#seam rubber

[ltwilliammowett]

Scrimshawed seam rubber with a Turk's head knot at the end, made of whalebone, 19th century

[freshthoughts2020]

[jojoseames]

Supporter reward art! A pile of rubber duckies!

(Patreon.com/JoJoSeames)

[ghouljams]

(cw flexible!ballerina!reader, minor foot fetish, Ghost's down bad)

It's easy to find himself in the mirrored studio. Big man in a little chair, the only one quiet enough to hear the soft piano under the whispered chatter of the moms on either side of him. It's just enough for him to hear the little padded feat that prance along behind you as you have them cross the floor in little pas de bourees and short hopping leaps. You clap your hands with the music, smiling and waving your hands to try and coax the shier girls forwards. You in your loose pants and fitted shirt that if Ghost could see the bottom of he'd swear must be a leotard. God he wants to see the bottom of it, wants to see the cut of your legs through the fabric, smell the sweat of your skin and lick along the seams.

Instead he waves silently at his little girl when she grins at him and returns the gesture with a much more enthusiastic flap of her hand. It's enough to make you step forward --and God just watching you walk is like an art, your feet stepping toe-heel in a gentle rolling motion that seems to leap across the polished wood like rubber balls, weightless-- and gently turn the little girl's attention back to class. It's a mistake that you bend at the waist to redirect his girl to the lesson, must be. Waving your ass for him like a cat in heat, he wonders how flexible you are, how far he could bend you in half before you cried uncle.

You settle on the floor to lead the girls through some mid-class stretching, and the way you sweep your legs out to either side of you and press your chest to the floor makes Ghost's head spin. The muscles in your legs flex, your knees turned out, and your feet pointed. If his girl is doing the same he doesn't notice. His eyes follow the length of you, checking the edge on the blade that's pressed itself to his throat and stop at the pink slippers on your feet.

The straps the crisscross the top of your foot dig pleasantly into your bare foot, and your foot curves beautifully into a perfect arch. He's never seen anything like it, subconsciously he tries to curl his toes to match and feels his eye twitch at the ache of his work boots interference. He wants to slip off the slipper and see how you do it, hold your foot in his hand and trace the lines of your arch with his tongue. If he could just kiss the knob of your ankle maybe he could drag his lips higher. The bend of your knee, the flex of your adductors, the swell of your-

He clears his throat and crosses his ankle over his knee, adjusting for the growing hardness between his legs. The stiff starch of his work pants only does so much to cover it.

The little feet start pattering across the floor, ballet slippers softening the noise even as the mirrors covering the walls echo it through the space. One of the moms to his side asks him a question and he grunts in response, eyes trained on the soft sweeping roll of your feet as you rise up into releve.

He wonders how far he'd have to bend you to make sure his come hit your face when he was done fucking his cock between those perfect arches.

[heejake-hoon]

Enhypen hyung line when you ask them to spit in your mouth (mdni)

Heeseung: You're on your knees, Heeseung's cock heavy on your tongue as you look up at him through your lashes. He's got one hand fisted in your hair, the other braced against the wall as he fucks into your mouth shallowly, jaw clenched tight as he tries to savor the feeling of your warmness around him. Pulling off with a filthy pop, you nuzzle into his groin, mouthing at his balls before licking a stripe up the underside of his shaft. "Heeseung," you rasp, voice already wrecked. "Want you to spit in my mouth. please…" His hips jerk at your words, eyes shooting open, a low groan rumbling up from his chest. "fuckkk" Heeseung rasps, fingers tightening in your hair almost painfully. "You can't just say shit like that, jesus." But he's already hauling you up, gripping your jaw before forcing his mouth into yours. You whimper into it, clutching at his shoulders for balance as he licks into you possessively, tongue fucking deep and dirty. And then he's pulling back,letting you fall again on your knees before angling you how he wants , gathering saliva in his mouth before letting it drip past his lips and into yours. You chase it immediately, moaning at the depraved intimacy of it, swallowing it down greedily. Heeseung curses, his hand coming up to grip your throat, tilting your chin up so he can watch your mouth work. "So fucking filthy" he marvels, voice low. "So fucking filthy, Fuckk." He groans, taking in your flushed face as you lean on his hand. "Please, Heeseung," you whimper, nails biting into his shoulders. not sure yourself of what you are begging for. "More, want more" He snarls, walking you back towards the bed with intent. "Oh, sweetheart,I'll use you alright," Heeseung promises, already shoving at your clothes. "Gonna paint your tongue with my cum." he says as he shoves his fingers on your mouth, pressing them on your tongue as he watched you with hunger in his eyes.

Jay: "You want me to what?" Jay asks incredulously, sure he must have misheard you. There's no way you just asked him to- "Spit in my mouth," you repeat, chin tilted up defiantly even as a pretty blush stains your cheeks. "I want you to spit in my mouth while you fuck me, Jay." your eyes looking at him innocently as if you didn't ask him to do the filthiest thing in his life. He stares at you for a long moment, shock warring with arousal in his gaze. "Fuck, Y/N," Jay finally grits out, hands flexing at his sides like he's physically restraining himself from reaching for you as he studies you expression, hissing when he saw no hesitation in your eyes. "fuckk, baby. You really want me to do that?" In answer, you step into his space, nimble fingers working at the button of his jeans. "Yes baby, please" you whine, leaning up on your toes to ghost your lips over the shell of his ear. "I want you to own me, Jay. In every filthy, degrading way you can think of." Jay's control snaps like a rubber band. With a low growl, he fists a hand in your hair, yanking your head back and exposing the long line of your throat to his hungry gaze. His other hand palms roughly at your breast, tweaking your nipple through your blouse and making you gasp. "You want me to claim you, baby?" he asks, voice pitched low and dangerous, jaw clenched in a way that has heat pooling between your thighs. You nodded, arching into his touch wantonly. "Yes, Jay, please- want you so fucking bad-" He kisses you then, hard and deep and filthy, teeth catching on your bottom lip and tongue delving past the seam of your mouth demandingly. You clutch at him, moaning as he grinds his hardness against your core. Jay gentles the kiss gradually before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your lips for a heated moment. Holding your gaze, he gathers the wetness in his mouth and leans in slowly, letting it drip past his lips and onto your waiting tongue. You shudder at the taboo thrill of it, swallowing his spit down eagerly before surging up to lick into his mouth, chasing the taste of him. Jay groans lowly, his dick twitching hard,hands already working at your clothes with clumsy fingers. "Fuck, the things you do to me," he rasps, walking you back towards the wall and pinning you there with the weight of his body.

Jake: "Y-you want me to spit… in your mouth?" Jake stammers, eyes wide with shock even as his throat bobs on a hard swallow. You nod shyly, looking up at him through your lashes as you palm him through his sweats, feeling the way his cock twitches at the suggestion. "I want all of you, Jakey," you murmur, leaning in to press a line of teasing kisses along his jaw. Jake groans, head tipping back as his hips jump into your touch. "Fuck, baby" he rasps, fingers tangling in your hair almost desperately. "You can't just- fuck. You're serious?" In answer, you tug down his waistband just far enough to free his aching erection, giving it a long, slow stroke from root to tip, making him throw his head back in ecstasy "Dead serious," you breathe, thumbing over the leaking slit and making his breath hitch. With that, you drop to your knees, gazing up at him with heavy-lidded eyes as you stick out your tongue invitingly. Jake swears colorfully, the hand in your hair tightening convulsively as he stares down at you in awe. "You're going to be the death of me," he mutters, his heart beating so fast at the sight of you this submissive and needy for him. He gathers saliva in his mouth,slowly, giving you time to change your mind, before he leans down and parts his lips, letting the wetness drip onto your waiting tongue. You moan at the first touch of it, the depraved intimacy sending heat pulsing between your thighs. You swallow his spit down eagerly, making him curse under his breath before taking his cock into your mouth, suckling at the tip as your hand works the base. "Oh god" Jake gasps, hips bucking forward involuntarily. "bab-by, you're so- ah-" You hum around him, taking him deeper and swirling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, his groans and whimpers only encouraging you to go harder. When you pull off, it's only to kitten lick at his slit before looking up at him with pleading eyes. "More," you rasp, nuzzling into his groin and nosing at his balls. "Jake, please- want more, use me like- like your own personal fucktoy-" He makes a strangled noise, torn between arousal and disbelief. But in the end, his desire wins out and Jake is hauling you up, spinning you around and bending you over the back of the couch. "You want me to use you, baby?" he asks lowly, yanking your shorts down and smacking your ass hard enough to leave a handprint. "Want me to fucking ruin this greedy little cunt?" "Yes," you moan wantonly, wiggling your hips in invitation. "Yes, Jakey, please- do whatever you want to me-" He curses again, lining himself up and sliding home in one long, hard thrust. You keen at the sudden fullness, walls clenching down around him greedily as he starts to move, setting a deep, rolling rhythm that has your toes curling. Leaning over you, Jake spits on his fingers before reaching around to rub tight circles over your clit, the filthy sound of it joining the obscene slap of skin on skin making you head spin"This what you wanted, right?" he pants, snapping his hips faster, harder. "Wanted me to fucking defile you like the dirty girl you are?" "Yes," you sob, pushing back to meet his thrusts as the pressure inside you builds to an impossible height. "Yes, Jake, more, fucking ruin me, I'm so close-" "Gonna come on my cock like a good little slut?" he demands raggedly, pinching your clit almost painfully, making you let a scream. Your release threatening to hit you like a truck. "Do it, Y/N. F-fucking soak me"

Sunghoon: "Spit… in your mouth?" Sunghoon repeats slowly, eyebrows raised as he stares at you, somehow not surprised from your command but still asking you nonetheless "You want me to- fuck, Y/N. That's…" "Filthy?" you finish for him, crawling into his lap and looping your arms around his neck. "Dirty? Degrading?" He swallows hard, hands coming up to grip your hips almost reflexively. "Well… yeah. All of the above." he nods to himself, watching as you lean in close, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you grind down pointedly against his growing hardness. "What if I want to be degraded?" you breathe, reveling in his sharp inhale. "What if I want you to fucking defile me, Hoonie? To use me, ruin me, claim every part of me in the dirtiest way possible?" you whisper, feeling him growing under you. Sunghoon groans lowly, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. "Fuck, Y/N," he grits out, hips rocking up to meet yours, his eyes are already blown black with lust. You smirk, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging just shy of painful, the way you know makes him crazy. "Show me," you challenge breathlessly. "Show me exactly what I'm asking for, Sunghoon. I want it. Want you, any way I can get you. Please…" He stares at you for a long, charged moment before his eyes goes dark and hungry in a way that has heat pulsing between your thighs. And then he's flipping you over, pinning you to the mattress with his hips as his mouth comes down on yours in a brutal kiss. Sunghoon licks into you filthily, fucking your mouth with his tongue in a hungry way, one of his hands coming to wrap around your throat before pulling back just far enough to gather saliva between his lips. You know what's coming but it still makes you jolt when he lets it drip past his teeth and onto your waiting tongue. The sheer dirtiness, has you arching up into him with a needy whine, already aching for more. Sunghoon chuckles darkly as you swallow his spit down eagerly, chasing the taste of him. "Fuck, look at you," he marvels lowly, fingers coming up to trace your slick, swollen mouth. "So desperate for it, aren't you baby?" he mocks "Love being used,huh? love letting me do filthy shit to this perfect body." his other hand squeezed one of your boobs tightly, as if to emphasis his words You gasp at the action as he leans down to bite at the hinge of your jaw, marking you. "Yes, Hoonie, want it- want you to fucking wreck me, shit-" He growls, a sound of pure animal hunger, and then he's yanking at your dress roughly, tearing the fabric in his haste to get you naked. "Gonna fucking ruin you," Sunghoon promises, his own shirt joining yours on the floor. "Gonna spit on this pussy before I eat it, suck my cum out of your dirty little cunt and feed it back to you-"

-

fuck is it just me or is it hot in here *fanning myself* Please leave some feedback *_*

[andyoullhearitagain]

Every Starfleet Uniform Ranked By How Annoying The Sleeve Is To Sew, Part 2

Part 1

6. TOS Men's Uniform:

Here we have 1. Quite a severe curve 2. with a zipper in it 3. an invisible zipper at that 4. with pattern matching through the zipper at the collar

5. in velour (slippery). Woof.

7. Disco:

OK we've got two points of pattern matching, but they don't have to be too precise because they've got this round shiny striped piece between them. Of course that piecing means we're basically setting a sleeve in twice, but I will concede that the stretch will be more forgiving than a woven would be. Add in the piecing on the bicep and two different sticky rubber-y fabrics for further difficulty. 

8. TNG Version 2B and Voyager:

All the work of a tailored sleeve with an added inverse corner in an intersection of four seams.

PLUS two points of pattern matching, which is very tricky in an armsyce because you're trying to get the pitch right. You can see in TNG they often have trouble with it and have either a jog in the pattern matching

or too much ease in the wrong place to force the pattern to match.

They seem to have figured it out by Voyager though. I'm also fairly certain they have raglan shoulder pads in them instead of regular ones, which isn't really harder I guess but is a bit odd (no shade, they're incredibly flattering).

9. DS9/ TNG Movies:

All the difficulties of the TNG armscye and now we've added trim, meaning we really have four points of pattern matching instead of two. I could be persuaded that the contrast pieces are applied over the upper sleeve piece instead of pieced, which is easier than what TNG is doing.

10. Enterprise:

I think this is regular raglan sleeve and not some kind of half raglan/half set in sleeve like we see in TNG. Either way it's a bit easier than the TNG sleeve because the trim and yoke are applied on top and top stitched. But we've still got that mitered corner in our bias trim and our four points of pattern matching on the shoulder seam. And then we've also added like four zippers!!!

11. Picard:

What did the stitchers do to this designer? FOUR inverse corners (I guess at least it doesn't intersect a seam this time) PLUS the piecing at the cuff, PLUS all the pattern matching at the armscye, and all in stretch (I think). The only reason it's not the most difficult sleeve is because it looks fairly flat and I bet if you do a nice tight hand baste you can get everything lined up on the first try. Also this is not strictly speaking part of the sleeve but those little corners in the yoke? Good grief.

12. TNG Version 2A:

Never in my life have I seen an armscye like this. What is this even called? How do you construct it? I suppose I would sew the sleeve pieces together, set them in the armscye, then sew the raglan/yoke pieces together at the shoulder seam and then stitch them all the way across the front and then all the way across the back. But good grief. The ONLY other sleeve I could find remotely like this is this 1940s Simplicity pattern (it's on ebay if you want it).

With a few added seams you can imagine what these pattern pieces must look like.

13. TNG Version 1:

All the malarkey of 2A except you've got to do it in spandex. I'd pick wool any day. We also have a second yoke (?!) so now we have to do that little inverse corner TWICE and also add piping. Never in my life have I done an intersection of piping correctly the first time.

And then on top of all that it's ugly. Terrible sewing experience. Worst sleeve in Star Trek *bangs gavel*.

[vinceaddams]

Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to the Fashion of 1940s

The 1940s was a time for great change in the world and in fashion. Marked by rationing and shortage of fabrics, the silhouette and availability of different cuts was limited so the women of the era turned to more fitted, shorter cuts.

Undergarments

The undergarments of the era were not as restrictive or complicated in WW2 as they were pre-WW1, but there were a lot of moving parts to the set-up.

Bra/Brassiere: Bras got shorter in the 1940s due to the rationing of fabric. They look much like they do today, made of light coloured fabrics and hooked with metal eyelets.

Panties/Knickers: The underwear. Elasticated underwear was around and actually exempt from rationing.

Girdle: The girdle rests on the lower torso, past the hips and were used for shaping as well as support.

Garters: Were worn at the top of the stocking just above the knee to hold the stocking in place.

Garter Belt: Was a belt worn around the waist and used to hold up the stockings and garters thanks to fastenings.

Slip: A slip is a light loose dress that is worn under another dress. It is long or short depending on the size of the dress you're wearing over it. The slip has slim straps and was usually plain though lace and embroidery were no uncommon. Most younger women favoured the half slip which was like another skirt.

Stockings: Stockings were worn over the lower legs, clipped and held in place by the garters. If your lady is lucky enough to have a friend on the black market, she might be lucky enough to have proper nylon tights. But if not, some ladies in this period dyed their legs with tea bags and drew the seam up the back of their legs to give the effect.

Outfits

Most women still wore skirts and dresses in the 1940s though some women switched to pants. Most of the outfits of the time followed a similar silhouette due to rationing: it was simple, unsophosticated, fitted, belted and hems remained just below the knee. A suit jacket and skirt combo was popular. Blouses and jumpers were also worn. Dresses were worn as well. Women would pair their outfit with accessories. They would always wear a hat outside and gloves.

Shoes

Shoes were effected by the war, with leather and rubber being limited. Most were brown, black or two two-tone shoes were popular. Oxford shoes, saddle shoes, loafers, court shoes, slingback were popular. These could be lace ups or have fastenings. Heels were usual, but rather short and stocky if worn in the day time. Most would be plain but some would have embellishments.

The Reality of the 1940s

With war on and rationing well underway, the question of clothes was always on the mind. Most women did not have a large wardrobe and with clothing coupons little help, most women made and made due. Hems would be let down, larger sizes cut down and a lot of clothing reused. Fabric choice was limited, silk and nylon were used for parachutes and military applications. Clothing rations were the only way to get new clothes in the war. The average person was entitled at first to 66 clothing coupons per year. But that only would buy an outfit of clothes not including the necessaries. And the number of ration coupons went down as the war went on, down to 36 coupons in 1945. It was illegal to transfer coupons but even despite this, in 1947 hundreds of women offered the future Queen Elizabeth II their rations for her wedding dress. The offer was declined but the government had to approve the release of extra coupons to the Princess. Women also turned to alternatives to create clothes especially wedding gowns even made them out of parachutes!

Make up and Hair

Make up and perfume was one of the many things that was rationed due to their chemical components such as glycerine. Women could access make up but due to rationing and many make up companies not having the ingredients or changing to more profitable and patriotic output, supplies were low. Women often turned to DIY, burnt cork for mascara and eyeliner, natural stains such as beetroot or cochineal for lipstick, crushed rose petals for blush, soot/charcoal for eyeliner, facemasks of egg white or oatmeal, beeswax for moisturiser and cold cream. As for hair women often turned to DIY to care and wash for their hair. Homemade shampoos were made from soap, vinegar and baking soda. Egg yolks were used for conditioner. Lemon juice was used to lighten hair. Olive oil was used to make hair shiny. Some popular hairstyles of the era:

Victory Rolls: This is the hairstyle you're probably thinking ofwhen you think of the 40s. It involves rolling the hair away from the face and rolling them at the top of the head.

Pin Curls: This is a hairstyle involving the curling and pinning of hair overnight got tight curls for the next day.

Pageboy: This is a shoulder-length style, curled at the ends

Waves: This style involves soft waves

Pompadours: The hairstyle involves the sweeping up of hair back from the face and sculpting it to be more voluminous.

Snoods: This is a sort of net worn over the hair, usually with a rat (a sort of device used to increase volume at the front of the hair)

Scarves: Were popular replacement for hats, used to cover their hair when going out.

[vincentbriggs]

@once-a-polecat replied to your post “My uncle's friend asked if I wanted this machine...”:

So do Whites have the same parts availability as Singers? I see them around for a fraction of the price, I’ve just been holding out for a Singer because the parts are relatively easy to source. I’ve seen some really lovely White machines tho! I bet yours is going to look stunning when it’s cleaned up. That cabinet is {chefs kiss}

​I don't know, I haven't looked into it because mine's not missing any pieces and still has all 6 bobbins.

I think that as long as you can verify that it has all the parts, and at least one or two bobbins, it probably won't need any new ones.. ever? The little rubber ring on the bobbin winder and the treadle drive belt degrade after a few decades and need replacing, but you can easily buy those, and everything else is highly unlikely to break from regular use.

The one thing I was worried about was accidentally stripping the screws while taking it apart for cleaning, and there was one screw that I didn't quite have the right size of screwdriver for and it started to look a bit ehhhh so I just didn't take that part off. It wasn't one of the really gunky ones anyways, and I did my best to clean around it, and may try again someday if I get more sizes of screwdriver. So I'd advise making sure you have all the right tools before starting and slathering all the stuck bits well in kroil (what the guy in a video I watched yesterday used) or wd-40 (what I used) or some such loosening thing.

It seems like it's very hard to find new bobbins, especially since there are different styles of shuttle and the bobbins are not interchangeable. Mine's a boat style and my bobbins wouldn't work in a bullet style from a couple years later.

While cleaning this thing it hasn't even crossed my mind to wonder where I'd find replacement parts because, well, what could possibly break? Nearly every single piece is cast iron or steel, and it's already been used SO much that the decals on the bottom are almost completely gone just from the amount of fabric that's run over it.

As mentioned in the previous post it's about 140 years old, was owned by a woman who made her living sewing on it for many decades, and it still works just fine! I haven't got the bobbin winder cleaned up yet and it's still off the cabinet, but I couldn't resist trying it out with just the hand wheel (using one of the bobbins that was wound long before I was born) once I got all the bits back on and yeah! Perfect stitches right away!

As long as it's kept well oiled it's just gonna keep on chugging along indefinitely.

Are you seeing these White machines in person at secondhand stores and such? If you can check to make sure they have bobbins and that no pieces are missing, I'd say grab one! Maybe keep some reference pics of working ones so you can look and see, or even better see if you can make a stitch with it before buying it, and presumably if it can do that even slowly and gunkily then it'll just need cleaning like this one did.

By all accounts they're REALLY good machines! I'm super excited to try mine out properly, and to post more about all the features. It has a lip around the bottom of the needle bar so that if some oil drips down it won't get on your needle! Genius!! Why doesn't every machine ever have that?! It's also fairly quiet AND you can adjust the bobbin tension right in the middle of a seam without disturbing the sewing or taking the shuttle out. Incredible.

The manual for mine says "The Best in the World" on it, and while that's just a normal Victorian thing to say about a product, I'm not about to argue with them. There are a few little things that I like better on Singers, such as the quality of the hinges that hold the machine to the cabinet, and the way the presser foot attaches, but all in all this White VSII is extremely goddamn good so far and I have no doubt that once I get the bobbin winder cleaned up it'll also work perfectly!

So yeah, GET ONE!

[ectologia]

I gently request a Dabi fic wherein he's been letting his little sister crash at his place and decides to pimp her out to Shiggy. Please, thank you, your writing is amazing ❤️ ❤️

BUSY EARNIN’

TOMURA SHIGARAKI + FEMALE READER + DABI

WARNING: DUBCON/NONCON, THEMES OF INCEST, SEX-BUYING, HUMILIATION, CREAMPIE, PROFANITY

The recital of your name ushers you downstairs. Your feet tip-toe down the rickety steps while you refrain from gliding your hand along the splintered wood of the bannister.

You bound along until you recognise your big brother, slouched against his patchwork sofa with his knees spread and a cigarette pinched between his fingers.

“Hey, you.” The subtle flick and curl of the ashen digits lulls you closer, close enough until you’re able to see the sizeable stacks of green bills piled up and snapped together with tight rubber bands lain across his coffee table.

You shift, curious as you notice the lean figure hunched next to Dabi, counting through another hand full of cash and muttering. He’s frantic as his fingers work on shuffling through the paper, his eyes are an unsettling blood red surrounded by rings of black and flaking skin, while his hair sits nestled beneath the shadow of his hood, only the stormy ice blue of his fringe peeking out.

“What’s all this?” You lilt, pointing a finger at the stacked paper.

Dabi all but hums, parting his lips as a whispy stream of smoke escapes the ruptured seam. “What you owe me.”

You draw back immediately, confused. “What?..”

He laughs, a deep, hoarse chuckle. Lowering the cigarette from his teeth to address you properly. “You heard me kid. You gotta earn your keep, you know? Ain’t shit free in life.”

You splutter, furrowing your brows. “B—but, wait, what do you mean I owe you that?” You gesture to the wads of cash sat waiting atop the wooden surface.

And just like that, the last few pages of money are slapped down onto the table. “That’s all of it, Dabi.” Shigaraki croaks, bobbing his foot up and down in anxious waiting.

Dabi shifts through the bank notes before giving a satisfied tut, settling back into the plush concave of his couch and taking another drag. “Thanks, Shigs. She’s all yours.”

You retreat backwards as his bent form extends into a looming shadow the moment he stands, taking a stride towards you.

“Wait! Dabi, what’s going on?” You squeal the moment your hands are seized, pulling and tugging until you’re bent against the wall at an angle.

He clicks his tongue, crossing an ankle over his leg. “I just told you. You’re paying me back, kid. Eatin’ my food, drinking my water. All that shit. You didn’t think you’d be crashing at my place on my dime, did you?” His chuckle is grim and dark as he pours over your hurt expression. “That’s cute. I’m a nice guy but I ain’t no saint, family’s still gotta’ pay their dues.”

You’re jolted about to Shigaraki’s liking until you’re positioned over the coffee table. A big hand pushes your cheek down into the hard surface while the other handles your hips, raising your ass up into the air. “Dabi! No, please stop! Tell him to stop!”

Your big brother winces at your shrill squeaks, squinting at the gritty nails clawing at your delicate flesh. He snaps his fingers, leaning forward. “Yo, Shiggy. Be careful, yeah? She’s still a virgin so she’s gonna be a lil’ skittish.”

He’s met with a harsh grunt, beady red eyes squinting up at him. “Shut the fuck up, makin’ my dick go soft with all your yappin’. I paid for her, so I’ll fuck her how I want, yeah?”

Your big brother huffs a sigh, sitting back against the cushions as he watches Shigaraki tear at your clothes. Your shirt is scrunched just above the meat of your tits as two hands reach down to tug and twist at your pebbled nipples. He tuts, palming at the doughy flesh. “Fuck, your sister’s kinda hot, man.”

Dabi hums in agreement, taking another puff of his cigarette as he rubs his hard-on through the rough denim of his jeans. “You should see her pussy.”

Shigaraki halts, lifting up to eye his friend. “You’ve seen your sister’s twat?” A broad smile curls onto both pairs of lips as they sneer at each-other. “You’re a freak.” He snickers.

The flimsy pair of panties concealing your pudgy mound are slid down past your ankles. Dabi scoffs as the skimpy garment is tossed at his face with a chuckle, the scent of your pussy encasing him for a split second. “A lil’ trinket for big brother Dabi.” Shigaraki grins.

“Please Dabi! I’ll pay you back! I don’t want him t—”

You’re cut off with a whine. “Awh, you don’t want me?” Shigaraki pouts, squeezing and jiggling your ass-cheeks. “That’s just hurt my feelings, babe. Looks like I’m gonna have to fuck you extra extra hard now.”

You gasp as Shigaraki spits a fat wad of saliva into your asshole, bringing two cold fingers down to smear and spread the sticky substance all the way across your slit. He dips the calloused pads into your folds, searching for the little bundle of nerves that has you twitching. The moment your hips flinch he’s cooing, rubbing harsh lines into your hooded clit. “Oh yeah, get that cunny nice and wet, hm?” Your mouth gapes and your jaw slackens, shuddering upon his abuse. “Yeah? You like me rubbing that clit? Getting your little pussy masturbated? Just like that?”

He chuckles at the small hand grasping his wrist, pleading for some type of relief. He retracts, wiping his soiled fingers into the back of your head before knotting them in between your mussed locks, tugging your neck back in a painful arch.

A flicker of hope ignites once you see your brother lean forward with a smile. You keen, reaching out for him. “Da—”

“Shh..” Before you can finish, a thick cloud of musky smoke cuts you off. He purses his lips into a snide grin as he blows the ash right into your spluttering, teary face.

The two laugh at your blushed cheeks and bloated lips as you cough, whimpering every time Shigaraki rubs at your swollen seed.

“I want you to look at him.” Your chin is held up by a pale hand, angling you to meet the bulging tent in your brother’s pants. “Look at your big brother while I rape you.”

At this you crack, breaking down into a plethora of blubbering cries. Shigaraki seems satisfied with your shell-like expression and takes the opportunity to stretch his fat mushroom-tip through the taught flesh of your pussyhole, sighing out a grunt as he does. “Fuck yeah.” He wastes no time in gathering the reins of your hair, jutting into you from behind with a broad smile. “Oh yeah, take—that—dick—baby—take it!” He punctuates every word with a thrust, pushing and pulling you along as he rides your ass.

Dabi can’t help but slip his vacant hand down the waistband of his boxers, fisting his fat, dribbling cock while he watches you get molested. It turns him the fuck on. He croons, hissing through the thin space of his teeth biting down on his cigarette. “Mm, look at you, getting used like a little piece of rape-meat. Should’ve done this ages ago lil’ sis.”

You’re practically foaming at the mouth, the only way you’re able to stay upright is by the massive hands groping at your titties. Shigaraki snarls and howls behind you like a beast, raping your pussy faster and faster with his sweaty uncut dick until a vision of black begins to seep past your field of view. A pierced brow quirks upwards as Dabi watches your eyes shift to a ghostly white.

Shigaraki growls, slowing his hips to exchange his frantic rutting into pounding your pussy with deep, lethargic, hurtful thrusts, knocking your hips painfully into the edge of the table. Your cries are smeared into the wood, your whole body rocking as your knee is lifted to spread you open further.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Your ears twitch at the sound of Shigaraki’s voice. He hunches, slamming a fist down dangerously close to your head as he jutts his dick and balls into your slit at a rapid pace. “Fu—agh!”

The room drops to an eery silence as Shigaraki groans and shivers above you, swaying his hips side to side to ensure he’s pumped your battered womb full of his hot, creamy jizz.

The moment he retreats, your body is dragged along with him until your clenching pussy unhooks itself from his throbbing tip, ropes and ropes of sticky white cum following his retraction.

“Damn. That was good.” Shigaraki huffs, catching his breath while he stands proud and bare above you and Dabi, two hands bent on his hips while his flaccid member hangs lowly between his legs, bobbing and swinging.

“Glad I could help.” Dabi grins, slapping a wad of cash against his palm triumphantly.

[ltwilliammowett]

A scrimshawed seam rubber, carved "Bark Iris" on one face and "S-N" on the other, made by a sailor, 19th century

[saphig-iawn]

Shaping You

There is something deep and powerful about wanting to shape someone.

When a cute and docile femme approaches me wanting to be a doll and be cherished and dressed, shaping them follows certain paths and patterns.

When a tired and overworked femme approaches me wanting be a drone in my Network and not have to think anymore, shaping them aligns with certain ideas and influences.

Both are enjoyable and loving and caring but...

But sometimes... I just crave the ability to shape them-

To take the cute femme and interlock my fingers tightly with theirs so the impressions I leave in their skin become ball joints and seams.

To take the overworked femme and cradle their head in my hand, and rub my thumb across their lips leaving nothing behind but smooth latex.

To take the new doll onto my lap and give them such an embrace that they shrink into a sweet little toy, with a permanent smile on their face.

To take the new drone and sculpt their hands into mittens, their crotch into a nullge, their face into a work of rubber art.

To take you and lift those burdens that rub stress into your muscles and strain into your bones.

To distill you into the parts that you should be, the parts that you need to be; all by my loving hand.

To make you mine.

...

Well...

Would you like me to shape you?

Did you enjoy? Here's my ko-fi if you fancy leaving a tip or want to talk about being transformed yourself!~

[serve-973]

First Night in the Hive: A very SERVE Christmas part 3

The streets are quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of Christmas lights strung along the lampposts. SERVE-973 leads the procession in perfect formation, followed closely by SERVE-016, SERVE-101, and SERVE-213. Behind them, the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones—Liam, Mark, and Jason—walk in near silence, their polished black trial suits reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights. Every step they take feels surreal. The rubber clings to their bodies like a second skin, smooth and unyielding, amplifying every movement with an intoxicating awareness.

Liam glances down at himself, his gloved fingers brushing over the sleek material of his torso as he walks. “I still can’t believe how this feels,” he murmurs, the faint hiss of rubber against rubber punctuating his words.

Mark nods, his silver boots clicking softly on the pavement. “It’s… unreal. It’s like it’s part of me already.”

Jason, quieter than the others, looks ahead toward SERVE-973’s flawless figure leading the way. His breath catches as they approach their destination: The Hive.

The building rises ahead of them, its sleek, metallic exterior glowing faintly under the moonlight. Smooth, reflective panels stretch upward, blending into the night sky. No windows, no visible seams—just an imposing structure that radiates purpose and precision. The sight stops the three trial drones in their tracks, awe washing over them.

“What is this place?” Jason whispers, his voice tinged with both apprehension and fascination.

“The Hive,” SERVE-973 replies without turning. “The center of unity. The heart of perfection.”

Entering the Hive As they step through the large, seamless doors, the air changes instantly. Cool and faintly charged, it hums with the low-frequency energy that seems to flow through the walls. The interior is impossibly pristine—polished metallic floors, walls of mirrored black and silver, and faint streams of light tracing angular patterns overhead.

Liam’s eyes dart around, his gloved hands resting on his chest as though anchoring himself. “It’s… incredible,” he breathes.

Mark’s head tilts slightly as he catches his own reflection in one of the mirrored panels. The sight of himself in the trial suit—tall, sleek, and flawless—sends a thrill down his spine. “I can’t believe this is real.”

Jason lingers behind them, taking hesitant steps into the vast atrium. His voice is soft as he murmurs, “It feels… alive.”

SERVE-016 turns to face them, its voice calm and commanding. “You are standing in the core of unity. The Hive is designed to optimize alignment, eliminate inefficiency, and ensure precision. Everything you see, feel, and experience here serves one purpose: perfection.”

The three trial drones exchange glances, their earlier nervousness giving way to a growing sense of awe and curiosity. They are led deeper into the Hive, the faint hum of energy growing stronger as they move through gleaming corridors that seem to stretch endlessly.

The Recharging Room Eventually, they arrive at a large chamber, its smooth walls glowing faintly with soft, white light. The recharging room is both vast and minimalistic, with sleek, pod-like stations lining the edges in perfect symmetry. Each pod is polished to a mirror shine, the silver and black surfaces reflecting the soft glow of the room.

“This is the recharging room,” SERVE-016 announces as the group enters. Its voice is steady, its silver gloves clasped behind its back. “Here, you will rest and integrate. Your trial suits will maintain alignment and prepare you for tomorrow’s instructions.”

The three trial drones step further into the room, their footsteps muffled by the smooth floor. Liam approaches one of the pods, his fingers grazing its surface. “It’s… so advanced,” he says softly.

Mark stands in the center of the room, turning slowly as he takes it all in. “This is where you sleep?” he asks, looking at SERVE-101.

“Correct,” SERVE-101 replies, stepping to one side of the room. “Recharging is an optimized rest cycle. Your suits will integrate with the Hive’s systems, enhancing focus and alignment as you sleep.”

Jason lingers near SERVE-213, his gaze flicking between the pods and his own reflection in the polished floor. “And… what else happens here?” he asks cautiously.

“Before recharging, you will receive additional instructions,” SERVE-213 explains. “As trial drones, you are encouraged to explore your new forms and establish synchronization with one another. Familiarization is integral to alignment.”

Encouragement from SERVE-973 SERVE-973 steps forward, its movements deliberate and fluid. “You are no longer individuals,” it says, addressing the trial drones directly. “You are part of a collective. During your trial, heightened sensations are a natural response to alignment. Exploration is encouraged to deepen your understanding of your transformation and the perfection it represents.”

Liam glances nervously at Mark and Jason, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “You mean… we’re supposed to…?”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 replies. “Explore. Familiarize yourselves with your new forms. Arousal reinforces alignment and strengthens your connection to the Hive.”

The room grows quiet for a moment, the faint hum of energy in the walls the only sound. Slowly, Liam steps closer to Mark, his gloved fingers brushing against his own chest before reaching out tentatively. “I guess… it’s part of the process, right?”

Mark swallows hard, his eyes locked on Liam’s gloved hand as it glides over the smooth surface of his chest. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… it’s part of the trial.”

Exploration Begins The hesitancy between the three begins to fade as curiosity takes over. Liam runs his hands over Mark’s shoulders, marveling at the flawless fit of the suit, the way it moves like a second skin yet feels impossibly smooth and unyielding. Mark, emboldened by the sensation, reaches out to Jason, his gloved fingers tracing the contours of his chest and arms.

Jason exhales sharply, the sensation of the suit amplifying every touch. “It’s… unbelievable,” he whispers, his own hands moving to explore the sleek material covering Liam’s back. “I feel… different. Like I’m becoming something more.”

The three of them move closer together, their gloved hands sliding over each other’s suits with increasing confidence. The faint squeak of rubber against rubber fills the room, mingling with their soft breaths and murmurs of amazement.

“This… this is incredible,” Mark says, his voice filled with awe. “It’s like… it’s like we’re connected already.”

“You are,” SERVE-016 says, its tone calm and steady. “This is the beginning of synchronization. Embrace it.”

Deeper Into the Trial The recharging room hums faintly with energy as SERVE-016, SERVE-101, and SERVE-213 step toward the exit, their movements precise and synchronized. Each drone nods once toward SERVE-973 before leaving the room, their heavy boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The soft hiss of the door sliding shut signals their departure, leaving SERVE-973 alone with the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones, Liam, Mark, and Jason.

The room feels different now, quieter but somehow more charged, as though the very air is pulsing with latent energy. The soft hum of The Hive seems to intensify, a low, rhythmic vibration that resonates through the walls and floors. And faintly, almost imperceptibly, a voice begins to whisper in the background, its tone smooth and hypnotic:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The words repeat in an endless loop, the rhythm aligning perfectly with the steady hum of the room. Liam shifts slightly, glancing at Mark and Jason, his gloved hands resting awkwardly at his sides.

“What now?” Liam asks, his voice tinged with nervous energy.

“This drone will supervise your exploration phase,” SERVE-973 says, stepping forward with flawless precision. Its reflective suit gleams under the soft light, the silver stripes on its collar catching the glow. “The trial requires thorough familiarization with your new forms and synchronization with one another. This is integral to your alignment.”

Jason looks down at his own body, his silver-gloved hands running over the polished surface of his trial suit. “Synchronization… you mean we’re supposed to…?”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 replies, its tone calm and unwavering. “Your suits are designed to enhance sensitivity and awareness. Exploring each other’s forms will deepen your connection to the Hive and strengthen your alignment.”

Exploration continues The room falls silent, save for the constant hum of the Hive and the faint whispers of the voice repeating its mantra:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Liam is the first to move again, stepping closer to Mark with tentative steps. His silver boots click softly against the floor as he raises a gloved hand, hesitating for a moment before pressing it gently against Mark’s chest. The polished rubber feels smooth and cool beneath his fingers, and a soft gasp escapes his lips.

“It’s… incredible,” Liam whispers, his voice filled with awe. “It doesn’t even feel real.”

Mark looks down at Liam’s hand, then lifts his own, placing it against Liam’s shoulder. The material of the trial suit glides effortlessly beneath his fingers, its surface reflecting the soft light of the room. “It’s like… it’s part of you,” Mark says, his voice low. “Like it was made for you.”

Jason watches silently, his gaze fixed on the two of them as they begin to explore each other’s forms. The hesitancy between them fades quickly as their hands move with growing confidence, tracing the contours of each other’s suits, marveling at the flawless fit and the way the material clings to every curve and muscle.

Building Arousal The whispering voice in the background seems to grow louder, its rhythm syncing with the rising energy in the room:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Jason exhales slowly, the words resonating in his mind as he steps forward, joining Liam and Mark. His gloved hands brush against their shoulders, the material of their suits cool and smooth under his touch. “It’s… perfect,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with awe. “You look… perfect. You feel.... perfect”. Jason could feel the erection grow, sliding against the lubricated inside of his suit.

Liam turns to Jason, his gloved hand sliding over Jason’s chest. “We all do,” he says softly. “It’s like… this is who we were supposed to be.” He noticed the bulges on all three of them. The arousal was undeniable. Somehow it had an effect on their minds as well.

Mark nods, his hands moving to explore Jason’s arms, marveling at the way the suit highlights the strength beneath. “It’s more than just a suit,” he says. “It’s like… it’s changing me. I feel… different.”

“Correct,” SERVE-973 says from where it stands, its voice steady and calm. “The trial suits are designed to enhance awareness and arousal. They heighten your connection to the Hive and reinforce your alignment. Embrace the sensations.”

Full Exploration Encouraged by SERVE-973’s words, the three trial drones grow bolder. Their hands move with increasing confidence, gliding over each other’s suits, tracing every line and contour. The squeak of rubber against rubber fills the room, mingling with their soft breaths and the endless hum of the Hive.

Liam steps closer to Jason, his gloved hands sliding down his back, marveling at the way the suit clings to him like a second skin. Jason shivers under the touch, his own hands moving to Liam’s waist, the cool rubber warming slightly beneath his fingers.

Mark watches them for a moment before stepping behind Liam, his hands running over his shoulders and down his arms. The three of them move together, their bodies aligning instinctively as they explore each other’s forms. The arousal in the room is palpable now, an electric charge that pulses through their suits and amplifies with every touch. Every hand rubbing a full grown rubber bulge, stroking the rock hard erection underneath the thin layer of rubber as they moaned softly.

The whispering voice seems to thrum in their minds, guiding their movements:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Deeper Connection Liam turns to face Mark, their gloved hands meeting between them as they press closer. “I’ve never felt anything like this,” Liam says, his voice breathless. “It’s… overwhelming.”

“It’s like we’re connected,” Mark replies, his hands moving to Liam’s chest, marveling at the way the suit responds to his touch. “Like we’re part of something bigger.”

Mark then moved closer to Liam, kissing him. Never had he kissed a man before as he kissed Liam now. He could feel their rubber glide against each other, the vibration of the squeaking noises made his breath tremble.

Jason steps forward, his hands brushing against both of them, his voice soft and filled with wonder. “We are,” he says. “We’re becoming part of the Hive.” And with that Jason moved in between Mark and Liam and Mark released Liam's lips, so they could both kiss Jason.

The three of them move together, their hands exploring every inch of each other’s suits, their bodies aligning instinctively. The arousal between them grows stronger, a shared energy that pulses through the room and ties them together in perfect synchronization. They kiss and feel each other for what seems like an eternity, under supervision of SERVE-973. Arousal monitored, but climax prevented. The arousal is needed for the full transformation to becoming a SERVE-drone.

Final Moments After what feels like an eternity, SERVE-973 steps forward, its voice breaking through the charged silence. “Your synchronization is complete,” it says, its tone calm but firm. “You are ready to recharge.”

The three trial drones step back from each other, their breaths steady but their bodies still tingling with the sensations of their exploration. They exchange glances, their earlier hesitation replaced by a growing sense of unity and purpose.

“Follow this drone,” SERVE-973 says, gesturing toward the recharging pods. One by one, the trial drones step into the pods, their movements smooth and deliberate. The pods hum softly as they seal around them, the soft glow of integration illuminating their flawless forms.

As the room falls quiet, the whispering voice continues to echo faintly in the background:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

For Liam, Mark, and Jason, this is only the beginning. For the Hive, it is another step toward perfection.

"We are one. Obedience is pleasure. Rubber makes us perfect."

The First Night: Recharging the Mind and Body The recharging room hums with a faint, rhythmic energy, the low sound resonating through the polished metallic walls. Inside the sleek, black-and-silver pods, the three SERVE-ON TRIAL drones, Liam, Mark, and Jason, lie motionless, their bodies perfectly encased in their shining trial suits. The glow of the pods reflects on their polished surfaces, emphasizing the seamless fit of the suits as they cling to every muscle and contour. Outside, SERVE-973 stands silently, its flawless rubber form gleaming under the soft lights, its silver gloves clasped behind its back as it supervises the process with unerring precision.

The first few minutes inside the pods feel disorienting for Liam, Mark, and Jason. The air is cool, almost sterile, yet calming. Slowly, a gentle whisper fills the enclosed space. At first, the words are faint, blending with the ambient hum of the room. But with every repetition, they grow stronger, more defined.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The voice is smooth and hypnotic, its rhythm perfectly synchronized with the faint pulses of energy flowing through the pods. The suits they wear seem to respond to the sound, their surfaces warming slightly, molding even closer to their skin. The material feels alive, pulsating gently as if breathing with them.

Liam feels the suit first, the faint vibrations traveling across his body, heightening every sensation. The snug material around his chest tightens slightly, almost imperceptibly, drawing his attention to the way it accentuates his muscles. His breathing slows, his thoughts quieting as the voice takes hold.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The words are soothing, wrapping around his mind like a warm embrace. They don’t feel intrusive; they feel natural, as though they’ve always been there, waiting to be heard. Liam’s lips part slightly, and before he realizes it, he’s whispering the mantra back.

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

The sound of his own voice is soft, almost reverent, and with every repetition, the suit seems to mold even tighter to his body. The material glides effortlessly with each subtle movement, its surface warming further as it becomes less a garment and more an extension of his own skin.

The same sensations ripple through Mark’s body as he lies motionless in his pod. His silver-gloved hands rest at his sides, the polished rubber of the suit glinting faintly in the glow of the pod. At first, the voice in his ears feels distant, like a faint whisper brushing the edges of his thoughts. But as it repeats, its rhythm perfectly calibrated, the words begin to resonate deeper.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

The mantra feels like a key unlocking something inside him. His earlier doubts fade, replaced by a growing sense of calm and clarity. The suit tightens slightly around his arms and chest, emphasizing the strength of his muscles. He flexes his fingers instinctively, the material of the gloves squeaking softly as they move. The sensations are overwhelming but not unpleasant. The suit feels… right.

Mark’s mind drifts, images forming behind his closed eyes. He sees himself standing tall among other drones, his suit gleaming under soft, metallic light. His movements are precise, synchronized with the collective. The thought fills him with a deep satisfaction, and a soft whisper escapes his lips:

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

His voice grows steadier with each repetition, his words syncing perfectly with the mantra flowing through the pod. The suit tightens further, its seamless design merging with his body as though it were sculpted onto him.

In the next pod, Jason struggles at first, his thoughts racing. The whispering voice feels alien, almost intrusive, but its rhythm is steady and unyielding, eroding his resistance with every repetition.

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

Jason exhales slowly, his body relaxing despite himself. The suit seems to sense his shift, warming slightly as it molds closer to his skin. He feels it tightening around his waist, his arms, his legs—every movement causing the material to flex and glide effortlessly with him.

“This… this is…” Jason starts to murmur, but the words catch in his throat. The suit feels unlike anything he’s ever worn, its smooth, unyielding surface amplifying every sensation. He flexes his arms, feeling the material stretch and conform with perfect precision, as though it has become a part of him.

As the mantra continues, Jason’s thoughts slow, his earlier apprehension dissolving. The suit feels powerful, like it’s reshaping him into something stronger, more purposeful. He feels his lips move before he realizes it, the mantra spilling from him like a reflex.

“Obedience is pleasure… Pleasure is obedience…”

The whisper grows stronger in his mind, the words no longer just sounds but truths reshaping his very sense of self. The suit tightens further, hugging his body like a second skin, its surface gleaming as it integrates with him.

The pods hum softly, their glow pulsing faintly in time with the mantra. The words begin to layer, new phrases weaving seamlessly into the hypnotic rhythm:

"A drone obeys. A drone serves. A drone follows."

"Unity is perfection."

"Less thinking. More doing."

The new phrases flow into the trial drones’ minds, reinforcing the growing sense of purpose within them. Liam’s breathing steadies further as he whispers the words, his voice blending with the audio. Mark flexes his gloved hands, his lips moving in perfect synchronization with the mantra. Jason feels a deep warmth spreading through him, his thoughts aligning effortlessly with the voice.

As the hours pass, the suits continue to work on their bodies, subtly enhancing their forms. Muscles feel stronger, more defined, as though the suits are shaping them into the ideal versions of themselves. The material clings perfectly, every curve and contour emphasized, every imperfection erased. The trial drones’ earlier hesitation and individuality dissolve further with every repetition of the mantra.

The images in their minds grow clearer—visions of themselves as drones, their movements synchronized, their suits polished to a mirror shine. They see themselves serving, obeying, existing as perfect extensions of the Hive. The thought fills them with a deep, resonant pleasure that pulses through their bodies, amplifying with every beat of the audio.

Outside the pods, SERVE-973 stands unmoving, its reflective form a perfect sentinel in the quiet room. The faint hum of the pods and the soft whispers of the mantra echo around it. The trial drones are progressing perfectly, their bodies and minds aligning with the Hive’s principles.

As the recharging cycle nears its conclusion, the audio slows, the phrases delivered with deliberate finality:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

"We are one."

The pods dim slightly, the hum quieting as the integration process completes. Inside, Liam, Mark, and Jason lie still, their minds calm, their thoughts reshaped. The suits they wear are no longer just trial uniforms—they are part of them now, extensions of their bodies and symbols of their growing alignment with the Hive.

When the pods open, they will wake changed—not yet drones, but one step closer to perfection.

For now, the room remains silent, save for the faint, lingering echo of the mantra:

"Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience."

To be continued….

@rubberizer92

[makethatelevenrings]

Contaminated // D. Grayson x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. Minors get BACK. Go yearn for the mines awaY FROM HERE. Emotions! Sex pollen but it’s enthusiastic consent. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Three months ago, Dick Grayson told you he didn’t love you anymore and walked out the door. Tonight, you found yourself the unwitting victim of a Poison Ivy attack that forces Dick Grayson to end up on your doorstep once again. Will he help or will he leave once again?

Your hands shook as you unlocked the door of your apartment. Your skin prickled as the fabric of your hoodie scraped against the sensitive skin of your arms. A desperate whimper escaped your lips at the way your very cells seemed to burn with the strength of a thousand suns.

Somehow you got your mind straight long enough to lock the door behind you before you stumbled towards your bedroom. You kicked off your shoes as you went and your hoodie soon followed. Fuck, it wasn’t enough. Everything was hot but at the same time, you felt sweaty and chilled like you had a fever.

Something was wrong.

Grabbing your phone, you fought against the blurring of your vision in order to locate the contact you needed. You knew she would pick up the phone in seconds because she was glued to her tech everyday.

“What’s up, babes?” Barbara answered after the first ring. “If you’re calling to reschedule brunch, I have terrible news for you. I won’t allow you to skip out aga-”

“Babs,” you rasped. “Something’s wrong.”

The cheery tone fell from the redhead’s voice in seconds and you heard her start typing on her keyboard. “Where are you?”

“Home. I was walking home from work when Ivy attacked the park and I think I inhaled some of the spores. I don’t…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Barbara swore under her breath. “The closest person to you is Nightwing.”

Your heart dropped. No. Not him. “Who else?”

“Everyone else is busy. I’m sorry, but I’m sending him.”

Your stomach cramped painfully, nearly knocking you to your knees, and you let out a groan. “Okay, okay. Fuck it. Fine.”

“We’re going to help you. I promise. I have to go handle something right now, but I’ll make sure I check on you.”

“Thanks, Babs.” Your breath escaped you in short pants, like a dog in heat. Fuck, it was hot in here. You wanted nothing more than to strip off your pants and shirt and lay on the cool tile of your bathroom, but you couldn’t. Not when he was coming over.

Richard Grayson, your ex boyfriend. Richard Grayson, the man who came over one night three months ago and broke up with you on your doorstep. Richard Grayson, the man you had loved for years until your heart shattered with a few words.

“I don’t love you anymore,” he had said. And then he dropped a box of your things on the doorstep and walked out of your life.

Fuck Dick Grayson. Fuck Nightwing. Fuck him and his pretty boy smile. He could go to hell.

“Shit.” As if the mere thought of your ex triggered it, you were suddenly acutely aware of the seam of your pants pressing against the sensitive flesh of your cunt. Shit shit shit, you cannot be horny in front of Dick Grayson. You just needed to keep a level and calm head until he gave you the antidote and then you could send him out on his ass.

Another wave of shaking wracked through your body and you let out a hiss of pain, doubling over until your face met the soft fabric of your comforter. Your body joined you on the mattress and you pulled yourself up until your cheek rested on the cool rayon fabric of the pillow. Curling your knees up towards your chest, you let the shakes consume you and prayed that Dick wasn’t so over you that he refused to come.

As though he heard your thoughts, you heard the window to your living room slide open. The slight screech of the old rubber sides sounded faster than normal and you figured he just wanted to get this over with.

The window shut and footsteps pounded towards the door to your bedroom. Your teeth chattered violently as you shook with this hellish hot/cold state your body had been thrust into. The shaking made it hard for you to lift your head, but you were able to make eye contact with the last man you wanted to see.

“Fuck,” Dick said in greeting. “Babs said Ivy got you, but she didn’t say it was this bad.”

You willed your jaw to stop rattling and shrugged. “Ran home so I didn’t pass out on the sidewalk or something.”

He stripped off his glove and pressed the back of his hand against your cheek. Shit. Oh fuck. Just the feel of his skin against yours was euphoric. A small mewl escaped you and your back arched in some desperate attempt to get closer to him. Dick ripped his hand away, a panicked look flitting across his masked face.

“Damnit Ivy,” he snarled.

“Am I dying?” It certainly felt like it. Your skin prickled painfully at the loss of contact and you tried to hold back the burn of tears that grew in your eyes.

“No, you’re not dying.” His hand drifted up to his ear where you knew a comms device rested. “Ivy hit her with sex pollen.”

A startled, albeit bitter, laugh escaped you and you shook your head. Of fucking course. Sex pollen meant you would have to wait for the antidote and get progressively hornier and in more pain. Or you could get off…

On autopilot, your hand drifted down to the waistband of your pants but the small part of your brain still in control screamed at you to stop. Tearing your hand away, you inhaled deeply and pressed your face further into the pillow. Not when he’s here.

“Just go get the antidote and I’ll suffer for a bit,” you snapped.

Dick barked out a sardonic laugh. “Do you really think I’m going to leave you like this?” Oh, the irony. If you weren’t burning up, you would laugh in his face and tell him to get the fuck out. All you could manage was glaring at him from your fetal position.

“I thought leaving was your specialty,” you hissed, venom lacing your tone. Your barb made a direct hit because his trained impassive face crumpled for a brief second. The cool drag of a tear along your cheek made you aware of the rising heat in your face and you brushed the tear away.

“Fuck you Richard Grayson. I know you don’t want to be here so you can go. I’ll just wait until someone can bring me the antidote.”

“You’re in pain,” he said barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, well, as if you care. I’ll just call Wally or Kaldur. Hell, I’ll call up Jason. I’m sure he won’t mind helping.”

“Stop,” he growled. “You won’t call anyone. I’m here. I’ll help you.”

Despite the aching weakness in your bones, you pushed up off the mattress so you could face him fully. Your arms trembled with exertion, but somehow you held yourself up.

“You left me. I don’t know what I did to make you hate me or whatever, but you left me and so you don’t have a right to be concerned. So do what you do best, Dick, and leave.” You were impressed by the way your voice stayed firm despite the tears streaming down your face. You were bracing yourself to see him walk out once more, leaving you in pain, both emotional and physical this time.

He turned away, showing you the kevlar spandex weave of his suit on full display. Just a few more steps and he would be out the window and out of your life again. Your breath caught in your throat, the pain surging through your veins. You whimpered and started to slowly lower yourself back down, but two strong hands settled on your shoulder and waist. Dick curled himself around you as if he could protect you from the fire licking at your insides. You shuddered at the firm pressure of his hands on you and in the moment of clarity, raised your chin to meet his gaze.

He had taken the mask off.

“It hurts,” you whispered.

His head lowered and he inhaled deeply before speaking once more. “I can’t, baby. You’re not thinking straight.”

Clasping your hands against his cheeks, you drew his head up and leveled him with a look. “Please, Dick. Make the pain go away.”

You had missed the taste of him. Dick’s hands drifted down to your hips as he slotted his lips against yours and pushed you back to lay against the bed. A gasp escaped you and he swallowed it with his tongue that pushed into your mouth. Everything was happening so quickly that it made your head spin in the best way possible. You shuddered as he unbuttoned your pants and slipped his long fingers under the band of your underwear.

“Oh,” you moaned as he brushed the rough pad of his finger along your slit. He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the hollow of your throat before nipping at the soft skin of your jaw. Your legs closed instinctively as the toxin mixed with instinctive lust surged through your veins. Dick tutted and tugged at the hem of your shirt. You let him remove it and then he made quick work of your pants and underwear.

And then he stood up, unzipped his suit, and revealed the body you had dreamed about for nights.

Dick wasted no time in scooping you up and settling you between his legs, your back against his chest. One of his hands tugged your knee, pulling your legs apart, as the other drifted down to your soaked pussy.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he purred as you sagged against his chest. Dick nuzzled his nose against your temple as his fingers rubbed in lazy circles over your swollen cunt. Anytime your hips shifted, he made sure to keep you steadily locked in his hold.

“That feel good, baby?” he breathed. You nodded, too blissed out to speak, and he grinned that cocky smile you missed so much. Dick tipped your chin back and pulled you in for a filthy kiss, his tongue searching your mouth and leaving the lingering taste of his peppermint gum on your lips.

Your orgasm rocked through you faster than you expected thanks to the pollen flooding your veins. Legs trembling, you shook and thrashed against Dick as your cunt clenched around empty air. Dick held you tightly against him and continued his ministrations until you were whining about how it was-

“Too much. Ah! Dick, too much.”

“You’re still burning up, baby,” he murmured.

“I need your cock. I need you to fuck me again. I missed the feel of you in me, Dick.”

His tongue trailed along the sweaty line of your neck and your back arched off of his chest as he left along a cool trail. His slick soaked fingers drifted up to rub and pinch your nipples, alternating between both with equal devotion.

“Did you fuck anyone else?” he panted. “Tell me, baby. Did another man make you feel as good as I do?”

“No!” You needed him to fill you. You would combust if his long cock didn’t enter you in the next five seconds. You struggled against his grip in an attempt to flip yourself over and ride him, but Dick was too strong.

“No,” you gasped. “I touched myself and thought of you. No other man could satisfy me.”

As though you were a delicate package, he cradled your head as he slid you down onto the mattress and slotted himself between your spread thighs.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, princess.”

Any retort left you as your mouth dropped open. Three months without him had made you forget how fully he consumed you. Your folds parted as he split you open with his shaft, whimpers and pants escaping him as he slowly and surely slid into your waiting body. He hefted your legs up and you wrapped them around his waist as he finally bottomed out.

“I missed you,” he murmured.

You, your traitorous mind echoed. Not this. You.

No. This was just his way of helping you.

A throaty groan tore past your lips as he pulled out, the veins of his cock dragging against your walls, and then pushed back in. Your eyes rolled back as he brushed against your g-spot. He was more than just his name, not by much. Dick Grayson laid pipe like he was a union plumber going on forty-five years.

“Fuck me like you mean it, Grayson.”

He yanked his hips back and drilled into your cunt. You clawed at his back as he started to jackhammer into you. The fever was slowly abating as your second orgasm built. You lifted your hands to play with your own tits but he batted them away. Dick ducked his head down and enveloped your right nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking at the soft skin there. The constant stimulation adding to the electricity surging through your veins and you threw your head back. Dick let go of your breast with a soft pop and he stroked your cheek, dragging your attention back to him.

“Look at that, princess. Look at how well you take me,” he said. You nodded dumbly at his words and he forced your head up. Your gaze fixed on the way his cock slid in and out of you and, coupled with the feeling of him inside of you, had your second orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

“That’s it. There’s my good girl. You were made to take me. I missed fucking this pretty pussy. I. missed. you.” He punctuated the last three words with deep thrusts before he pulled out and let his cum streak along your tits. Dick’s chest heaved with exertion but he reached up and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead and then to your cheeks.

“How…how is it?” you asked.

He scooted back a bit and leaned forward so he was bracketing your hips. “You like doggy style, right?”

A pounding headache and a dry mouth was your morning gift. The warmth of the sun touched your cheeks gently and you relaxed when you realized you were no longer sweating buckets and burning up.

But a heavy, warm presence was still in your bed.

You slowly turned over to face Dick who was already awake. He reached up and checked your temperature again before offering you a wry smile. “Fever broke. You passed out around orgasm number six. I got you some water and snacks and you’ll need to take a shower. I can start the laundry once you’re in the shower. I’ll wait to leave until you’re feeling alright. Just to make sure you’re okay.”

Your heart ached at the tenderness of his words. This was the man who practically launched himself off the couch to get you a bandaid after you gave yourself a papercut while reading a book. This was the man who kept your favorite coffee and tea stocked at his place. This was the man who walked out on you and told you that he didn’t love you anymore.

“Dick…” Your soft voice stopped him from climbing out of the bed. He settled in next to you, the thin sheet pooling at his waist and revealing his well-muscled torso.

“I left because they put a hit on your head,” he said. Warm breath washed over your face and you shivered at the contact. His azure eyes searched your face before he continued.

“I couldn’t risk losing you. Permanently. I’ve buried too many people, baby, and I refuse to lose you until you’re old and gray.”

“No one knows I’m connected to Nightwing,” you whispered.

“No, but they know you were connected to Dick Grayson. There are a lot of people that aren’t happy about what I’ve been doing to help Bludhaven. I’ve made enemies and they knew exactly where to target.”

“But Nightwing stopped them, right?”

His full lips lifted at the corners, amused at your unfailing trust in him, and he nodded. “Destroyed their entire operation.”

“So there was no threat.”

His eyes softened and he reached up to touch your cheek. “Being with me puts you at risk. Always.”

“I never felt as safe as I did with you. Last night, you helped me because you would never let anything hurt me. Right? You’ll never let anyone hurt me.”

He moved in close and pressed a delicate kiss to your forehead. Your eyes fluttered shut as his lips drifted down to lay a kiss to each eyelid, cheek, your nose, chin, and finally landing on your lips. This wasn’t the rushed, burning kisses from the night before.

This was soft and gentle and, underneath the veneer of sweetness, it was an apology.

“I’ll go get the shower started so it’s warm,” he murmured once he pulled away. “And I’ll cook breakfast while you’re getting clean.”

“And we’ll talk?”

He smiled. Not the fake media smile he perfected years ago. Not the confident, cocky grin he gave his teammates. It was the smile only you saw. The soft, tender curve of his lips as his vulnerability shone through.

“Yeah.” His fingers interlaced with yours. “We’ll talk.”

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @bunny-kawa​ @khaylin27​

[kana-daydreams]

food fight || luffy | humour | 0.4k

°*:･ᰔat every meal, luffy's grabby rubber hands would  annoyingly snatch up every last morsel of food, including your own. And thus, you execute your long-awaited plan for revenge—to be the one who gets the last bite—but things don’t go according to plan.

tags: gn!reader. non-consensual kiss. mild spice. suggestive

op masterlist

Today you find yourself a victim of a grave mistake. Your mistake.

 Stealing Luffy’s food. 

To be precise, the last serving of richly-seasoned steak Sanji had meticulously prepared for brunch the crew decided to have on a sunny hilltop overlooking a quaint small village. A village belonging to an island your ship chanced upon along your itinerary to the Grand Line and had rescued from belligerent pirates.

Your action was more than justifiable: an act of revenge for all the times you’d gone with an empty stomach because Luffy couldn’t satiate his abyssal and abnormal hunger.  

Your plan was flawless—you’d been plotting for days, weeks—or would have been if Luffy’s arms weren’t currently darting towards you with the speed of a fired bullet from across the grassy field.

It all happens so fast.

Luffy’s arms looping themselves around your waist before they pull you closer towards him. You straddling his lap. And his lips crashing against yours.

Your eyes shoot wide at the sudden contact of his warm lips melding with your own, a collective horrified gasp erupting  from the entire crew, and filling the once tranquil ambience.

And in one quick, fluid motion after he traces his tongue along the seam of your lips, eliciting an involuntary gasp from you, Luffy slips his tongue inside your mouth still filled with half-chewed pieces of steak.

A ferocious heat blooms across your cheeks as you feel the wetness of his tongue lick against your own then swirls around it in an attempt to take back what is his.

When he does, Luffy pulls away, both your lips separating with a loud pop.

A triumphant smile beams across Luffy's ruddy face as he greedily chews on the bits of steak he'd stolen from your mouth.

He gulps it down with a satisfied hum. “Oi! Sanji that was great! For some reason it tasted better than usual!" His smile spreads further. "Gimme more!"

Sanji glares daggers at Luffy, flames seeming to engulf his entire body as he readies himself to unleash one of his lethal skull-crushing kicks on him, the monster who'd ravished your heavenly lips. But, he instantly stops when you signal with a hand for him not to intervene.

You wipe a sleeve across the thin coating of saliva gleaming on your lips, then shuffle your way off Luffy's lap.

"Luffy...you..."

Luffy cranes his neck in your direction at the sound of your quivering voice.

"You...you..." Your body shudders violently.

Luffy's brows pinch together. "You what?" He tilts his head.

"You perverted motherfu–!" You punch Luffy square in the gut and send him hurtling across the edge of the hill, his figure disappearing from everyone's line of sight.

© 2024 kana-daydreams

[shhhsecretsideblog]

The airplane shakes as we descend onto the air strip. One of your hands is gripping the armrest and the other digging into my hands in a death grip. Your head was leant back into the chair, your chest rising and falling every second and your stomach constantly looked hard as a rock.

The plane bounces and rumbles when rubber meets road. The plane shakes as it rolls over the strip and slows to a stop. The rough landing making you yelp and hiss.

The plane ride is over. Now we just need to get off of it.

I wait for the other passengers to gather their things before I move to get a hold of a steward.

"Can I please get a wheelchair, my wife is feeling nauseous; I don't want her walking," I ask the stewards as the plane clears out of the rest of the guests.

They leave me to take care of you. I lift you up, but you resist and maintain your grip on the armrest.

"No more moving- it hurts. Burning, so much burning," you struggled to keep a whisper.

I pick you up anyway. Your legs quiver, your face twists as the full weight of our baby sits on your fully stretched opening. The seam of your jeans is soaked through and bowed out into the shape of the head. It's not moving through your jeans, but your composure won't last. Your breathe sharply as I sit you in the chair.

"Oooh, God, I need them out," you whimper.

"Soon, babe, soon."

I drape our carry-on bags on my shoulders and push you through the aisle and the terminal. The hospital isn't far from the airport, maybe an extra thirty or forty minutes is doable as long as we keep your shorts on.

The end of the gate reaches my view and I smile earnestly for the first time in hours.

"We're off the plane babe! Now we just-"

As soon as we exit the terminal, your voice rises to a scream you'd been holding back for hours.

"Get these pants off of me! I need to push!"

Part I Part II Part III

The wait for the entire plane to disembark was nothing short of torturous, hundreds of people packing their stuff and filing slowly out of one door. The guy in our row gave us a stern and annoyed glare as he strutted down the aisle.

I was grateful you’d gotten a wheelchair - there was no way in hell I’d have been able to walk anywhere with a baby stuck crowning between my legs. But as I sat in the well-worn leather of the wheelchair as you pushed me off the plane and out the gate, I felt just as trapped as I’d done in the aeroplane seat. My legs were as wide as I could get them in the wheelchair, my feet trembling on the foot rests, my arms gripping the handles either side. My body tried to push again and again and felt the resistance of my clothing, keeping any progress from being made. While the plane was landing that was a good thing but now, back on solid ground, I couldn’t take it any more.

As the last to leave the plane the long corridors were empty as you wheeled me towards arrivals. The baby was stretching me, the burning ring of fire consuming every part of my being, and alone in the corridor I released the hours of agony in the form of a guttural wail.

“Stop!!! Get-me-out-get-me-out!!!” I cried as my feet tried to find the floor.

The second you halted the wheels I shifted towards the end of the seat and almost threw myself out the chair and onto all fours in the middle of the corridor. I groaned and mooed, deep and primal, and then growled “Shorts-off-now!!!!! Need-to-pushhhh mnghhhhh can’t-hold-it-baby-coming!”

I tried to claw at my denim shorts but I needed both hands on the floor to balance. I heard you swear under your breath before kneeling beside me and trying to pull the maternity shorts across my large bump and over my hips.

“Lean on me babe, I need you more upright if I’m gonna pull these down.” You instructed.

I pushed myself up on to my knees and gripped each of your shoulders in a vice-like squeeze. I couldn’t speak, barely able to breathe, the only thought was the primal instinct to birth this baby. Right here. Right now.

I wailed again in your ear as the shorts slipped past my thighs and I immediately started pushing. Clinging on to you for dear life, I roared and grunted the baby’s bulging head further and further out. Your hands between my trembling thighs ready to catch our baby.