against your neck. You cling to him, buying right into his wicked little scheme. It doesn’t help that he’s arguably more comfortable than the mattress. He’s all dense muscle and soft skin and warm smiles and sugary words.

“You’re a menace, an absolute terror.” You pout, letting him hug you fully.

“You love it. Don’t even try to lie.”

You mutter and lift your head so you can look into his sleepy eyes.“I don’t know, might love this a lot more if I could sleep without getting frostbite.”

“I’m not closing the windows. Not ever.”

“C’mon can’t we—”

He peels his hands from your sides and cups your face and says real slowly, “no.” Then his sunshiny smile dissolves as his lips greet yours good morning.

Don Hume:

He’s a secret cuddler but this surprises no one. I just get the inkling that he’s such a softie and craves touch and gentle words, even just the slightest morsel of affection.

He tracks you down after work, feet aching and back sore. Long day of classes, long day of practice, and then a full shift of tedious labor. He’s been banking on the memory of you all day long.

His feet grow cold, the newspapers stuffed in the bottoms of his worn out boots not insulating the ragged leather. All he can think about is how much his body hurts and how he would just like to drape himself over you and listen to you talk and finally feel better.

You’re lounging on a sofa in an empty common room when he finally stumbles upon you. You peek over the top of your book and see his lumbering figure, hands stuffed deep into his coat pockets and shoulders hunched. The tired has seeped from his stiff gate up into the lines of his face.

“Hey, Donny,” you set the book aside and lean onto the armrest, “long day?”

He hums. The distance between him and the couch seems increasingly difficult to cover. But he’s determined to make it there and he does. He squishes you into the couch cushions, hands still crammed in his pockets. He releases a big sigh. Your heartbeat drums steady in his ear; your fingers comb through his hair, tangled from a windy practice.

Eventually, he works up the energy to abandon his pockets and snake his arms around you. Don revels in the newfound ability to breathe easy. He soaks up the calmness like a sponge. His brain goes numb and all he can think about is the sensation of your fingers in his hair.

He’s always hungry for these moments. Life is hard on him but there are times when it’s kind and you are one of them. Your fingers brush over his nape and he shudders. And then yours massaging his tense shoulders. He grunts as you work at the knots. You want to tell him to take it easy but you know he never will. His conscience worries him into overworking himself. It doesn’t help that he’s been living this way for so long and is now hardwired that way. You know it won’t matter what you say, he’s too driven. So all you can do is take care of him after.

You can feel him melting into you like ice cream on a hot summer day. The fatigue is kicking in. After a while you leave his shoulders be and settle one hand on his lower back and the other on the crown of his head. His hair is gossamer soft and he smells heavily of wood shavings. You wonder what job he’s picked up now.

He’s tucked himself up under your chin, arms still wrapped around you. “Can I sleep?”

“You want to sleep here?”

“Mmm…”

You sigh, he’s nodding off a soon you won’t be able to get him up. “How about we get you cleaned up and you can stay in my room.”

“Really?” He shifts so you’re now cheek to cheek.

“Really.” You rub his sides, encouraging him to get up. “C’mon. It won’t take too long.”

“Can we…. Can we sleep…together?”

You quirk a brow teasingly which makes him blush.

“I didn’t mean like that.” His eyes match his pouty lips.

“We can sleep whichever way you meant.”

He slowly clambers off, “Not funny.” He mutters, allowing you to drag him by the arm up to your room.

By the time you’re both crawling into bed, his eyelids are drooping and he’s almost knocked out before he can lay his head down. He pulls you onto his chest and takes his turn of playing with your hair. But before long his hand stills and he huffs in his sleep. You eventually drift off too, cradling in his arms.

George “Shorty” Hunt:

He will cocoon you in a baking hot swath of muscled arms and fluffy blankets. It’s positively sweltering. You worry about sweating to death, passing away of heat stroke but Shorty doesn’t fret over such things.

He’s such a hugger, always touching you really. As much as he enjoys all the attention he gets from the girlies he prefers to hang off your arm like a one-of-a-kind handbag. He doesn’t mind being an accessory as long as he’s yours.

Naturally, George loves cuddling. He was born to be a big spoon. It’s just so easy to curve around you and squeeze you tight. You fall asleep like that most nights. His cheek rubbing against yours as he settles in.

“Have a good day?” He asks, lashes fluttering on your temple.

His hand is rubbing your shoulder, relaxing the muscles, “yeah,” you murmur.

“Tell me about it.”

You grown, “Nothing exciting happened.”

“Tell me the mundane, then.”

He loves hearing about every little thing you do. He’s longs to be involved in absolutely everything but he’s got so much to do in a day that he has to settle for this. Maybe that’s why he clutches you so tight, like you’ll slip through his fingers. He just wants to make up for being busy and not spending each second with you.

As you talk to him, George’s hand leaves your shoulder and rubs down your side. He thumbs at your hip and pokes your ribs. “Do I get to hear about yours?” You squirm as he tickles you.

“Went to class, then I had to row an unholy distance with Moch screaming bloody murder at me. Little prick.” Your laughter fills his ears. Shorty loves Bobby but only outside the boat. “Didn’t know such a small guy could be so loud and lewd.”

There’s hardly room for his chest to expand as he breathes so you feel every flex of his muscles. At this point he’s mostly on top of you. You feel the soft curve of his lip on your jaw whenever he speaks. He’s so warm and smells so good. You both slowly talk each other to sleep, nodding off some time after he finishes complaining about Ulbrikson’s lectures.

He’s awake only a short while after you fall asleep. He can finally feel the tension easing out of his upper body. He’s comfortable and sleepy and the weight of you against him is, perhaps, the most peaceful he will ever feel.

Dear Reader

This is my first piece for The Boys in the Boat. If you want, feel free to request something for them (meaning the dudettes from the cast). Thank you so much for reading and have a good day.

- the author

[mybodychoseviolence]

take covid seriously forever actually. fewer/less severe cases doesn't mean no cases. any number of cases at any level of severity can ruin people's lives. i used to do musical theater and tap dance and then i had a very mild case of covid and two years later i consider it a good day if i can walk down the stairs unassisted and stand long enough to wash my face at the end of the day. no, this won't happen 100% of the time, but no one should have to go through this when it's mostly preventable if we wear masks or stay home when we're sick and keep up on vaccines.

[matau-the-228th]

Rahaga Nokama of Ga-Wahi.

Outside of protecting the Matoran under her care from aquatic Rahi, her primary duty is the recovery and translation of records from the sunken Water Sector Universities.

She is often seen in the waters beside the walkways of Ga-Koro with a small entourage of assorted Matoran doing their best to both take notes on her lectures and begin restoration of the materials she brings to the surface. She has invited me to participate a few times, but as Historian, I think I'm better suited to simply write about what records have been found.

It is a very rare sight to see her on land when she is not attending a meeting with the other Rahaga, as her legs degraded into fins after giving up her Toa Energy. But she can be incredibly stubborn about it, once having walked unassisted into Onu-koro to ensure the safe delivery of a relic to the restoration Archives.

One of Rahaga Onewa's projects is attempting to restore and expand the surviving Metru-era aqueducts to key points in the other Wahi to allow Nokama to travel more easily. (Though he keeps claiming that the other Wahi just need multiple supply lines as part of the reconstruction efforts)

She hypothesizes that the primary Rahi attributes that the Hordika Venom has infused her with come from Dermis Turtles and Proto Drakes

Songs: Perchance to Dream (Halo:CE OST), Floating Huts (MNOG), Achenar's Theme- Channelwood Age (Myst OST), Orinoco Flow (Enya)