#I’m like 90% sure you lives down under before

[ssreeder]

SREEDIE YOU UPDATED and I haven’t even read the last chapter yet…

in my defence, I have moved countries so uh… keep waiting for me, my love, I shall soon return from the war <3

YOU MOVED?!??? I demand details please. I’ll wait forever for you my reekie-leekie. <3

[parkersbliss]

you lock the 141 outside your house (I know my rights tiktok)

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x american!female reader 

synopsis: you lock them out of your (their?) house, claiming you "know your rights." based on a tiktok trend with soldiers.

warnings: none just fluff and humor :)))

a/n: I wrote this in like an hour and I think it's the funniest thing EVER thanks

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Ghost: 

You watch as your boyfriend gets out of his truck in the driveway. He grabs his bag from the passenger seat and makes his way to the front door, a smile twitching under his mask at the sight of you waiting for him. 

Just as he steps to the porch, you close the door and lock it. “I know my third amendment rights!”

Ghost stops at the door, dropping his bag. Rights? What were you talking about? “Your what?” 

“No Soldier shall, in time of peace, be quartered in any house without the consent of the owner,” You reply, reading off your phone. 

Ghost sighs. Third amendment? Of course, the one American he dates is the one that has them all memorized. You could probably recite them in your sleep. Patriotism, or whatever. Which makes zero sense. You were living with him in Manchester. If all went well and you got married, he was making sure he changed your status to British. 

“You fucking Americans.” He grabs the key from his bag, going to unlock the door only to find you locking it. “Are you serious?”

You show your phone at him through the glass, the third amendment displayed on a Google search. He stares back at you from his mask, unamused. “Bloody hell, woman,” he mutters. 

You giggle from behind the door and give him a few more minutes before going to unlock it. You knew Simon’s limits. You only needed a few seconds of fun anyway, but by the time you unlock it, he’s gone. 

“Simon?” You call out, poking your head out the door and checking around the house. His truck was still there, so he didn’t turn back around. You don’t see any movements or even hear anything. Was he picked up by aliens? 

A thud sounds from behind you, and you yelp, shutting the door and turning around. 

Simon stands in front of you, arms crossed and his duffel bag on the floor.

“What the hell?” You said, looking him up and down. 

“I should be asking you that,” He retorts. “You should really lock your windows, love.” 

“Are you… did you climb through one?” 

“You locked me out.” 

“I went to unlock it!” 

“Third amendment rights, my arse.” He grabs your waist, pulling you towards him. “We’re in England.” 

You shrug, tracing up his arm. “Thought it was funny.” 

Simon just sighs. “Americans.” 

Gaz: 

“Oh, hell no!” You exclaim as Gaz approaches the door. “I know my third amendment rights.” The lock clicks. 

“No fucking way,” Gaz said, strolling up to the glass storm door. 

“No soldiers in this home.” 

He stares at you, his hands on his hips and that signature scowl on his face. There was no way he was coming home to this bullshit right now. “Open the door.” 

“No quartering soldiers without my permission,” You replied. 

Gaz rolls his eyes. Your home? He was pretty sure his name was on the mortgage, even if you were living in it 90% of the time. “I own the fucking property! I live here. You’re the guest.” 

You shrug, grinning. “Not anymore.” 

He runs a hand down his face. Sometimes just sometimes he regrets finding your stubbornness so damn attractive.  “I’m going to crash out, actually.” 

“Crash outside? Yeah.”

“Let me in!” He shouts, grabbing the door handle and jiggling it. 

“No!” You shout back, holding onto it and preventing him from entering without your permission. 

Gaz leans against the glass. “Remind me why I chose to date an American?” 

You smile at him. “Because we’re funny, and we have better Chinese food.” 

He glares at you, trying to unlock the door again. He groans when there’s no avail. “Babe!” 

You say nothing, finding his annoyance quite amusing and a change of pace for once. 

And then he actually crashes out, grabbing the handle and pulling, twisting, pounding at it. He yells a string of curse words and then starts banging on the doorframe. He gives up, frowning, and leans his forehead on the glass. “Please?” 

You unlock it. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

He storms inside, throwing you over his shoulder. “You are so in for it.” 

“I like where this is going,” You giggle as he throws you on the couch. 

He raises a brow, hands coming to your waist. “Yeah?” He starts tickling you. You yelp, laughing under him and trying to push away. 

Gaz doesn’t relent and continues tickling you even after you’ve pleaded with him to stop. “You lock me out of my fucking claim it’s your right,” He mutters. “Consider this my very reasonable punishment.” 

Soap: 

“I know my rights!” You shout, watching Soap approach the door. 

He stops in his tracks, tilting his head. He had no idea what you said. The poor guy could barely hear from all the bombs going on around him, and you shout through a door? Good plan.  “What are you on about?” He asked. 

“There will be no soldiers in my home!” You close the glass door and lock it. 

He approaches the front door, staring at you through the glass. His expression is clueless, brows furrowed. “You mean our home?” He knocks on the glass. “Can I come in?” 

“Nope!” 

He frowns. “Why?” 

“Third amendment.” 

“Amendment?” He scoffs. What the hell are you talking about? Is this what he gets for dating an American? You start proclaiming your rights? What’s next, the pledge of allegiance? “Are you taking the piss? Does this look like the land of the free?” 

You giggle at him, his accent thickening with his frustration. “I’m still an American!” 

“Trust me, I know! Can I please come inside?” 

“No soldiers allowed.” You tape up a piece of paper displaying those words. 

Soap continues frowning at you and realizes he isn’t going to be let in anytime soon. It’s a good thing he knew how to easily change that. Americans and their rights. More like Americans and their feelings. He sits down on the porch steps, facing away from you, rests his chin in his hand, and sighs loudly. 

You don’t budge. 

He sighs again, kicking his boots on the porch, turning back at you with sad eyes. Still nothing. He concludes there was one last option to get you to let him in. He grabs his phone, and you watch with furrowed brows as he types something in. Suddenly, music is blasting from his phone as he looks at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes ever. Not just any music, but the sad hamster violin music. 

“Oh my god.” You unlock the door, opening it up to him. “You’re such a baby.” 

He practically skips inside, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Your baby.”

Price: 

Your husband stands on the porch, rolling his eyes at you.

“I know my rights!” You shout at him through the window. 

“Do you, now?” He asked, playing along with your prank or whatever this was. If it brought you this much amusement to lock him out, he might as well indulge in it. That was the kind of man he was. Until he started freezing of course, then he would demand you let him in. 

You nod your head. “As an American, amendment 3 of the Bill of Rights says that I don’t have to house you if I don’t want to.” 

Price hums. At least they taught you something in American schools. “Does that extend when you’re in another country?” 

“It does to me.” 

He huffs, grabbing something from his pocket and displaying it to you. “You know I have a house key, yes?”

“I’ll just lock it again.” 

He tilts his head at you. You were really trying to sell whatever rights you thought you had. “Really?” 

“I’m taking this very seriously.” 

Price strokes his beard. “I can see that.” An idea pops into his head, and he steps away from the glass and in front of the door. You didn’t want to let him in? That’s fine. You wanted to lock the door? No problem. He’s got methods of entering from being in the military, after all. “Guess I’ll just have to kick down the door.” He raises his foot, fully intent on doing it. You were going to repaint the door anyway, might as well get a new one. 

You swing open the door. “Are you crazy?” 

He strolls past you. “Did I lock you outside our home? Besides, crazy would’ve been bombing the house.” 

Your lips parted, unsure if he was joking. You assume he is, but his expression says otherwise. “Are you being serious?” 

He laughs at your face, grabbing your hand. “Only if you start proclaiming your rights again.”

You put your hands up. “What rights? Suddenly, I’m feeling like this soldier can stay as long as he likes.” 

Price presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Thought so.” 

[reverie-starlight]

{airport pickup - michael kaiser }

I saw this vid and immediately knew I had to write something inspired by it.

fem!reader, no physical descriptions, lots of fluffy fluff, I’m extremely down bad for one (1) Michael Kaiser and it shows in this fic. reader speaks a bit of german. if he’s extremely out of character to a horrifying degree, just know that I haven’t actually read the manga, he just takes up 90% of my brain. I’m working on it I promise 🥹

dividers by @/cafekitsune

kaiser isn’t used to being on this side of an airport pickup.

normally the roles would be reversed- he’d be coming home after a round of away games, tired and sore after pushing himself, and you’d be waiting past the gates with a smile and open arms looking like the epitome of home.

but today it’s him who is nervously glancing at his phone every few minutes, checking the time, waiting for a notification from you to see if you’ve landed or not.

you've been away for work, a conference of some sort that you had been handpicked for. he’s very proud of you, of course, but now he’s had a taste of what you must feel while he’s away and it makes his heart hurt. at least when he's overseas with his team he has constant distractions and he's often too tired to fully register the loneliness that comes with not sleeping beside you at night.

but now that he's on the off-season, training doesn't take up as much of his time and he's forced to confront a house that doesn't quite feel like a home without you.

all he wants is for you to be in his arms again. to hear your laughter, your slightly off-key singing while you’re doing chores around the house.

he’d wonder if this is really how you feel when he goes away, but he’s confident enough in your feelings to know that it is. and it pains him.

next time he travels he’ll insist on bringing you with him. he doesn’t want you to suffer through it anymore.

kaiser waits another ten agonizing minutes before your text notification goes off and he’s fumbling with his phone, trying to unlock it as fast as possible. he curses under his breath when he almost drops it and clings to it with both hands for extra security.

he’s glad he chose to go with the makeshift disguise, because he’s not sure if he’d ever live it down from you or his team if someone were to catch him in this state of desperation and post it.

(although you’ll probably laugh and call him a dork regardless of a post when you realize just how excited he is to see you. he’s counting on it, actually.)

plane landed, heading to baggage now :))

he breathes a sigh of relief and quickly lets you know where he's waiting.

how many times has he been to this airport? it must be somewhere in the thousands by now. how pathetic is it that he can't go find you without risking getting lost? he makes another mental note about learning the general layout in case this ever happens again.

knowing that you're safe and in the same building fills him with more unbearable anticipation. just as he's decided he's had enough and gets up to look at the signs that will lead him to you, he catches sight of your familiar figure and bright luggage.

your eyes meet his and you both break into wide smiles, but as you examine him and walk over, faux confusion takes over your features. he narrows his eyes suspiciously, knowing you're up to something.

"excuse me, sir," you say. "could you help me find someone?"

kaiser sighs, playing along with your antics. "no promis-"

"he's tall, has blonde hair with blue dyed tips," you cut him off, mischievous intentions clear as day to him. "kind of handsome?"

he rolls his eyes affectionately. "sorry, I don't thi- kind of handsome?"

you burst into laughter at his incredulous expression, unable to keep the act up.

"liebling, I think you mean extremely handsome, hm?"

you shake your head. "nah, not really."

he glares at you and squishes your cheeks together between his palms. "nimm das zurück!" his tone is playful, so you feel confident enough to stick your tongue out at him.

you pry his hands away from your face and happily let him wrap them around your waist. "du bist so leicht zu necken, michael," you card your fingers through his hair and he hums.

"missed you," he admits, finally feeling at peace.

"I missed you too, schatz. can we go home now? I'm jetlagged and in need of affection I don't feel comfortable displaying in an airport."

he nuzzles his nose against your hairline and presses a quick kiss there before resting his cheek on your head. "I'm already home, süße."

he doesn't see the tears welling in your eyes, but he knows you're touched by his words from the way you pull him closer and hold him tighter.

turns out you’re already home too.

translations:

nimm das zurück! - take that back!

du bist so leicht zu necken, michael - you're so easy to tease, michael.

süße - sweetness/sweet thing

liebling, schatz - dear, treasure

thank you @dira333 for checking the translations over for me <3

considering I haven't fully read the manga, it goes without saying that if he seems slightly out of character, that's why lol

hope you enjoyed!!

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie living together in their first apartment in LA. Its the 90’s its a heatwave in the 100’s everyday. The power grid is overwhelmed so the city has resorted to rolling blackouts.

It was Friday which meant it was their neighbourhood tonight. After work Steve stopped at the store and got beer, candles, and pizza to prepare for the night. He was meeting Eddie at home and they would have an hour before the lights were out.

“Hey baby I’m home.” Steve called as he slammed the door shut behind him.

“God its hot as balls Stevie.” Eddie yelled back dramatically from the kitchen. He made his way over and draped himself against the doorframe as he watched Steve kick his shoes off with a huff, his arms full of groceries.

“Oh hi Stevie love of my life who got me booze and dinner, how was your day? Oh sure of course i’ll help you,” Steve mumbled to himself giving Eddie a side eye and a hip bump as he made his way into the kitchen with the groceries.

Eddie followed closely behind him pulling him in close despite the heat and sweat on both of them, “Hello Sweetheart how are you? I love you. Thank you for the groceries.” He mumbled into the back of Steve’s sweaty neck.

Steve broke easily, turning around into Eddie’s grip after only an eye-roll. He leaned in and accepted his expected kiss unable to stop the smile that spread across his lips. “Your hair is cute.” He said as he pulled back resting against the counter.

“Why thank you hair professional Stevie darling.” Eddie batted his eyelashes and twirled a stray curl that had fallen out of the messy bun on his head.

Steve scoffed and pushed a hand against his face breaking free of his hold and going back to unloading groceries. “We should have a cold shower before we loose power. Then I was thinking we could go on the roof and look at the stars later.” He said it casually but Eddie saw the way Steve’s eyes nervously looked back at him over his shoulder.

“That sounds perfect, we can even bring the portable radio up with us I just stole new batteries from the store.” Eddie gravitated back into Steve’s space. “And Claudia just sent us that outdoor blanket she made.” His fingers danced up and down Steve’s waist.

“How romantic of you.” Steve teased, trying to squirm away when Eddie pinched his hip.

“You pretend to hate it but I know you are a hopeless romantic lover boy Stevie.” Eddie’s hand slid forward and pushed Steve’s hips back against his own. “I’ll always give you what you want though, because I love you so much.”

Steve was speechless at the sincerity of Eddie’s words. He instead turned around and kissed Eddie in a way he hoped showed how much he loved him.

After they parted ways, Eddie took over in the kitchen to put away groceries and assemble their meal while Steve showered first. Once finished he decided to set up outside, dragging out the aforementioned outdoor blankets, portable radio and of course food. Once all was said and done he checked his watch: 7 minutes until the power cut. He listened and heard Steve humming to himself in the bathroom, so he lit a path of candles to the roof because he was romantic like that.

“Hello Romeo” Steve greeted him on the roof, 10 minutes later beers in hand. The cool bottles were already dripping from the heat, Steve wiped the excess water on the back of his neck.

“Hello sweet steviette, you look so beautiful under this warm eve’s moonlight.” Eddie crooned back, draping himself out dramatically and reaching a hand to Steve. He smiled at his boyfriend’s eye-roll and took the beers from his hands.

“Thank you nerd,” Steve said with an edge of sweetness to his voice, still leaning over into Eddie’s space for a quick peck,

They ate after that, both ravenous after their long days at work. It was a comfortable silence they sat in, so close their thighs touched. Eddie silently handed his crusts over to Steve and and Steve popped the top off another beer for him. And when they finished they lay together on their backs, hands intertwined as they looked at the stars.

“I love you, you know that right?” It was Steve who broke their silence first.

Eddie rolled onto his side, keeping Steve’s hand in his. “Of course I do.” He pulled it to him, placing a gentle kiss on Steve’d knuckles.

Steve turned his head to face Eddie, “Okay good, just making sure.” He smiled but Eddie could see the edges of worry in his eyes.

“Come here.” He tugged Steve over and into his arms despite the heat and the sweat covering both of them. “I love you and I know you love me back baby, forever and always,”

“Forever and always,” Steve agreed as he and Eddie both leaned into each other’s space until their lips were touching and a silly make-out began.

Eddie rolled on top of Steve attacking his face with kiss after kiss, on his cheeks, forehead, the bridge of his nose, his eyelids, and finally his lips. Steve deepened the kiss immediately hands gripping Eddie’s shoulders so insistently Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle against Steve’s lips.

“What?” Steve pulled back but only enough to ask.

“You loooove me,” Eddie dissolved into a fit of laughter, clinging to Steve and hiding his face in his shoulder as Steve laughed and tried to shove him off.

“Oh fuck off.”

[fuqnia]

Hi!! Happy new year!! First of all, I want to say that I REALLY REALLY love your story on ao3 (Most Wanted) it's just *aggressive chef kiss* soso good!!!

Now, I wanted to request some fluff with Eric Cartman (aged up ofc). The situation would be that he likes the reader (gn) but he doesn't know how to act or what to do bc he's never felt like that before. So, when he decides to confess and the reader tells him that he likes him too he's like "are u sure? But, really really sure?" So confused lmao. And finally, when the first kiss happens he's like "ew gross... Do it again." Idk something like that.

It's okay if you don't want to do this request!! Have a good day and remember to rest and drink water <3

Gross... Do It Again

☆ eric cartman x reader insert

☆ A/N | happy new years!! ahh thank you so much for your lovely words!! this request was so fun to write, i love writing for cartman, he's toooo funny 😭😭 also i definitely don't have a kenny obsession haha... he totally isn't in this oneshot haha...

☆ C/W | weed usage, all characters are aged up!

The dorm was a goddamn mess, and that was saying something. Cartman’s side looked like a landfill decided to give up on life—pizza boxes stacked precariously on his nightstand, a mountain of dirty laundry spilling out from under his bed, and enough empty soda cans to make a whole recycling center weep. Kenny, meanwhile, lived in his usual state of organized chaos. His side wasn’t clean, but it had an intentionality to it: a blanket that was slightly torn but neatly folded, a collection of mismatched mugs piled into a corner, and an actual stack of textbooks he occasionally cracked open. Together, the room looked like two hurricanes had collided and then given up halfway through the destruction.

Cartman was pacing back and forth like a trapped animal, hands jammed into the front pocket of his hoodie. His cheeks were pink—not the kind of smug, self-satisfied pink they turned after he delivered one of his insults, but the kind that said something was wrong. He kept muttering under his breath, stopping occasionally to glare at his desk like it had insulted him. A psychology notebook sat open there, innocently mocking him with a dumb little doodle of a stick figure with devil horns, something you had drawn in class the other day.

He hated it. He hated how his stomach twisted every time he looked at it, like something inside him was staging a full-blown revolt. It wasn’t like you had even done anything. You just laughed at one of his jokes—an offhanded, dickish comment about how their professor looked like he hadn’t slept since the ‘90s—and you scribbled that doodle on the edge of his notes. But for some reason, that stupid laugh and that stupid drawing were stuck in his head like gum on a goddamn shoe.

“This is so fucking stupid,” Cartman grumbled, pacing faster. He glanced at the notebook again, then immediately looked away, like avoiding it would somehow erase the gnawing feeling in his gut. “This isn’t happening. It’s not a thing. It’s not a thing.”

From across the room, Kenny pulled out an earbud and raised an eyebrow. He was lying on his bed, one leg kicked up lazily, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. “Dude, you’ve been stomping around for twenty minutes. You’re giving me anxiety.”

Cartman froze mid-step and whipped around, glaring at Kenny. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! I’m thinking.”

Kenny snorted, setting his phone down on his chest. “Oh, you’re thinking? That’s a new one. What’s got the great Eric Cartman so deep in thought? 

“For your information, you fucking moron,” Cartman snapped, crossing his arms defensively, “I’m trying to solve a serious goddamn problem, okay? Not that your dumbass would understand.”

Kenny’s smirk grew. “Oh, this oughta be good. Let me guess—your dick stopped working after too many hot pockets?”

“Jesus Christ, will you shut up for, like, two seconds?” Cartman barked, his voice cracking slightly. He took a deep breath, trying to regain control, and turned back to his desk. “I’m dealing with… something, alright?”

“Yeah, no shit,” Kenny said, propping himself up on one elbow. “What kind of ‘something’? Did you finally flunk out of college, or is it something juicy?”

Cartman stiffened, refusing to turn around. He didn’t want to give Kenny the satisfaction of seeing him sweat. “It’s nothing. Just… someone in class is being fucking weird, that’s all.”

“Oh, someone in class, huh?” Kenny grinned, leaning forward now, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Wait a minute. Is this about [Y/N]?”

Cartman’s whole body went rigid, like someone had hit pause on his brain. He slowly turned to face Kenny, his face already bright red. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he demanded, voice way too defensive for his own good. “This isn’t about them! Why would it be about them?! That’s fucking ridiculous!”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he sat up fully. “Because it’s not like you’ve been staring at your psych notes like they’re a love letter or anything. Nah, no way this is about [Y/N].”

Cartman grabbed an empty soda can off his desk and chucked it at Kenny’s head. Kenny ducked easily, laughing as the can bounced off the wall behind him. “Shut the fuck up, Kenny! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Dude,” Kenny said, shaking his head, “you’ve got it bad.”

“I don’t have shit!” Cartman exploded, throwing his arms up in frustration. “You’re fucking delusional, Kenny. I don’t like anyone! Liking people is for losers and idiots!”

“Uh-huh.” Kenny smirked, leaning back against his bed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, fatass.”

Cartman growled, stomping back to his desk. He dropped into his chair and glared at the notebook like it had personally insulted him. That stupid stick figure stared back, its dumb little devil horns mocking him. He slammed the notebook shut, but it didn’t make him feel any better. “This is fucking bullshit,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m not a loser… but what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Kenny,” Cartman barked, spinning around in his chair.

Kenny didn’t even glance up. “What?”

Cartman hesitated, glancing at the notebook again, as if it might spontaneously provide answers. “Let’s say—hypothetically—you wanted someone to pay attention to you. Like, you wanted them to see that you’re not just some… guy. What would you do?”

That got Kenny’s attention. He set his phone down and sat up slowly, his brows raised like Cartman had just sprouted a second head. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes, I’m serious, asshole!” Cartman snapped, his face flushing. “I’m asking you a question!”

“Oh, no, I heard the question,” Kenny said, a wicked grin creeping across his face. “I just can’t believe you’re coming to me for advice about your sad little crush on [Y/N].”

“Shut the fuck up!” Cartman exploded, his voice cracking slightly. “This isn’t about them! Why does everything have to be about them?! You’re so fucking dumb, Kenny.”

“Right,” Kenny said, dragging the word out as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Because you haven’t been acting like a weird little freak for the past two days. No way this is about [Y/N].”

“It’s not, okay?!” Cartman insisted, crossing his arms defensively. “I just… I just need to know what a normal person would do in a situation like this.”

Kenny blinked, then leaned back with a laugh. “Oh my God, you’re serious. You’re actually serious. Dude, you’re fucked.”

“Jesus Christ, Kenny, will you just give me a straight answer?” Cartman barked, glaring at him. “For once in your shitty, trailer park life, just help me.”

“Fine, fine,” Kenny said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You want advice? Here’s some advice: don’t be a psycho. People tend to run away when you act like a desperate little bitch.”

Cartman’s face turned red, but he ignored the insult. “What the fuck does that even mean? Be more specific.”

“It means don’t do whatever the hell your weird little brain is cooking up right now,” Kenny said, pointing at him. “Just be normal. You know, like a regular human. Talk to them. Ask them out. That kind of shit.”

“Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking insight, Dr. Asshole,” Cartman shot back, rolling his eyes. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who’s desperate enough to ask me for advice,” Kenny fired back, grabbing his bong and giving it a lazy inspection. “So unless you want to keep jerking it to your psych notes, maybe shut the fuck up and listen.”

Cartman growled, running a hand through his hair. “You’re fucking useless. I don’t even know why I bother.”

“Because you’ve got no one else to talk to, fatass,” Kenny said with a smirk, lighting the bong. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, waving it lazily in Cartman’s direction. “So what’s the plan, huh? You gonna confess your undying love in the middle of class, or are you gonna hide behind some bullshit like you always do?”

“I don’t hide behind anything!” Cartman snapped, but the way he avoided Kenny’s eyes said otherwise. He paced a few steps, his mind racing, and then stopped short, a grin spreading across his face. “I’ve got it. I’ll invite them over to study for psych. They’ll come here, and then I’ll—I dunno—show them why I’m the shit.”

Kenny barked out a laugh, nearly dropping the bong. “Oh, that’s fucking rich. You? ‘The shit’? Yeah, okay. What’s the plan, fatass? Flex your GPA? Show them the three-day-old burrito under your bed?”

“Shut up, Kenny!” Cartman yelled, his face burning. “They’re gonna come over, we’ll study, and it’ll just happen naturally. It’s a solid plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan,” Kenny said, shaking his head as he packed another hit. “But hey, go for it. I can’t wait to see how this blows up in your face.”

Cartman ignored him, pulling out his phone and scrolling to your contact. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before he started typing, his confidence growing with every word. He hit send, shoving the phone into his pocket like it might explode if he held onto it for too long.This was going to work. It had to work. Because if it didn’t… well, he wasn’t ready to think about that yet.

Cartman growled, pacing in front of his desk like a caged animal. The room was spotless by his standards, but the faint smell of cheap vanilla from the candle on his desk was starting to give him a headache. He shot a glare at Kenny, who was sprawled out on his bed, picking Dorito crumbs off his chest with zero shame. Every few minutes, Kenny let out a low snicker, clearly reveling in Cartman’s nervous energy.

“Will you stop fucking laughing, you goddamn hick?” Cartman barked, throwing a balled-up sock at him.

“Can’t help it, dude,” Kenny said, dodging the sock with a lazy grin. “You’re wound up tighter than your mom’s yoga pants. What’s the big deal? You got this.”

“I know I fucking got this!” Cartman snapped, his voice cracking. “It’s just—shut the fuck up, alright?”

Before Kenny could respond, there was a knock at the door. Cartman froze, his stomach twisting into a knot, and shot Kenny a panicked look.

Kenny raised an eyebrow. “You gonna answer that, or just stand there like an idiot?”

“Get the fuck out of here, Kenny,” Cartman hissed, jabbing a finger toward the door. “Go… I don’t know, smoke a cigarette or something. Just leave.”

Kenny swung his legs off the bed with an exaggerated groan, grabbing his phone off the nightstand. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you and [Y/N] some alone time. Try not to blow it, fatass.”

As he crossed the room, he gave Cartman a smug wink before swinging the door open. “Hey, [Y/N],” Kenny greeted, his voice dripping with mock charm. “Come on in. Cartman’s been pissing himself waiting for you.”

“Kenny, I swear to God—” Cartman started, but Kenny ignored him, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” Kenny said with a smirk, stepping out into the hallway. “You’re gonna need it.” He gave Cartman one last exaggerated wink before disappearing down the corridor, leaving the door ajar behind him.

The first thing you notice is how oddly clean the room is. Cartman’s side, usually some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland of junk food wrappers and clothes that definitely needed a wash last week, is now suspiciously tidy. A faint smell of vanilla lingers, and you spot a candle burning on his desk.

“Wow,” you say, raising an eyebrow. “You cleaned. What’s the occasion?”

“I didn’t clean,” Cartman blurts immediately, crossing his arms. His cheeks are pink, and he’s glaring like you just accused him of murder. “This is just… how it always looks.”

You stifle a laugh, shaking your head as you move to the desk. “Right. Sure it is.”

Cartman doesn’t respond, instead stomping back to his chair like a sulking toddler. You set your stuff down, pulling out your notebook and flipping to the most recent lecture. “So, where do you want to start? Behavioral theories? Cognitive development?”

He shrugs, avoiding your eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Behavioral theories. Fine.”

You tilt your head at him, noticing how tense he looks. His arms are crossed, his leg bouncing so fast the chair creaks beneath him. You decide to let it slide for now, focusing instead on the lecture notes in front of you.

“Okay,” you say, glancing at your textbook. “So Pavlov and classical conditioning—that’s probably gonna be on the midterm. You know, the dog thing? Ring a bell, get a response.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cartman says quickly, waving a hand. “Dogs and bells. Got it.”

You pause, narrowing your eyes at him. “You’re not even listening.”

“I am!” he snaps, his voice an octave higher than usual. “I’m just—paying attention in my own way. Keep going.”

You shake your head, fighting back a smile, and return to your notes. As you talk through operant conditioning and positive reinforcement, you notice his responses getting shorter and more distracted. He keeps glancing at you, his leg bouncing even faster. You’ve known Cartman long enough to recognize when he’s uncomfortable, but this is… different. He’s nervous. Almost jumpy.

“Eric,” you say after a while, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “What’s going on with you? You’re acting weird.”

“I’m fine!” he says immediately, too defensive to be convincing. He looks away, fidgeting with the pen in his hand. “Just tired. Long day.”

You raise an eyebrow but let it go, turning back to your notes. “Alright. So, Skinner and operant conditioning…”

As you keep talking, you feel him watching you. It’s subtle at first—a glance here, a flick of his eyes there—but after a while, it becomes impossible to ignore. Finally, you stop mid-sentence, turning to face him fully.

“Alright, screw this!” Cartman blurts, tossing his pen onto the desk with enough force that it bounces off the notebook. “I can’t do this anymore.”

You blink, startled. “Do what?”

“This!” he says, gesturing wildly at the desk, the notes, the room in general. “All this psych bullshit. I didn’t invite you here to talk about fucking Pavlov.”

“Then… why did you invite me?” you ask slowly, unsure where this is going.

He hesitates, his face going bright red as he avoids your gaze. “Because I like you, alright?” he snaps, his voice cracking slightly. “I fucking like you, and I don’t know why, because it’s dumb, and it makes no sense, but I do. So, there. Happy now?”

The room falls into a heavy silence. For a second, he looks like he might explode from the tension. You’re too stunned to respond immediately, but then you feel a smile tugging at your lips.

“You’re serious?” you ask softly.

“Of course I’m fucking serious!” he snaps, crossing his arms. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

Your smile grows. “Good. Because I like you too.”

He freezes, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to process your words. “Wait… what?”

“I like you too, Eric,” you repeat, laughing lightly at the bewildered expression on his face. “I mean, I kind of figured, but I wasn’t sure.”

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” he demands, narrowing his eyes. “Because if this is a joke, I swear to God—”

“I’m not messing with you,” you say, cutting him off gently. “I like you.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, his face unreadable. Then, slowly, he leans back in his chair, letting out a long breath. “Well… good. That’s good.”

“Yeah,” you say, grinning. “It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he scowls, shifting awkwardly in his chair. “So… now what?”

You laugh, leaning forward slightly. “That’s up to you.”

His eyes flicker to your lips, lingering there for just a moment too long, and you see something in his face you’ve never seen before: nerves. Eric fucking Cartman, nervous. It’s almost surreal. He clears his throat and leans back in his chair like he’s trying to shake off whatever just crossed his mind.

“Let’s just… keep studying,” he mutters, grabbing his pen like it’s a lifeline. He doesn’t look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed stubbornly on his notebook. “That’s what you came here for, right?”

You give him a small, knowing smile but nod anyway. “Sure. Studying.”

For the next half-hour, the two of you go through the motions, flipping through pages, summarizing theories, and discussing what might be on the midterm. But there’s an undeniable tension hanging between you, thick enough to choke on. Every time you glance at him, his gaze darts away, like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His usual cocky demeanor is nowhere to be found, replaced by a kind of restless fidgeting that would be almost funny if it wasn’t so uncharacteristic.

He keeps looking at you, though. Every few minutes, you catch him stealing glances—at your face, your hands, your mouth. Each time, his expression shifts, like he’s having some internal battle with himself. It’s awkward, sure, but there’s something endearing about it, too. You can tell he’s trying to keep his usual wall up, but it’s crumbling around the edges.

Finally, you decide to put both of you out of your misery. Setting your pen down, you turn to him fully, your tone casual but your heart pounding in your chest. “Eric.”

He tenses immediately, his pen freezing mid-scribble. “What?”

You hesitate, watching him for a moment. His leg is bouncing under the desk, and his knuckles are white where they grip the pen. It’s almost enough to make you laugh, but instead, you lean in slightly and ask, “Can I kiss you?”

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and he leans back so quickly he nearly knocks his chair over. “What the fuck?” he sputters, his voice higher than usual. “Why the hell would you wanna do that?”

“Because I like you,” you say simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “And you like me. Right?”

He glares at you, his face bright red. “Yeah, I said that already! Jesus Christ, do you have to rub it in?”

You suppress a laugh, tilting your head. “So… can I?”

He stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a second, you think he’s going to come up with some snarky comment or brush you off entirely, but instead, he mumbles, “Yeah. Fine. Whatever. If you want.”

You lean in slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away. His eyes stay locked on yours, wide and uncertain, but he doesn’t move. When your lips finally meet his, he goes completely still. The kiss is soft, tentative, and more awkward than you’d expected, but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When you pull back, his expression is priceless. He’s staring at you like you just dropped a bomb on his lap, his cheeks practically glowing. “That was… gross,” he mutters, his nose wrinkling. “Like, really gross.”

You laugh, leaning back slightly. “Yeah? So gross you want me to do it again?”

He hesitates, his face twitching like he’s torn between saying yes and telling you to fuck off. Finally, he mumbles, “Maybe.”

You grin, leaning in again. This time, when your lips meet his, he doesn’t freeze. It’s still a little awkward—Cartman is nothing if not an overthinker—but there’s a warmth in it now, an eagerness that wasn’t there before. When you pull away, his lips twitch into a small, smug smile, though his face is still red.

“Okay, fine,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair like he’s trying to regain some of his usual attitude. “That wasn’t completely terrible.”

You smirk, tilting your head slightly as you lean your chin on your hand. “High praise from someone who couldn’t stop staring at my face all night. Want me to grab a mirror so you can practice complimenting me properly?”

Cartman’s mouth falls open in indignation, his arms uncrossing as he jabs a finger toward you. “Oh, fuck off! I wasn’t staring! I was—thinking, okay? It’s called being a goddamn genius. Maybe you wouldn’t know.”

“Thinking about kissing me, maybe,” you reply quickly, watching with satisfaction as his cheeks turn an even brighter shade of pink.

“You’re such an asshole,” he mutters, but the way his eyes dart to your lips again betrays the insult.

You grin, leaning toward him as he instinctively leans back in his chair. His attempt to create space only lasts a second before you close the gap, kissing him again. This time, he doesn’t freeze. His lips move against yours, tentative but genuine, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders melt away. For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you—until the door slams open.

“Yo, I forgot my—holy shit!” Kenny’s voice explodes through the room, and you both jolt apart like you’ve been caught committing a crime. Cartman swivels his chair around so fast it nearly topples over, his face a deep, mortified red.

“Kenny, what the fuck?!” Cartman roars, his hands gripping the armrests of his chair like he’s about to launch himself out of it. “Didn’t I tell you to stay the fuck out?!”

Kenny, standing in the doorway, doesn’t even try to hide his glee. He’s leaning against the doorframe with the smuggest expression you’ve ever seen, holding his phone up like he’s about to livestream the whole thing. “Dude, I left for, like, an hour. I thought you’d be done dry-humping by now.”

Cartman’s face somehow turns an even darker shade of red. “We weren’t—Jesus fucking Christ, Kenny! Get out!”

You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your laugh, but the way your shoulders shake gives you away. Kenny notices immediately and points at you with mock approval. “Respect, [Y/N]. Really. Can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this dumbass.”

“Get out before I kill you,” Cartman growls, standing up so quickly that his chair scrapes against the floor. He grabs the first thing he can find—a crumpled-up notebook—and hurls it at Kenny’s head.

Kenny ducks effortlessly, laughing like this is the funniest thing he’s seen all year. “Alright, alright, I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone. But don’t think this is over. I’m gonna be talking about this for weeks.”

“Kenny!” Cartman shouts again, but it’s useless. Kenny’s already backing out the door, still grinning like a lunatic. “I’m serious! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Love you too, babe,” Kenny calls over his shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

The door slams shut, and the room is suddenly quiet again. Cartman groans, slumping back into his chair and burying his face in his hands. “I fucking hate him.”

You chuckle, leaning forward with your chin on your hand. “He’s not so bad. At least he didn’t take pictures.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Cartman mutters, glaring at the door like he expects Kenny to burst back in any second.

“Relax,” you say, reaching out to nudge his shoulder. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Cartman scoffs, but he doesn’t pull away from your touch. Instead, he glances at you, his expression softening just slightly. “Yeah, well… you better not tell anyone about this either.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. His face flushes again, but this time, he doesn’t protest.

[mommycitas]

hiii could i pls request negan x reader where the reader is sick and brings negan food in his cell bc it was her job and she starts to fight blacking out. maybe collapses right by his door and he reaches for the keys and gets out to help her. reader being concerned he’ll get in trouble bc he runs up the stairs to get someone’s attention maybe coming straight back to you. stuttering a “i’m scared” and holding out your hand. negan just being like r u sure and he holds it

A/N; thank you for the req!!! I love this idea so much and I hope you love what I wrote!!! And for the sickness I just gave reader like a flu/parasite typa thing but if you wanted something else lmk!!!

summary; Even when you are sick, you still have a job you have to do. When your body shuts down on itself, you get to see a sweet side of Alexandrias prisoner.

pairing; Negan x sick!fem!reader

Pronouns/Name; She/Her , Y/N

Warning; swearing, being sick, throwing up, mentions of death, feeling like dying. NOT PROOF READ !!

Word count; 786

You shift in bed, covered in a hot coating of sweat and having a pounding headache. Sitting up you already regret ever being born. You couldn’t handle being sick and here you were, a mess that felt like death. But still, you had your dumb ass job. Being able to live in Alexandria was great and all but for fucks sake, why couldn’t someone else feed fucking Negan when you were in bed practically throwing your guts up? Feeding Negan wasn’t much to do but it was 90 degrees out under the blaring sun and doing all that walking wasn’t really your idea of a good day. But then again, Michonne said you have too because you’re the only person that can stand being around him. You put on your comfiest summer clothes and walk to the pantry.

Most of the time, someone had already prepared his lunch for you. Everyone felt bad you had to deliver all his meals to him but you really didn't mind him. You felt like one of these days you'd be able to see the sweet side of him. You make it to the pantry and find a meal fit for a prisoner inside. You sigh to yourself spinning on your heels and making your way to his cell. You look up at the sun and can’t help but already feel exhausted and ready to go back to bed. Tiny black dots sprinkle your vision as you walk down the steps to the holding room. Fumbling your keys and opening the door you’re welcomed with a warm smile from Negan. "Hey doll, how are ya?" He gleefully asks "Oh, you know" you shrug off. You stumble over to the cell he's locked in and grab out your keys once again. "How are you today Negan?" you slur while inserting the key, but he gives you a strange look. You feel a wave of heat wash over you before you drop the tray.

The sound of the metal clanging on the concrete floor rings in your ears as your vision goes blurry. Your legs start to give up as you topple over. Looking up at Negan through the black spots in your vision. You watch carefully as he reaches through the bars and opens his cell and runs out. "Shit!" you thought "he's gonna get his shit kicked, he's gonna get in so much trouble, and it's all my fault." you feel an abundance of saliva in your mouth as you try and sit up, throwing up all over yourself. Laying in a puddle of your own spit, throw up, and blood. It feels like you've been left for dead, you can barely even sit up, how are you supposed to get help? How were you supposed to know that a simple sickness would be the cause of your death?

You turned over to look at the entrance and saw Negan running down the stairs and kneeling next to you. "Sorry for leaving you, doll. I had to get someone to help." you smile slightly at him before coughing yet again. "Negan" you stutter and slur "I'm so scared." reaching your hand out to his "Am I dying?" he stares at you blankly, hesitating for what seems like years "No, no you're not dying Y/N. You'll be alright." grabbing your hand intertwined in his. Michonne and Siddiq run down the stairs and lift you up, caring you to the infirmary. Negan never letting go off your hand once as you passed out.

You open your eyes and see you are in the infirmary, laying on a pitiful cot. Siddiq is right next to you, replacing your iv bag. "Oh good, you're finally awake!" He proclaims once he notices you. "You had a real nasty bug, thankfully nothing too serious." You smile and nod "Thank you Siddiq" No longer slurring or stuttering "Where's Negan?" he gives you a weird look before pointing to a corner of the room. As you sit up and turn your head you see Negan, blissfully sleeping in an arm chair. "He's been here since you got here, he refused to leave your side." "How long was I out for?" looking back at Siddiq. He shrugs "A day or two maybe"

You look back at Negan and realize you finally were able to see the sweet side of him. You watch as he slowly opens his eyes and notices you're awake. "Doll, you're up!" he practically jumps over to you, embracing you in a warm hug. "I was so worried you wouldn't wake up." You softly smile into his neck and wrap your arms around him. You were thankful for the man who was a monster in all your friends eyes.

[endless-summer-soldier]

cruel to be kind - chapter three

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (90s college AU)

summary: it started with a dare. Bucky restlessly pursues Y/N, seeking just one date. as he chases her, he realizes she's different from she challenges him, so he starts to catch feelings. but it all falls apart when she learns about his initial motivations. based on 10 things I hate about you!

warnings: alcohol use, cursing

word count: 1k

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Y/N woke up and let out a long groan. Her head was pounding and blurred visions from the night before slowly entered her brain. Then suddenly she realized she was parched. Water. She needed water. She crawled out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. Her water bottle was about halfway full when her roommate, Carol, entered the room, back from a morning run.

“Well you look like shit,” she said.

“Feel like shit,” Y/N added.

“What exactly did you get up to last night?” Carol stretched in the living room as Y/N chugged down her water.

“Went out with some asshole. It was a mistake.”

“Oh come on, he couldn’t have been that bad. He got you home.”

“He got me drunk, I made a fool of myself, and then he rejected me.”

“Oh you left out the part about maybe having a concussion.”

“Ugh…don’t remind me about that.” She drank more water and then the realization hit her “Wait, how…?”

Carol smirked, “The ‘asshole’ left this under my door,” she held up a small handwritten note, “Wanted me to keep an eye on you and make sure you were okay.”

Y/N had no response to that. She enjoyed her disdain for Bucky. She didn’t need to go around catching feelings just because he did something sweet. Y/N grumbled and retreated to her room as Carol watched her with a knowing look.

Bucky woke up the next morning and his first thought was about Y/N. He hated to admit it, but he was worried about her. And he knew he had his work cut out for him since he had bruised her ego the night before.

So he put himself together and headed to her apartment. He stopped to pick up a couple coffees, hoping to bribe her into liking him again.

He softly knocked in rhythm on her door and heard shuffling from the other side. He could almost sense her looking through the peephole eyeing him up.

“Go away,” she said firmly.

“I brought coffee,” he retorted.

“Oh, well in that case, leave the coffee and go away.”

“Come on Y/N…”

“I made myself perfectly clear. Leave.”

“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Why do you care?”

He sighed and let out a chuckle, “Because I like you!”

There was a long pause before she said, “Well, I don’t like you.”

“That’s the best you could come up with? Damn, you must be really hung over.”

“I’m walking away from the door now,” she said.

He chuckled at her stubbornness, but respected her commitment. He scrawled a quick note on the coffee cup that read Call me once you’re feeling better with his phone number.

He sauntered off, knowing it wouldn’t be that easy. He started considering his next few moves.

He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t heard from her in a few days. In fact, he anticipated that. So he moved on to phase two.

He approached her front door and knocked, this time hiding from view of the peephole. He heard the lock switching and knew he was in. As soon as the door was open he barged in, taking Y/N by surprise.

Before she could say anything he started unloading the stocked grocery bag. 

“I have everything you could possibly need. Gatorade, ginger ale, homemade chicken noodle soup, saltines, lemon ginger tea…” He pulled out each of the items as they were announced and placed them on her kitchen counter.

“Bucky…what the fuck?”

He looked at her with raised eyebrows encouraging her to continue.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Well you never called me. So you must still be very sick and I thought ‘Hm, if I were really sick, I’d want someone to come over and take care of me.’ So here I am with all the best remedies.”

She was so close to smiling but she kept her composure and responded. “I’m not sick you asshole. I just didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Now that cannot possibly be true. We had such a lovely time together on our date.”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say sweetheart. Just remember I was the perfect gentleman. I picked you up, I walked you home, and I didn’t take advantage of you in your vulnerable state.” He hoped the last part of his statement would help her understand why he declined her advances that night.

“What a shame, I don’t remember any of it.”

“I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it then. Oh, did I mention that you agreed to go out with me again?”

“Liar,” she joked.

“Can’t blame me for trying.”

She shook her head, “You can leave now.”

“If you insist,” he said. He didn’t move, hoping she would reconsider.

“I do,” she opened the front door wide and signaled for him to make his way through it.

“I have to say Y/N, you are really good at this whole hard to get thing.” He made his way through the door and turned to face her, shooting her his winning smile.

“Bye,” she said as she shut the door in his face.

“I’ll see you later!” he shouted through the door.

Bucky continued to pursue Y/N for the days that followed. He tried out a few different tactics but most of them involved buying her coffee or walking her to class. Her defenses came down a bit, but she still declined any date suggestions Bucky threw out there.

“What’s your endgame here?” she asked him at one point.

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you doing all this?”

“Because I have never met a girl as interesting as you. And I want to spend time with you and get to know you better.”

She rolled her eyes, “I bet you tell all the girls that.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hate to break it to you but sweet talk doesn’t work on me.”

That was the moment he realized he needed to step things up so he began planning. His friends were constantly telling him to give up, that the dare wasn’t worth all this effort. But it wasn’t about that anymore. Bucky had never struggled when it came to women. Usually his tough exterior and ocean blue eyes were enough to do the trick. Y/N was so different from any other girl and the challenge was a great motivator. He wanted to know what made her tick.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

For your newest make me write. Im in a huge complete supernatural/fantasy like AU mood here recently so my requests are going to be towards that this week. Also both of them are supposed to be 15 emojis apiece so can we pretend they are if they are not? (Kinda sorry about all the zombies…but feel free to sub everything to vampires or another WIP if you want)

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟(Im so ready for the Maddie/Buck reunion and ensuing shenanigans. I think by the time you get to to this that the new chapter *may* be out that goes over that. But im also enjoying other aspects of the story as well. I very rarely read bathena start fics so their relationship developing is exciting for me to see as well).

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸 🩸(Spoilery for those not caught up BUT OMG BUCK WHAT DID YOU DO?!?! I was not ready for that!)

Woohoo 90 total sentences for monster fics!

45 for 🧟 (THANK YOU!!!):

---

 “Just… Be careful.”

Chim thinks he probably should listen to her. But he also knows he likely won’t. 

▪️▪️▪️

If anything, Chim gets worse. And that might be problematic if his feelings were one-sided, but after dinner, it becomes more or less obvious that they are not.

They do dishes together. A chore Chim usually finds tiresome, but now is somehow fun. Christopher and Denny have already begged Maddie, Hen, and Karen to have a sleepover together. Something Chim finds somewhat redundant, seeing as every day forever is a sleepover here. But Chris wants to sleep in Denny’s room. 

“Please,” Karen had insisted when Maddie had asked if they were sure it was okay. “He finally gets to have friends his own age. Chris can have as many sleepovers as he wants.”

So Maddie is off kid duty tonight. 

“Other than movie night,” she asks as they’re finishing up with dishes. “What is there to do around here in the evenings?”

“You got something against movie night?” Chim teases.

“No!” Maddie insists. “Just exploring my options.”

“Well, there are games,” Chim says. But then he has another thought. “Or the roof.”

“The roof?” Maddie asks. 

“Yeah. We’ve got chairs up there. We can steal your brother’s stereo. It’s great for looking at the stars. Now that the light pollution is gone.” 

Chim wonders if this is too weird. Too forward. Too intimate. Too much like a date, if the world was normal enough to afford dates. Actually, scratch that. He knows Hen has set up a date for Karen up there, under the stars. On their wedding anniversary. God, what is he doing?

“That sounds really nice,” Maddie says. “Would you… Would you want to do that with me?”

God, obviously.

“I’d like that, yeah.”

---

45 for 🩸 (Buck's gonna Buck!)

---

“Neither am I,” Eddie says. “Okay?”

Buck nods, still a little weepy. 

“Okay.”

💧💧💧

As tired as he is, Buck can’t really sleep for very long periods. A wound to his front and a wound to his back means nothing is comfortable. Eddie helps set him up on an assortment of pillows to prop him in just the right position, but it’s still a more or less futile effort. He manages to get a little bit of rest when his pain medication sets in, but otherwise, he’s awake and uncomfortable. 

Brought down to reality by his conversation, Buck really gets a chance to think through what he’d nearly done. Not the killing part - which he’d been more focused on before - but the dying part. And the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks about just how right Eddie was. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want their life together to be over just as it finally started.

He really let that compulsive need to fix everything almost get him killed. Maddie was right. He needs to deal with this properly. This pit of dread that lives in his chest that says he is going to lose everything horribly. That says life will never be safe again. He needs to address that head on, and not by trying to be one step ahead of every possible danger. He needs to go back to therapy. He will, he decides. The minute he’s physically up to it.

“I’m sorry,” Buck says again, later that night, when everyone is sleeping and Buck is laying awake beside Eddie. He knows he’s probably going to be saying it for a long time. 

Eddie blinks awake. “Hmm?”

“I’m sorry,” Buck repeats. 

“For waking me up?” 

“No, for everything.”

Eddie sighs. “I forgive you. I’ve already forgiven you.”

“But I’m still sorry.” 

“Buck,” Eddie complains. “Don’t do this. This doesn’t help. Believe me, I know.”

“I’m going to go to therapy,” Buck says. 

“That’s a good idea,” Eddie says. “We could both use therapy. Do you think there are vampire therapists?”

“If there’s not, there should be,” Buck replies. “They’d have the corner on the market right now.”

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “And surely some shrink out there got bit?”

[dumbassaimee]

Hi could I request a smutty romantic story based on Noel Gallagher and the reader being on there wedding night in Vegas ( so 90's Noel ) and Noel having gifts laid out for her maybe a custom jacket and shoes or perfume for her ( I would like to imagine a rich person's wardrobe 😊) and it leads to a romantic night

Warnings: smut & sweetheart Noel because we need him like that

I haven’t written smut in a hot while, so I apologize if it’s literal shit.

————————————————————————

It had been perfectly planned, from the small white chapel to the reception site.

It was so surreal—hours ago I had walked into a chapel as two people in love, and now I’m finally his.

Mrs.Gallagher

As for now being midnight we had arrived to our posh hotel, the neon lights of Vegas casting a soft glow over us.

The hotel room is massive, marbled floors, velvet drapes, king sized bed in the middle.

But among all of that stood my now husband Noel.

A cigarette dangling from his lips as he took my hand to lead me further into the room.

There was a row of beautifully wrapped gifts across a sleek leather chaise “Go on then.” Noel sent the green light to open them all up.

I carefully approached and took ahold of one of the smaller ones, inside was a diamond delicate bracelet.

Taking another gift out; a custom leather jacket, smooth to the touch with my new initials embroidered on the inside.

“Figured you might need something to match mine” he muttered, taking the cigarette out and flicking it on the ash tray.

“I love it” I grinned before taking the next gift, in there was a pair of saint laurent heels, the black finish shimmering under the light.

The last box contained a bottle of Maison Francis parfum.

He approached and wrapped his hands around my waist “like it?” He murmured, his breath warm against my neck.

I turned to face him to speak properly “Noel—this is…”

But Noel being Noel, he silenced me with a kiss, slow and deep, fingers tangling in my hair.

The weight of the night drifting away, the laughter, the way he looked at me when the words “I do” slipped out of him.

All of it settled between us.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Best night of our lives, yeah?"

I nodded, my eyes wide as his icy ones were filled with love and affection.

With a wicked smirk he scooped me up effortlessly towards the king sized bed, The city outside pulsed with energy, but this moment.

The one with Noel and I inside this suite was all that mattered.

His rough hands slid the straps of my white silk dress helping me out of it, his lips attached to my neck leaving soft kisses.

My hands tangled in his dark hair, tugging at it occasionally.

His fingers hooked onto the waistband of my panties, sliding then down—he pulled away from my neck and took me in.

“Proper beautiful you are..” he murmured softly, he ran a finger down my slick folds making me break a whine.

He pulled away and started to unbutton his shirt, throwing it down somewhere around the room and kneeling himself in front of me—kissing my thighs softly teasing me.

He reached my core, his hot breath against me.

“Noel please—“ I whined softly, in response he chuckled and kissed my wetness later then attaching his mouth onto me.

Swirling his tongue around my sensitive bundle of nerves

Soft moans spilling out of me, each one encouraging Noel.

Slowly he pushed in two fingers inside my tight channel knocking a sharp gasp from me.

“Shit…” he whispered before he started to move his fingers curling them perfectly

He kept using his mouth on me, making sure to drive me down the road of ecstasy.

Each time his fingers got faster, he was going down on me like a mad man.

As I got closer to the edge I started to squirm, he had noticed that I was moving too much so he used his free hand to hold my lower body down onto the bed.

“Stay still” he grunted out.

“Noel—‘m so close, please..” I gasped out

“Come for me love..c’mon on” he cooed

With a final whine I coated his digits with my juices.

“That’s it…” he whispered helping me ride down my orgasm, standing up back again he pulled his digits out and licked them clean making me watch him.

He leaned back towards me, kissing my forehead softly.

“Take this off yeah?” He gestured to the white bra that covered my breasts.

I nodded and took it off, as I did that he worked on his belt.

Sliding his trousers down and stepping out of them.

His hand trailed down to the waistband of his boxers taking his painful hard-on out of its confines.

Leaking of pre-cum, he ran his tip along my slit.

“Don’t tease” I muster out quietly

His icy blue eyes were watching my every move.

Before I could beg him again he pushed in making my words choke.

“Fucking hell” he sighed staying in his position for a while until he made sure I was okay.

Then his hips started to move, every thrust driving both of us mad.

He started to pick up the pace, picking the perfect rhythm, a hand went to my waist while the other on my hip.

Every little noise I made encouraged him to be rougher and faster.

His breathing became raged, “fuck..you feel so good..”

“Please..” I could barely think clearly, his rough finger tips trailed down from my stomach towards my clit.

Making quick small circles against it—completely making me get closer to the edge.

“Gosh—’m so fuckin’ close” I whined letting soft pants out.

“I know darlin’..just a little more, you can do it”

He fucked me deep and fast, that was enough to make me squeal and reach my orgasm.

Then suddenly feeling his hot seed coating my walls white.

“That’s my girl” he praised, stayed in his position and kissed me tenderly—“I love you”

“I love you too” I sighed contently.

I’m so glad I’m his…

————————————————————————

[flowerbloom-arts]

Hey, sorry if I'm repetitive but what do you think happened to the humans in the Moomin universe.

Absolutely do not worry about asking too many questions, I love answering them!!!

Humans in Moominland is a very interesting subject... In that they're a LOT less of a presence than even I thought they were.

Alot of people (including me) thought that when, in Moomins and the Great Flood, Moominmamma was talking about Moomins living behind huge stoves before the invention of central heating she was talking about humans' stoves.

But no.

She never uses the word human, she says people.

(...) In those days they lived together with the house-trolls in people’s houses, mostly behind their tall stoves. “Some of us still live there now, I’m sure,” said Moominmamma. “But only where people still have stoves, I mean. We’re not happy with central heating.”

“Did the people know we were there?” asked Moomintroll.

(...)

“[A Hattifattener is] a kind of little troll-creature,” explained Moominmamma. “They’re mostly invisible. Sometimes they can be found under people’s floors, and you can hear them pattering about in there when it’s quiet in the evenings. (...)

And it's not like "people" was used as a specific term in Moomins and the Great Flood, either, because we have instances like these;

“Thank you so awfully much,” said Moominmamma. “You must have invited quite a lot of people up here for sea-pudding, I should think.”

“Oh yes,” said the boy. “People from every corner of the world. Snufkins, Sea-ghosts, Little Creeps and Big Folk, Snorks and Hemulens. And the odd angler fish, too.”

(...)

The armchair bobbed slowly along towards a hill where a lot of people were running about, pulling their belongings out of the water.

(...)

“Well, well,” said the marabou stork, who was beginning to feel touched. “I think I had better put you down on dry land and try to rescue a few more before the sun goes down. It’s very pleasant, rescuing people.” And then he took them back to the shore while they all talked at the same time about all the dreadful things they had been through. All along the shore people had lit fires at which they were warming themselves and cooking food, for most had lost their homes.

So it could be that Moominmamma was just talking about living behind regular creatures' oversized stoves, like how the Moomin ancestor did in Moominland Midwinter, which is honestly a very silly image. And it's not like it'd be impossible - the Hemulen and the Marabou stork in Great Flood are absolutely massive compared to our main characters.

Marabou storks tend to be about 5 feet tall so relatively speaking, if we assume this stork is still the same size as he would be irl, then our main characters would be relatively mouse-sized.

However. Tove didn't seem to have committed to this concept, and more or less just retconned it out of canon. Since the cats in Moomins and the Great Flood are seemingly regular-sized relative to the Hemulen's chair;

But in the 1968 revision of Comet in Moominland including future adaptations of the story, Sniff's cat is regular-sized, and so are the cats that appear in the Moomin comic strip, like the one in Moominmamma's Maid.

(sorry for using a screenshot from the 90s movie adaptation, I couldn't find a book illustration since I don't have a PDF of the revised book, much less an illustration of Sniff and his cat next to eachother, if that exists. If anyone has a way to read the revision in English pleeease give it to me)

But that's just Moomins and the Great Flood, which practically functions as a "pilot episode" for the whole franchise; it set up the concepts but is not representative of the rest of the franchise and has alot of things that get retconned but not entirely removed for the rest of the series, it wasn't even translated into/published in English until 2012. What about the rest of the franchise?

Well, the only instance of the word "human" being used in the books is in Moominpappa at Sea, while Moominpappa talked about how stone-faced the Fisherman/Lighthouse Keeper has been for the whole book;

‘There’s something wrong with you that I can’t make out,’ Moominpappa said to himself. ‘You’re not a human being at all. You’re more like a plant or a shadow, just as if you’d never been born.’

Which implies either of two things; the LHK is human or human-adjacent, or human is a normal adjective in the world of Moomin aswell.

And the only instance of the word "human" in the comic strip (there could be another instance I'm forgetting, however I'm not talking about Lars' comics because I am kind of prioritizing Tove's intentions here) is in a conversation between Snorkmaiden and Mymble Jr in Moomin Winter Follies;

Which... Kind of implies Mr. Brisk is human, I think? It's hard to imagine but there it is, the one instance of the word human in the comics.

And that's like... The only thing we really have within the original medium of Moomin.

But Tove had also worked on other things first-hand, and one of them had actual human characters.

That being Mumintrollet (1969, nice), a live-action show primarily known for the body horror of the Moomins removing their heads to reveal human heads inside. But with that obviously inapplicable facet of the show aside, we have this guy, the main antagonist, the King;

This guy is an explicitly canon human (can't be 100% sure since the show hasn't been transcribed or translated from its original swedish but I'm close to sure), and he's about the same size as the Moomins (probably because of the nature of the show, kinda like the whole head thing and Little My's normal human size in the show, but ehhh)

And that's, like, it for the canonicity of humans in Moomin, everything else is questionable or vague or a bit bewildering.

Like, is King Jones from Moominpappa's Memoirs a human? Why is he so big? What's going on here???

But that's all up to speculation, even the examples of the instances of the word human I've shown doesn't totally prove the existence of humans as we know them in this world. Alot of the characters look human but aren't, and others aren't stated to be not human, there are some oversized things like Muddler's tin that don't get explained, but who knows, really.

In short, I don't think anything has exactly happened to humans. They're either living among Moominland's society like fellow creatures (heck, maybe even some of the characters we know are human) or they're like... Rare or extinct or didn't even truly exist in the first place.

It's one big "who knows?".

[elliethefroggy]

Roy Kent: Minder Extraordinaire

Ch5, (on ao3), Ch7

Chapter 6: Roy Kent Ventures Into The Prick Palace

Bonding time between the grumpy arsehole and the annoying twat.

Roy’s lying on his stomach in the no-longer-haunted treatment room while Gail, the physio, is hard at work torturing his body into submission. It’s not too bad; she hasn’t started working on his hamstrings yet.

They’ve just come back from Liverpool, and all Roy’s body wants to do is crawl home and lie on his couch for a few hours in peace and quiet which is why he’s so fucking annoyed when Jamie bounds into the room, excess energy oozing off him in great big waves.

“Hiya, Roy,” Jamie says.

Roy groans which has less to do with Gail’s elbow digging into his muscles and more to do with the muppet standing over him. He rests his head on the treatment table, blocking Jamie from sight.

“Wanna do some extra training after this?” The muppet asks like he hadn’t played a full 90 minutes yesterday and then stayed up celebrating until the early hours of the morning. Fucking 23 year olds.

“No,” Roy says to the treatment table.

“Aw, come on, Roy,” Jamie says, practically bouncing off the walls, “We’ve just spent four hours trapped in a bus. I’m dying for a run. I swear, if I don’t get some exercise, I’m going to fucking explode.”

“23. So young,” Gail says, and suddenly Jamie stops jumping, looks over at Gail, perfectly immobile, like prey asserting a threat.

“Is it the murder podcast again?” Jamie asks.

“Isn’t fucking always with her?” Roy grunts as Gail digs into his flesh, Roy nothing more than a slab of meat for her to tenderise. “Anyway, I’m busy.”

“What? For the whole rest of the day?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s lying,” Gail says ever so helpfully, stuck in a world of her own, filled with blood and guts and violence.

And sure, Roy’s not exactly telling the truth because yoga isn’t until tonight, but he wants to take some time to lie down on his couch and deal with his mild hangover before he has to pretend to be presentable for what is undoubtedly going to be a train wreck of rosé and complaining about Maureen’s dickhead of a soon-to-be ex-husband.

“I’m sure you’ve got time for, like, a jog or something,” Jamie says, “We can even do that bit where you sit on the bench and watch me jump until I puke; I know how you always enjoy that.”

Roy does enjoy that. Unfortunately, Jamie hasn’t puked in weeks, the annoying fuck. Absolutely ruining Roy’s fun.

“I said fucking no. I don’t have time for you,” Roy says far more harshly than he’d intended, but Gail’s bony elbow’s just found a tender spot that makes Roy want to whine.

“Oh,” Jamie says. Even with his head resting on the cushioned surface of the table, Roy can feel the disappointment rolling off Jamie.

Against his better judgement, Roy raises his head off the table and regrets it immediately because Jamie looks like a despondent little puppy just now realising that it wouldn’t be going on a walk.

Fuck, again with the fucking dog metaphors.

“That’s cool. Need to rest those old bones of yours,” Jamie continues, badly hiding the disappointment under a layer of faked nonchalance, “It’s not your fault you can’t keep up with this young supple body of mine.” He gestures to himself, his movements far more stilted than they had been a few seconds ago.

The worst part is that Roy almost reconsiders, almost thinks about saying fuck it to yoga night. But then he wipes that notion out of his mind, because what the fuck is he doing even thinking about shuffling around his life for Jamie Fucking Tartt?

“Listen,” Roy says, “if you’ve got so much fucking energy to burn—” which Roy is absolutely not jealous of, “—you can go run around the pitch until you fucking collapse. For all I fucking care,” he says this mostly to get Jamie to leave before Gail starts up on his hamstrings because he will not live it down if Jamie hears his noises.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll do that. See you tomorrow,” Jamie offers him as stupid little wave, possibly the most fucking awkward wave Roy has ever seen in his life, and walks out the room like a little sulky kicked puppy, closing the door quietly behind him.

Roy barely has time to contemplate Jamie’s fragile teacup feeling before Gail goes to town on his hamstrings, and after that, he’s too busy moaning and groaning (and yes, maybe a bit of whining) to think about anything at all.

When Roy finally leaves the club, after Gail had deemed the torture session over, he sees Jamie’s car still in the parking lot. He glances over at the training pitch next to the parking lot and there’s Jamie running laps just like Roy had suggested. Roy hadn’t actually expected Jamie to listen to him.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that, so he decides to feel nothing.

He gets in his car and drives off, leaving Jamie to run around the pitch again and again and again.

By the time he’s done dealing with Maureen’s emotional crisis, it’s almost time to get up for Jamie’s training except that he’s in no condition to do anything right now, stomach filled with rosé and crêpes.

He gets his phone out, wincing at the bright light, and texts Jamie that this morning’s training’s cancelled. He considers leaving it at that, but after Jamie’s kicked puppy face from yesterday, he adds that they can train tonight instead, too tired too really give much of a fuck about whether or not Jamie already has plans.

Hopefully, by tonight, Roy will feel more like a human being and less like a sad sack of skin, crêpes and rosé.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, falling asleep still dressed, barely having even bothered to get his shoes off.

When Roy wakes up, instead of his phone being inundated with countless messages from the Prince Prick as is Jamie’s usual when Roy deigns to text him, there’s only one little text.

‘Okay’

Not one singular pointless emoji. Not even the abbreviation of the word. Jamie always uses abbreviations, but here he typed out two more letters than he needed to. The word was even capitalised.

Fucking fragile tea cup feelings.

Training at the club was a fucking nightmare. Two nights out in a row was a fucking terrible idea. His body is too old for this nonsense. He spent all day at the club glaring at anyone who so much as breathed in his direction, daring them to approach. Wisely no one did, even Jamie was smart enough not to make one of his knobhead comments.

All the fucking whistling and running around after the ball only made him feel worse, and, by the time he makes it to Jamie’s in the evening, his head is pounding and he’s considering the merits of removing said head from his body because at least then there would be no head to ache.

He doesn’t cancel on Jamie though, not out of any feeling of guilt or anything like that, but because if he cancels twice in a row, that twat is going to hold it against him. That’s the only reason. It has absolutely nothing to do with Jamie’s disappointment yesterday or his one worded text.

Roy knocks on Jamie’s door and Jamie opens it, but instead of bounding out the house, all happy and excited and shit like he usually is during extra training, Jamie barely steps out of the doorway before he stops, starring intently at Roy’s face.

“Are you sure you’re up for training?” Jamie asks.

Roy grunts, a noise that could be either interpreted as a yes or a fuck-off-and-stop-talking-because-my-head-is-killing-me. Jamie interprets it as the first one.

“Only it’s just that you look a little bit shit,” Jamie says.

Roy resists the urge to rub his face, resists the urge to give up on the whole idea of training and just go home and face plant on the couch. Fuck, why wasn’t he the type of bellend to wear sunglasses all the time?

“Wait,” Jamie says, looking Roy up and down with growing delight, taking in the pale complexion and clammy skin, “Are you hungover?”

Fuck.

“You are, aren’t you?” Jamie interprets Roy’s silence as a yes. “Roy Kent? Two nighttime benders in row? Who knew you had it in you. Is Grandpa Kent secretly a party animal?” Jamie says all this far too loudly, glee seeping off of him.

“Stop speaking so loudly,” Roy orders.

“Sorry,” Jamie says, smiling wide, pearly whites on full display. At least he said it more quietly.

Roy doesn’t move from the doorstep, doesn't start jogging like he usually does. Normally he barely bothers wasting time saying hello before he’s already off, running down the street, not waiting for Jamie. It doesn’t really matter; no matter how fast he runs, Jamie always catches up.

“So, should we start?” Jamie asks which is a fair question because Roy’s still not moving. Moving seems like far too much effort right now.

“Yes,” he says, despite that.

He does not start jogging.

“Riiiight,” Jamie says, “Do you want to come in?” He asks, gesturing to the inside of his house.

“Fuck no,” Roy says instinctively. But then he thinks about for a second longer, ignoring Jamie’s disappointed but unsurprised look, weighs the pros and cons, asks himself which would be worse: extra training in his still very hungover state or enter the prick’s lair for the first time.

By a very small margin, the lair loses; Jamie might have a couch in his prick lair after all.

“Actually, yeah sure. Why not,” Roy says, completely giving up on the idea of training tonight, ignoring Jamie’s disbelieving look at his sudden change of heart.

“Okaaayyy,” Jamie says, the tone implying that Roy is loosing his mind. Roy does not appreciate that tone, even though he is willingly walking into Jamie Fucking Tartt’s house so who knows where his mind’s at these days.

Jamie gestures for Roy to come in. Against all his instincts screaming at him not to do it, Roy steps in the Prick Palace.

The inside is white and modern, with the stupid dangling lights that hipsters drool over. It almost looks normal if somewhat lifeless, the type of lifelessness that means an interior designer got their grubby hands all over it. It looks just like any rich twat’s house who likes to remind people how rich they are.

Then Roy glances down at the giant fucking golden balloon dog statue by the front door.

“Did a five year old have a hand in the decorating process?” Roy asks because he can’t help himself.

“Hey! You leave Rex out of this,” Jamie says, patting the fake dog’s fake head as he passes by.

“You named it Rex?” Roy asks, following Jamie further into the house.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, as they step into the kitchen, “Rex is a great name for a dog.”

“For a real dog.”

“Don’t say that too loudly; you might hurt Rex’s feelings.”

Roy doesn’t dignify that with a response, refusing to participate into what is turning out to be a truly stupid conversation.

“Here,” Jamie says, handing Roy some paracetamol and a glass of water without even being asked.

Roy grunts what could be generously considered a thanks and swallows down the pills.

“Do you want something else to drink?” Jamie asks like he’s trying to win a prize for Best Host.

“What do you have?”

“Energy drinks, water, orange juice, milk. I could make us some tea.”

“Milk? Fuck, you really are a child,” Roy says, more out of habit than any real malice, “Does your orange juice come in a little carton box with a straw?”

Jamie visibly looks like he regrets inviting Roy in. Which will not do. Because fuck if Jamie is going to be a better host than Roy is a guest.

“I’ll have a tea, please,” Roy finally answers Jamie’s question, not even pausing before the please. Fuck, he’s getting better at this whole please and thank-you bullshit.

Jamie puts the kettle on and gets the milk out the fridge.

“Why the fuck is the strongest drink in your house energy drink?”

“Don’t really drink much. Don’t like the taste,” Jamie says as they wait for the water to boil.

“What about that fucking vanilla vodka shit you’re always drinking?”

“Like the smell of vanilla. Figured if I have to drink something, might as well smell nice.”

“But you did that dumb beer commercial. Darsteiner or whatever the fuck it was.” And how the hell does Roy remember the name of the fucking beer? Surely he has more important things to fill his brain space with?

“It’s branding, innit; I look like the type of person who enjoys beer.” Jamie shrugs as though that’s a normal outlook to have.

“That’s fucking stupid,” Roy says, absolutely failing at being a better guest.

Jamie shrugs again, and Roy doesn’t know what to do about this new information, deciding he can deal with it later when he’s not dead on his feet. Fuck, hangovers never used to be this bad.

Roy looks around some more as Jamie continues to make the tea and makes sure Jamie’s back is to him before he rolls his eyes at the transformer toys lining the shelves.

Instead of looking behind him at those god-awful lamp poles shaped like fucking golden guns (and seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this man-child?), his eyes land on the kitchen island and the piece of paper resting on.

Everything else in the house is neat and tidy and fucking empty, barely any knick-knacks or fucking trinkets except for those transformers. The house of a man who either doesn’t spend much time here or who doesn’t intend to stay long.

The only thing out of order is that one piece of paper innocently lying on the counter.

He steps forward to get a better look.

It’s a list of names.

“What’s this?” Roy asks, taking the list off the table.

Jamie turns around, sees the paper in Roy’s hand, his eyes widening comically.

“Nothing.” Jamie lunges over the kitchen island and tries to grab the paper, but Roy proves faster in this instance, stepping just out of reach of Jamie’s outstretched arm.

“You seem to want it back pretty badly for something that is ‘nothing’.” Roy says, taking a closer look at the paper.

On the list are the names of most of the players on the team plus a few extra people who work at the club. All of it written out in a purple sparkly gel pen with additions in another handwriting in an equally sparkly pink gel pen.

Roy looks back up at Jamie, raises an eyebrow and waits for an explanation. All the fight leaks out of Jamie, and instead of trying to snatch the paper out of Roy’s hand, Jamie starts fidgeting in place.

“Well, you said I had to be less of a prick,” Jamie says, his hands twisting in the fabric of his t-shirt, “And I’ve been talking with Keeley, you see, about accountability and shit. And how, like, it’s important to be responsible for your own actions. And so she’s been helping me make apologies to everyone. Like, my idea was to get them all PS5s—”

“The PS5’s not even out yet.”

“Yeah, but like, I know some people and I’m fucking rich, so that wouldn’t have been a problem. But yeah, Keeley said they may think I’m trying to buy their affection which is apparently a bad thing, so she’s been helping me come up with better, more personal ideas.”

Roy looks down at the list.

Sam → Nigerian restaurant Ted → read The Beautiful and the Damned Isaac → rolos (lots) Moe → free pass to flirt with Mum (once) Colin → driving lessons? Something to do with Wales and Welsh independence? Richard → the stinkiest, most expensive cheese

Roy reads further down the list until he gets to Nate’s name. Next to his name is an incomprehensible amount of purple and pink scribbles and drawings that, in another reality, might have generously been called a diagram.

“What the fuck is that?” He asks pointing at the glittery monstrosity of lines and doodles.

“Oh, that was my idea,” Jamie says, real proud, “You know those boxes Nate does with his niece? Well, I made one for him with a little apology note inside. Keeley helped. We did a whole arts and crafts night. It was well fun. Here. Took a picture of it. Did it in the Richmond colours.” Jamie shows Roy his phone.

“I don’t remember pink glitter being part of the official Richmond colours,” Roy says.

“We took some artistic liberties.”

“And why did you draw a cat that’s been run over by a lorry on the cover?”

“It’s a fucking greyhound, you blind old twat.”

“Right.”

“Nate loved it. Well at first he sort of ran away with it in a panic. But he came back later to say that he liked it.”

“You decorated a box for Nate.” Roy looks at Jamie, trying to reconcile the Jamie he thought he knew with a Jamie who apparently does arts and crafts nights.

“Well yeah, because with the other lads it's easier, right; I can just help them score goals during matches, give them assists and help make them look good on the pitch. Can't exactly do that with Nate so I had to think outside the box,” Jamie says, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I fucking hate puns.”

“That's because you're a sad old man who's allergic to fun.”

“And how are the other apologies going?” Roy asks, ignoring Jamie’s comment because Roy is a good guest.

“Actually pretty well. Other than Nate running away. “Like with Sam, I got him a reservation for two for some fancy Nigerian restaurant, because he, like, never shuts about food. Figured he could take a date there or something, but then he invited me. I tried telling him he could invite someone else, but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently the food’s not nearly as good as his dad makes, but I thought it tasted well nice. But he liked the thought. He even hugged me; it was nice. “And Moe, he gets a free pass to flirt with me Mum if he ever meets her, but like, it’s fine ‘cause she’s happily married to me stepdad, Simon—great bloke—so it’s not like there’s a chance of Moe becoming me new stepdad or anything. Even Moe’s game ain’t good enough to break those two up. “Like, everyone’s so fucking nice; it’s weird. They, like, make me want to better. It’s fucking exhausting.”

Roy snorts because of course the little prick would find being a decent human being exhausting.

Roy continues reading the list only to stop dead a few names down.

“I’m on the list,” Roy says, looking down at his name in purple glitter. The space next to his name is blank. Roy is not sure what his face muscles are doing anymore.

“Yeah,” Jamie says awkwardly, fidgeting hands pulling even harder at his t-shirt.

Before Roy can talk himself out of it, he puts the piece of paper down, having read enough, goes around the kitchen island and plants himself directly in front of Jamie. Jamie doesn't shrink away, but Roy can tell he wants to.

“Go on, then.” Roy gestures to Jamie to start talking.

“What?” Jamie asks, face scrunched up in confusion. Jamie has a very scrunchy face.

“Apologise. Let’s get it over and done with.”

“What? Now?”

“No, a week on Thursday. Yes, now.”

“But I haven’t figured out how I’m going to do it yet or what I’m going to say,” Jamie says, panicked.

“I don’t need some fucking handcrafted box or some long winding rehearsed monologue. Just fucking do it. Right here, right now. Nothing complicated. Just apologise.”

Jamie’s quiet for a moment, looking down at the ground. “Right,” he hesitates, coming up with the words to say, “Yeah, okay.” He straitens up, absolutely fucking ramrod straight, and stares at Roy directly in the eyes, before chickening out and staring at the wall behind Roy instead. “I’m sorry for being a prick all the time. And for making jokes about your body hair—I never really meant any of them; all that fur really does suit you—even though it must clog your drains to hell. And I’m sorry for laughing at that article about your dick having a curve in it—”

Jamie goes on and on, starring at the wall, sometimes glancing back at Roy, making quick eye contact before immediately darting his eyes back to the wall, all the while pulling at his t-shirt. He apologies about every single inside under the sun, most of which Roy barely remembers. Small apologies and big ones all jumble together into one heaping mess of word vomit.

Maybe Roy should have let Jamie rehearse this or at least give him a few minutes to write down so key points.

Though Roy wants to interrupt, he stays quiet because the apologies are obviously important to Jamie if the extremely glittery list is anything to go by. Anyway, Jamie has to run out of words eventually. Right? There are only so many words in the English language after all. Even fewer that Jamie knows. He’ll have to run out eventually.

“And I’m sorry for constantly making fun of your old age,” Jamie continues, no end in sight, “Because, like, you’re not that old. I mean, like, for a footballer, yeah, you’re old. Absolutely ancient. But for normal human beings, you’re not that old. And really, you’re wearing your age pretty fucking well, getting close to that whole silver fox stage of your life. So yeah, sorry for that, too.”

Jamie stops. Roy stays quiet for moment just in case Jamie just needed to take a breather before starting up again. But no, Jamie stays silent.

“Are you done?” Roy asks just in case.

Jamie gives him a tiny, sharp nod, finally having run out of words.

Roy breathes in, braces himself for what he’s about to do.

“I accept your apology. And I’m sorry too,” he says, keeping it small and simple.

Jamie stops staring at the wall and finally properly looks at Roy, all wide eyed.

“Wait. What?” He asks.

“You’re not the only one who has to fucking apologise.” Because after Jamie’s apology, of course Roy has to apologise as well. He refuses to let Jamie be the bigger person even if he is starting to suspect Jamie is more mature than he lets on.

Roy decides to add a few more words to his apology mostly because Jamie’s still looking at him all confused. “I’m sorry for being a cunt to you. And I’m sorry for being a shit captain to you from the very start. I should have at least given you a chance, instead of straight away shoving you in the twat box and never bothering to take a second look.” Roy stops there because if he continues, it’s going to start to look suspiciously like Jamie’s rambling monologue, and Roy’s better than that.

Jamie doesn’t say anything, and Roy’s starting to get seriously uncomfortable with all the silent eye contact.

“This is where you say ‘apology accepted’ so we can move on with our fucking lives”, he says, waving at Jamie to speak.

Jamie finally blinks, and fuck, his eyes must have needed that.

“Right, yeah. Uh. Apology accepted.”

Fucking finally.

They stand there, continuing to look at each other for longer than Roy would like. Jamie doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself anymore, and Roy doesn’t exactly want to stand around here staring at Jamie’s perfectly coiffed mug all day.

“Tea?” Roy asks after a moment, when it becomes obvious that Jamie is not going to move of his own volition.

“Right,” Jamie says, stepping away towards the waiting tea cups on the counter.

When he finishes preparing the tea, he hands Roy an offensively colourful mug, a pink monstrosity that wouldn’t look out of place in Keeley’s hands. There were sparkles on it.

Jamie’s own mug is plain and white because at his core, Jamie still remains a fucking prick.

Jamie takes a sip of tea from his plain white mug, slurping obnoxiously.

Roy takes a sip himself and doesn't say anything about his mug, refusing to give Jamie the satisfaction. Unfortunately, Jamie got the milk to water ratio just right.

“Do you want to watch a film?” Jamie asks.

Roy’s immediate reaction is to blurt out fuck no. Instead, being both a mature adult and an excellent guest, he thinks about it for a moment. Watching a movie beats standing in Jamie’s glaringly white kitchen in silence, said silence only to be interrupted by them slurping their tea, while Roy wonders why the silence isn’t as awkward as it really should.

Plus, he’ll finally get to sit on a fucking couch.

“Don’t you have better things to do? Keeley finally had enough of you?” Roy asks first because if Roy had to choose between watching a movie with himself and spending time with Keeley Jones, he knows which option he’d pick.

“Nah, she just doesn't particularly enjoy getting woken up at 4 a.m. because of her boyfriend's sadistic teammate.”

This is news to Roy. Though, it really shouldn’t be. One of the main reasons he chose 4 a.m. for their training—other than to fit it in their already heavy workout schedule—was to get Jamie to crack and quit so that Roy could be smug in his victory. Jamie has yet to admit defeat which is really fucking inconsiderate of him because Roy was looking forward to rubbing his victory in Jamie’s face.

For a second, Roy almost wonders if he should feel bad for putting the workout so early, disrupting Jamie’s life so thoroughly.

“Oh yeah,” Jamie adds, “You are 1000% cockblocking me.”

The second of wondering passes, and Roy starts to wonder instead about the possibility of Jamie dying of blue balls.

Happy thoughts.

“Sure, we can watch a movie”, Roy says, “But I’m choosing.”

Jamie pretends to be put out by this, but he doesn’t put up a fight.

They grab their cups of tea and head to the lounge which, much like the rest of the house, looks sterile and empty, with only the odd touches of personality shinning through. In this case, that touch of personality is a zebra print throw cover over the fancy designer couch.

It’s just sad that Jamie’s personality sucks.

Roy sits down on the couch, ready to sink into the cushion and rest his fucking knee, only to be met with the unyielding leather surface of a couch that was created to be seen and not sat on.

Fuck, if they’re doing this movie night thing again, Roy’s going to make Jamie buy a better couch instead of this undoubtedly exceedingly expensive atrocity that only the most sadist interior designer would recommend. But at least the zebra blanket’s soft.

Roy picks The Muppets Christmas Carol despite it being nowhere near Christmas because Jamie needs to be educated, and because, as Captain, it is Roy’s role to educate his teammates when they are so obviously wrong.

Jamie is going to get better taste if Roy has to force him every step of the way.

[marvelobsessed134]

Sparks Fly part 2

Series masterlist

A/n: so sorry this took so long to get out 😭 also the timeline is kinda messed up but it’s 90s!tommy in this story so yeah takes place in the 90s

Pairings: Tommy Lee x Fem!Country Singer!reader

And soon enough you got a call from Tommy. He asked you out for dinner and of course you said yes. You’re so nervous, though. You know of his reputation and how he was with drugs not too long ago. But he’s so handsome and was so sweet you. You just had to say yes.

So, you’re in a light pink dress with peasant sleeves. Your hair in a ponytail with a light pink bow on it. Light makeup adorned your face. You had some pearl jewelry and white kitten heels. As you stood in front of the hotel room mirror making sure everything looked good when you got a knock on the door.

You sighed before shoving your nerves down and opening the door. Tommy stood before you with a grin on his face and flowers in his hand.

“Wow, you look…” he trailed off taking in your whole outfit.

You blushed, “Thanks.”

“Oh!” He said suddenly, jerking the flowers towards you, “I got you these. Wasn’t sure what your preferences on flowers were but thought I’d get ‘em anyways.” You took the bouquet from him and brought them to your nose, sniffing them.

“They’re beautiful Tommy.” You gushed before walking over and setting them on the nightstand. You’ll have to find a way to travel with them without them dying.

Then, the two of you were off on your first date. He took you to this very nice restaurant in Hollywood. Despite you having quite a bit of money yourself, it was way more fancy than you’ve ever been to.

The waiter showed you to your table and the questions began.

“So, I noticed you’re in a hotel…is your house getting renovated or something?” The drummer asked.

“Oh no. I live in Nashville but since I did a few shows here I stayed in a hotel.” You explained the most obvious reason why you were in a hotel.

“Nashville huh? So you’re a real country girl.”

You chuckled, “I guess you can say that. I’ve lived there my whole life. It’s my home yknow?”

“Yeah I can see that.”

It was quiet for a moment before you spoke up again, “So what’s going on with the band right now? I heard you guys laid off Vince?” It was a touchy subject sure, but you really wanted to know what the hell they were thinking when they fired the singer.

“Yeah, but it’s all cool cause we got a new guy, John Corabi. It’s better that way.” And he left it at that.

The two of you talked more and more, all throughout the night. You just couldn’t stop asking about each other.

As Tommy walked you out towards his Ferrari you said, “That was one of the most fun dates I’ve had in a long time.”

“Really?” He looked down at you and raised an eyebrow.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, “Yeah.”

“I’m glad then. I guess I held up to your standards?”

“Haha, yeah. I mean it’s not like I have any to begin with but you’re so respectful and sweet. Not to offend you but you’re a lot different than-“

“The media makes me out to be? Yeah. When I find a girl I really like I make sure to treat her as a queen.” Your stomach fluttered with butterflies.

The two of you got in his car and he turned on the radio but turned down the volume so you could still talk.

“I don’t believe I’ve asked you this but how old are you?” He asked.

“23.” You answered honestly.

“Ok, I’m 31. Was just making sure.”

“I thought you liked younger girls?” You teased.

“I do well- not under 18 girls you know…over 18? Fuck.”

You giggled as he tried to explain himself, “It’s fine. You know my mama told me not to go with older men better yet men in rock n roll bands but, you’re just so…different.” Tommy smiled at your southern accent.

“I’m not the best man in the world, I’ve done some pretty fucked up shit. Maybe not as much as Nikki but…” the drummer trailed off.

You put your hand over his that was sitting on the center console. He looked over at you with those brown eyes. “We’re human, we all do things we regret. That’s just how life works. Imagine if we didn’t do anything wrong, that’d be really boring and no lessons would be learned.”

“I see why you have an award for best songwriting.”

“Yeah, I guess Im somewhat of a poet myself.”

[squidorcuddlefish]

can you please PLEASE write a devon x reader where he takes you out to the vineyard and plays guitar for you under the stars I NEED IT SO BAD

a/n: DEVONNNN DEVON I LOVE DEVON!!!!!!!!!!!! this req is SO cute i’m crying

—

“Psst, hey.”

You turn to Devon, the soft glow of the TV the only light in the living room. You tilt your head and hum a “Hm?”

He practically jumps off the couch, the shared blanket falling off of the cushions and onto the floor. You look up at him and blink.

“Come with me,” He says, holding his hand out for you to grab onto. “I wanna bring you somewhere.”

You reach for your phone in your pockets, checking the time; 10:36. “Now? It’s kinda late, Dev.”

“I know, I know, but…” He has an excited smile on his face. “Just let me show you.” He gestures his still extended hand.

You pause for a moment before agreeing, taking his hand and following him off of the couch. You watch him grab a basket and his keys off of the kitchen counter before heading out the door.

—

When he started to slow down the car, it seemed like you were seriously in the middle of nowhere. He must’ve been able to read your facial expression, because he followed with, “I know, just trust me.”

You stepped out of the car and looked up at the stars. You had to admit, the sky looked gorgeous. You had to have been far from downtown, because it was silent other than the chirp of the crickets. Devon then took your hand, leading you forward into the vineyard.

For how dark it was, Devon was surprisingly good at finding where he was going. He turned through the grapevines, looking back at you occasionally to make sure you were keeping up well. His hand never moved from yours.

You finally came to a stop in the middle of a row of vines. It didn’t seem any different than any of the other rows of grapevines, but you didn’t care to question.

You look down to see a cute picnic setup. A soft, off white blanket with several unlit candles on top, along with a metal bowl and his guitar. You giggle, and Devon smiles back.

Devon lowered himself to sit. You followed suit, and he soon scooted closer to you. He took out a baggie of ice from the basket and pours it into the bowl. Two wine glasses and a bottle of wine were next out of the basket. He struggles with the cork on the bottle for a moment before it finally opens with a pop. He pours two glasses and hands you one before placing the bottle into the bowl of ice.

He leans forward to light the candles, which gave a warm glow over the picnic area.

“Well,” He breaks the silence. “I saw tonight was supposed to be nice out with low cloud coverage, so, I thought we could sit out here.” He looks up at the sky before looking back at you.

You smile, leaning on his shoulder. “You’re so sweet.”

He gives a sheepish laugh in response, then wraps an arm around you and pulls you closer. You feel a small kiss on the top of your head from him.

He holds out his glass to you. You tap yours against his, the glass giving a cheerful clink. You both take a sip.

He looks up at the sky again. “Isn’t it pretty?”

You whisper, “Yeah.”

“Not as pretty as you.” He added.

You snort, and he follows your laugher.

“You are so cheesy, Devon.” You tease through laughs.

He responds simply, “I know.”

You sigh contently, finding your place back against Devon’s shoulder. He gently rubs your arm with his thumb.

“Hey,” He says, reaching over for his guitar. “Any song requests?”

“Mmm… No, you choose.” You hum.

“Sublime? Third Eye Blind? Bush?” He clicks his tongue, plucking at the strings and adjusting the tune.

“Bush, Everything Zen.” You suggest. You know it’s his favorite.

—

a/n: AAAHHH i hope this is okay!!!!!! lord i haven’t written in so long….. devon save me. also DEVON CANON 90’S ALT/GRUNGE FAN GAAAHHHH I LOVE HIM

[bratshaws]

through the hourglass 97. brb x oc

a/n: ah, i just love them you know. Also next chapter is smutty fluff so be prepared <3

pairing: plus size!oc x rooster

warnings: fluff, rooster being the protective husband, mentions of bullying

goodness gracious (pls read this one to know more what this fic is about!!)

chapter

1/

50/51/52/53/54/55/56/57/58/59/60/61/62/63/64/65/66/67/68/69/70/71/72/73/74/75/76/77/78/79/80/81/82/83/84/85/86/87/88

/89/90/91/92/93/94/95/96

(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! )

taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix

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@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3 @lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2

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-

Beatrice washes her hands for a few seconds, humming happily to herself because she couldn’t hope for anything better. Rooster is a wonderful partner,husband,father, lover, he’s everything she’s ever wanted and more, her smile only widening when she looks at her reflection in the mirror.

She also takes another look at herself, turning her body left and right with her lower lip between her teeth, “Oh,I look good.” she looks at her ass, pulling the dress a bit just so it’d cover her butt a bit more but she’s loving herself so much. Beatrice sighs happily, closing her eyes briefly to smile more.

God she loved him so much. 

It was almost painful, but a good pain, a pain that reminds you are alive every time.

Her husband not only was a wonderful man, he was smart and he was funny and he was the most handsome guy she had ever met…and he had those arms and legs…and butt. She giggles like the sixteen years old Bea would with a crush, bouncing a bit on the spot before shaking herself, “Okay,okay,I need to calm down.” but she’s still gleefully laughing to herself, “Okay, easy Bea. Easy.”

Beatrice took in deep breaths before shaking herself one more time, turning towards the door. As soon as she opened it though, she blinked when she saw Lydia standing there,with her hand up as if to knock, “Oh! Oh,I’m so sorry Lydia, were you waiting long?” the other woman shook her head, “Oh,okay,I’m on my way now so you ca-”

“Bea, can I talk to you?”

The brunette slowly closed the door behind her, blinking at the request but smiling, “Sure!What’s up?”

Lydia licked her lips, looking down the hallway that led to the living room where people were still talking, “Can you walk with me?”

Beatrice furrows her brows briefly but nods, “Okay,sure.”

Lydia waits for a few seconds before turning on her heel towards the left, Beatrice noticed that the hallway led to a small study, really far from everyone else and easy to muffle any noises from the inside. She smiles when Lydia tells her to enter first, looking back when the other woman gently shuts the door but keeps her hands on the wood, “...is…everything okay?”

“...yes.” Lydia replies, shoulders lifting as she inhales, “I just…I never thought I’d see you again.” she laughs softly, turning around to face Beatrice, “Sit down?”

Beatrice looks down at the very comfortable plush chair, tucking the ends of her dress under her body as she sits down, watching the other woman do the same. Lydia looked…like she was ready to cry, her smile small but present, like she couldn’t believe they were talking. “...Lydia?”

“I’m sorry…I…I’m trying to control my emotions.” she sniffles, interlacing her hands on top of her thighs, “And trying to figure out how to start.”

Beatrice,while confused, didn’t judge her reactions, “It’s okay…take your time.” she whispered, placing her own hands on top of her thighs after pulling out her phone in case Rooster called or messaged her.

Lydia rubbed her hands over her face, then met Beatrice’s eyes, “....I…I don’t know how to begin.” she says, “But I think I’ll start with what I can recall…do you remember the Big Game at school?.”

Beatrice blinked, wracking her brain for a little bit as she tries to remember what she was talking about. Pieces of memories joined together as if to complete a puzzle, it was game night, them - the Boars - versus their rival school - the Timber Wolves - and there were a lot of people there.

More than normal, Beatrice remembers. She also remembers…that she went to the bathroom and then she walked out, but not what happened while she was in there. “Yes…why?”

Lydia laughs softly, “...you,uh,we met in that bathroom.” it was like the other woman could read her mind, “We-you, well…you saw me and some girls.” she begins, “And…and they were pushing me into the toilet.” 

Beatrice blinked, furrowing her brows as her mind tried to recall it perfectly. 

She could…see more of it now. She walked into the bathroom only to stop by the door when she saw Jasmine,Tessa and Caroline shoving a girl - shorter than she was with huge glasses on her face- into one of the stalls and she froze. She didn’t know what to do, if she did anything they’d add her to their scheme.

But she couldn’t leave the other girl either.

Beatrice remembers that they met eyes, briefly, the girl trying to ask for help only to have her face turned to the toilet. The loud cackling, the laughter, everything made Beatrice’s body shiver…what could she do? She looked around a bit, then remembered that this specific bathroom always had issues with the light - the piece of tape glued to the wall with the writings ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ above the switch was enough to be a telltale sign - and she wondered if she could…do it.

When she heard the obvious sound of the toilet seat lifting, she knew she had to think fast. So she just slapped her hand on the light switch, and that made the lights above explode and in turn made the group of bullies scream in fear. Beatrice tucked herself to the corner when she heard their footsteps rushing away from the bathroom, the door slamming when they left…

Leaving her and the girl alone.

She could hear her soft sniffling, so she slowly approached the stall where she was and helped her up. She told the girl her name, but she was…almost out of it, like it wasn’t real, if she wasn’t quick they’d both be in trouble by the staff and the bullies.

But that was about it, they never talked after that so maybe that was why Beatrice just…forgot. Also her trauma did that, for safety, maybe so she wouldn’t remember and accidentally let it slip that she was the one responsible.

“You saved my life.” Lydia whispers, frowning, “But I didn’t do the same to you.”

“Huh?”

“...I saw what you went through. But…I didn’t interfere when I should’ve.” Lydia frowned, rubbing her hands together, “I should’ve done something,I saw how much you suffered but-”

“You feared the heat would go to you.” Beatrice completed, “...it’s okay,I understand. I…I honestly felt the same a lot of times,I know I’ve defended people and never expected to be defended back. It’s the bullying logic.”

“I still feel ashamed.”

Beatrice smiles gently, leaning forward to touch the other woman’s hand, “Don’t be.” she whispered, ‘Please don’t be, you aren’t…at fault for what happened to me. You really aren’t.” she couldn’t have expected this and honestly, now that she remembered everything, she almost thought it’d trigger an anxiety attack or a panic attack…but nothing happened.

She felt…so good and so happy to know that she could,somehow, amidst her own personal hell, help someone else. Beatrice's high school self really needed this and she could feel her teenager self smiling from the inside “Are you sure?”

“Yes,yes,Lydia I’m so sure.” she says,cupping her hand with both of hers, ‘Please do not put that weight on yourself. It’s not your fault,you were a kid, a teenager. So was I,what did we know?”

“...I guess so.”

“I’m happy you are better though.” she whispered, smiling at her, “I really am, because you have a wonderful life now.” Lydia’s lips quirked upwards just a bit, just enough to show her appreciation, “But I mean it…please don’t blame yourself. It’s not worth it.”

Lydia’s little smile widened a bit, “...you know,I…it’s weird, but I feel like the people who did this to us never really changed.”

“Well,some did.” Beatrice whispered, “Hannah Dreyfus is now a good friend of mine. We talk sometimes.”

“Yeah, but not the other three.”

Beatrice huffed softly,”No,not the other three.” she sighed, “But, some people are just…too set in their ways, you know? It’s not worth it getting mad or upset over. I admit that…sometimes I get scared, and nervous, but therapy helps a lot.”

Lydia just smiles at Beatrice, “Yeah, I know what you mean.” and she squeezes the brunette’s hand again, “Thank you. So much for what you did.”

Beatrice just smiled back, whispering that it was no problem. Mentally she was a mix of happy and surprised and…and just relaxed. Like it finally happened, she finally managed to close a chapter of her life and maybe she could enjoy this place with Rooster if they could. 

Yeah,she was okay.

-

He licks his thumb and forefinger as he waits for Beatrice, sitting on one of the chairs inside the house after snacking on some of the freshly cut steak, turning his head to the hallway in hopes he could see his wife anywhere. Rooster, truly, stood out amongst the group of former classmates and he wasn’t complaining.

As long as they respected Beatrice he wouldn’t have any problems.

Bradley sits with the still warm plate on his thigh, holding his head up towards the hallway and clearly not paying attention to the surroundings. Because he doesn’t see some people looking over, in fact he only notices when Hannah taps him on the shoulder, “Look smart.” she muttered, ‘You got three vultures on you.” the redhead is casually standing behind him so he has to play as if he’s not looking in the direction she pointed at.

And he tries to not do a double take because he doesn’t know what to make of the three women looking at him, “Oh God.”

“I know.” Hannah muttered, bringing the glass of lemonade to her lips, “Where’s Bea?”

“Bathroom.”

“Do you want me to check on her?”

“Please.” and Hannah immediately walks off, the music makes it hard for him to hear her calling Beatrice’s name through the door but he can see the redhead pressing her cheek against the surface to hear the inside. 

Rooster has his brows low and immediately closes his eyes when he hears feet approaching and a sudden presence appear on the chair next to his, “Hi.” he had to calm himself down, be polite but be firm, that’s what his mother always said.

“Hi.” he tosses a small smile, hating how this just…reminded him of the night at the club, with that other girl whose name he no longer cared about…or Beatrice’s cousins.

“We couldn’t help but see you,” one of them said, which one? He didn’t care “And wonder…were we classmates?”

“No.”

“Oh?” another one asks, “And what are you doing here?”

Bradley held back the sarcasm, he did, only to rub his eye with his left hand, exposing the large and thick wedding band on his finger, “I’m here with my wife.” he says, dropping his hand after rubbing his eye and he had to hold back the pleased grin when they- he blinked however when he connected the dots, “...wait a minute, you three- I know you three.”

And that only made them forget the sudden disappointment, “Really?” one of them asked, the shortest one, “You do?”

“Yeah…you three bullied my wife in high school.” silence. Absolute silence is what he gets, everyone else around them still talks, music is still going but those three women just stare at him in shock. His pose changes, he’s taller now, no longer relaxed and his eyes were narrowed, “She told me about you.” he looked ready to murder them with words, if they thought they’d get anything out of him they were clearly wrong.

But Beatrice’s voice, alongside Hannah’s and another woman, made him look back to the hallway and his angry façade melted into a grin when he saw her. She turned to face him, her smile widening, “Hi,Roos!” she grins, speeding her step to meet him, cupping his face in her hands to kiss him in front of her former bullies.

Did he mind?

No.

He just enjoyed that delicious watermelon lip gloss and the way her hands felt on his skin, “Sorry,I was talking to Lydia.” she explains once she breaks the kiss, looking back to where Lydia was, standing next to Hannah.

“That’s fine,” he looks down at the still steaming plate in his hand, “I got you something.”

“Ohh, shrimp! Thank you.” she giggles, finally looking up to see those vultures still hovering by, faces red and angry because of her presence? Good if that was the case, “...well, do you want to stay here or should we go outside?”

“I don’t mind.” he smirks, “Whatever you want,gorgeous.”

Beatrice smiles back, looking down at his legs before turning around and sitting on his lap. Without warning but again, who was he to complain when his wife was so lovingly sweet whenever she wanted to be? “I like it here.” she says, bringing a shrimp skewer to her lips, yanking one of them into her mouth.

Bradley chuckles, pressing his chin to her shoulder and giving the three women a nasty look, almost daring them to say anything about this. Try it, he thinks, try and see what happens. It’s their confused “Beatrice is your wife?” that makes both of them look over at the three women.

Rooster’s large hand settles on the expanse of her thigh, the not so subtle squeeze on the flesh as he smirks, “She is.” he coos, kissing the underside of her jawline, “She’s my gorgeous wife.” and it’s like they’ve been slapped. Because back in the first ‘reunion’ as Beatrice told him, they were surprised but didn’t seem to get that it wasn’t high school anymore and there was no way they’d make her feel like shit.

And while she was nervous when she arrived, it was the complete opposite now. Now it was like someone turned the light switch and Beatrice was glowing. Her legs swung back and forth as she remained seated on his lap, chewing on the grilled shrimp with a pleased smile, “I am his wife.” she wiggles her ring finger, “Isn’t it amazing?”

It was amazing to see those women, who obviously hadn’t grown from high school age, just look even more deflated. Much like Beatrice’s former friends were, they couldn’t understand that the girl who was humiliated so much back then turned into…someone with confidence, someone who was loved by an amazing man and someone who had a very successful life in her very own way.

Rooster had his lips on her shoulder when the three women shuffled out of the house, scoffing, annoyed and angry because they couldn’t act like they were sixteen anymore. His laughter was a bit muffled but it made Beatrice look towards him, “Oh they were mad.”

“They were.” she giggles,kissing his forehead after wiping her lips with a napkin, “Let them.”

“Hmhm.” he kisses her cheek in return, looking back to where he saw Lydia talking to Thomas, the other officer hugging his wife close, “What did you two talk about?”

Beatrice slows her chewing, her smile widening before she explains everything to him. She couldn’t help the sting in her eyes when she told Rooster why Lydia wanted to talk, why she couldn’t remember and why it was so important that she showed up. Her husband just watched with interest, his hand coming up to quickly wipe a single tear that dared to dribble down her eye towards her cheek but her proud smile never left.

And honestly, he was very proud of her as well. There was nothing else inside of him but pride for his wife, for his sweet and kind wife who just needed to remember how important she was from time to time. And the way her eyes glowed when she spoke, the way her laugh was quiet and almost disbelieved only made him smile more, “Oh,gorgeous…you are so fucking special,baby.” he whispers, “You know that by now,right?”

“Yeah.” she smiles shyly, “I do.”

“How’s sixteen year old Beatrice doing?” he asks, “Is she okay?”

And the brunette takes a while to reply, but when she does her grin widens, “She’s very happy. She’s very,very happy Roos.”

“Good, that’s all that matters. You feeling like staying longer?” he opens his mouth when she hovers a shrimp to his lips and he couldn’t really deny such a sweet gesture, “I kinda like you feeding me,” he says while chewing, “Kinda hot.”

Beatrice smiles, “Maybe next time I’ll feed you grapes.” she whispers, “Wearing nothing but an apron.” she whispers the last part and his pupils dilate immediately, “But answering your question…yeah,I want to stay a bit longer. I think I’m feeling…a lot better.” she bites the inside of her cheek, “Yeah,I really am.”

[b-afterhours]

AOS Neon: Gemini (oneshot) Part A

SUMMARY: ‘90s. It’s the aftermath. Jaded, Bill and Alma navigate their new lives as they try to drag themselves out of the dark debaucherous trenches they had once ensnared themselves in. It’s easy to forget their evils when a silver lining introduces itself into their lives but can they create a less hedonistic life that would be just as satisfying?

WARNINGS: adult content, mature readers only.

author's note: PART TWO of the Honeymoon (oneshot). As always, thank you for reading! This is the last of it. However, this is a very long chapter and I will have to post this last bit in two parts, A & B. I will link them!

Gemini | PART A

The following morning, they woke early. Despite her tiredness, Alma was too anxious to sleep in today. Bill felt his heart race while lying beside her. He chewed the inside of his cheek, debating whether they should take the tests he bought right away or start their day as usual.

Alma pressed her body against his back, wrapping her leg and arms around him. He chuckled softly—it wasn’t often he found himself as the little spoon. Even if he liked it, it felt a little silly. They lay there in silence, holding each other, savoring the stillness of the space and time before facing the tests.

Bill placed his hand over hers, which was lying on his pec, and turned his head a little. “Do you think you might be…” 

Alma rested her cheek on his shoulder blade. “Maybe…” In all honesty, she was skeptical. She was feeling a little crampy when she woke up, but she didn’t want to voice that. “Do you think I am?” 

“I do.” 

A smile tugged at her lips with how sure he said it. “I should take one now, should I?” 

“Could you take two? Because the last one— 

“I’ll take two,” she stated.

Alma got up and grabbed the tests from under the sink cabinet. Bill had bought three and tucked them away, still inside the plastic bag from the pharmacy. As she glanced at the receipt inside, she couldn’t help but note the items: three pregnancy tests, one energy drink, and a pack of cigarettes. How lovely, she sarcastically thought.

Bill entered the bathroom with a cup for her to pee in before taking a seat on the ledge of the bathtub, crossing his arms, and putting one knee over the other.

Alma shot him a look with furrowed brows. “Are you really going to sit and watch me pee like a pervy probation officer?”

Bill gave her an amused glance. “I—I guess I can look away. Since you’re so shy,” he replied facetiously.

Alma quickly took care of business, and together they dipped two tests in the cup, capped them, and immediately laid them face down.

“In five minutes, we’ll check,” Bill said, kissing the top of her head.

“Okay…” Alma swiftly took off her nightgown and tugged at his arm, urging him to lean down for a kiss.

He lifted her off her feet, sitting her on the edge of the sink, leaning back as he watched her pull down his sweatpants to his thighs. Though it was quick, they made love instead of waiting in anxious anticipation. Drawn to the shower, they continued under the cascade of warm water, letting their stress melt away as they focused solely on making each other feel good.

They re-entered the bathroom in lounge clothes after their shower, and just as Bill reached out to flip a test over, Alma caught his hand.

“Wait. If it’s negative, we can still try.” She locked eyes with him as she assured him. “If it isn’t… this changes everything.” 

Bill took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling more slowly than usual. “I know. I’m ready.”

Alma bit her lip, nerves making her hesitate. “Okay. Check.”

Bill flipped the first test over, his fingers careful, as if it might snap back at him. They both leaned over the sink, holding their breath. Two vibrant pink lines were right there, unmistakable.

Alma’s breath hitched. “Oh.”

Immediately, Bill flipped over the second test. It read the same—distinct, undeniable. A rush of emotions hit him so hard it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. He felt like he could cry, his heart swelling with relief, pride, joy, and, most importantly, the overwhelming satisfaction that he was right.

“Are you okay?” Alma asked, her brow furrowed as his expression was unreadable, nearly catatonic. “You see what it says, right?”

A smile slowly spread across his face, and he nodded, but then his expression shifted. His hand flew up to cover his mouth. “You… You’re carrying my baby.” He cradled her face tenderly.

Alma’s eyes grew glassy. “Yeah…” she whispered, her voice cracking as she quickly wiped away a tear before tightly hugging him.

“For real?” Bill sniffled, holding her just as tight. “Oh, shit…” He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes, trying to make sense of it all. “It’s real,” he repeated, finally letting the truth ring.

…

The next week, they closed up the record shop but lingered after hours, unknowingly lost in conversation. Bill had been especially sweet to Alma since they found out she was pregnant. For Alma, though, it felt like the moment she knew for sure, all the pregnancy symptoms kicked into high gear—now that she couldn’t cling to denial.

“Well, it's just to confirm what the tests showed us,” Alma said, sitting on the edge of the desk, her eyes on Bill, who sat beside her in the office chair. “I piss in a cup, and then they do blood work.” 

“Okay… shouldn’t I still go?” He asked as he absentmindedly fiddled with a pen.

“I’m not saying you can’t. You can come with me. It’s just not—exciting,” she shrugged. 

“Mm. This is how the birthing center does things. When will the ultrasound come?”

“Yeah—so it was different at the hospital. They did the tests and the ultrasound when I first went, but I think that’s because the city hospital was so busy. Also, the doctor who delivered Echo was old. I guess he just wanted to get it all done quickly. He retired not long after she was born. Anyway, I scheduled the ultrasound during the confirmation appointment. It’s still early. I can’t be more than a few…” She trailed off, trying to estimate. 

“How far along do you think you are?” He tilted his head curiously. 

“Uh. I don’t know… five, six weeks? Maybe...” 

Bill puckered his lips, thinking back to June, trying to pinpoint when and where they might have conceived. Until his mind lingered on the faulty test she’d taken that month, stirring his curiosity further.

“The birthing center tends to do it at 8 weeks,” she continued. 

“The ultrasound.” 

Alma sighed with a small smile at his eagerness. “Yes, the ultrasound. It won’t be that long of a wait.”

Bill sat back, thinking that far out in the calendar now. “So like two weeks from the appointment?”

Alma nodded. “Give or take.”

“That’s really close to my birthday,” he mused with a smile.

Just as Bill was about to lean back in the chair, his wristwatch caught his eye. He sat up abruptly and checked the time. “Shit, we were supposed to pick up Echo twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh my god!” Alma exclaimed, hopping off the desk and throwing her cross-body bag on in a hurry.

It was rare for them to be late picking up Echo from Yolani’s place, let alone completely forget the time like this. But since Echo was with them the majority of the time, and her spending the evening away had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, it had slipped their minds.

When they left the shop, Alma paused and quickly blew out some prayer candles still lit on the sidewalk in front of the store. They were able to consolidate the memorial space, but it still remained.

…

August 1995

“What should we have for breakfast, baby?” Alma asked Echo, who was seated in the breakfast nook playing with a yellow Power Ranger action figure, wrapping a paper napkin around it as a makeshift dress. 

Alma was halfway dressed for the day, preparing to head to her ultrasound appointment soon, but not before dropping Echo off at Yolani's.

“Scrample eggs!” She said, scrunching her eyes. 

Alma’s mouth watered, and her stomach flipped at the suggestion. She couldn’t stand making them. Bill had delegated himself to the duty whenever Echo wanted them now. 

“Hmm. What about a slice of daddy’s birthday cake for breakfast instead?” Alma mused, a playful glint in her eye.

Echo giggled mischievously, covering her mouth with her hands. “Cake? Yeah!”

“Yeah! I think I’ll have some too. With a glass of milk?”

“YUM!” Echo grinned, her eyebrows so arched they almost touched her hairline. 

They happily enjoyed the chocolate birthday cake for breakfast together. Bill had celebrated his 34th birthday just a few days earlier. This year’s celebration had been low-key. Alma had taken him out to eat at a new Brazilian bistro, and then they visited an art exhibition they were invited to as a family. The following day, he only went out for drinks with Darby for a little while, and that was only because Alma encouraged him to. She felt she couldn’t be much fun in that regard anymore in her state. When he returned home before midnight, she was a little disappointed, though.

As Bill descended the stairs leading out of the private sitting area, in just dress pants and an under tank, he could hear Alma and Echo’s naughty laughter through the house. Following the sound, he smiled, seeing what they were giggling over.

“Cake?” He raised a brow at Echo, who was clearly tickled. “For breakfast?” 

“Mm-hmm,” Echo snickered, with chocolate staining the side of her mouth. “Want some Papa?” 

“Sure, I’ll have some.” His participation in having dessert in the morning alongside them made her giggle even more, which he was aiming for. He didn’t really feel like having any, but if it made her happy, he would. 

They were just about to leave Yolani’s place after dropping Echo off, and, as usual, she wasn’t interested in seeing her parents off. She was always thrilled to be with Yolani, cozy in her home away from home.

“Echo, come over here,” Alma called, noticing her lounging on the couch without a care.

“Give your Mommy a hug goodbye,” Bill added, nudging his head toward Alma, who stood beside him.

Echo slipped off the couch and begrudgingly padded over on bare feet because she swiftly pulled her socks off right behind her shoes when she entered. Alma picked her up and hugged her tightly.

“You guys are dressed nicely,” Yolani complimented, despite how drab she felt next to them.

“Thanks,” Bill replied, since Alma was occupied. “We have a meeting to go to, so—” It was a white lie. Doctor appointment—meeting; what was the difference anyway?

No one knew yet that Alma was pregnant. Even after her blood work had confirmed it, they wanted to keep the news to themselves until after their first ultrasound.

“I love you, little one,” Alma whispered in Echo’s ear. “Now give your Daddy a hug too.”

~~~

In the ultrasound room, Bill sat next to Alma, anxiously bouncing his leg as they waited. Alma glanced over at him, her gaze drawing his attention. He brushed off his knees, covered by the relaxed trousers he wore, and stood up. She watched as he moved to the other side of the examination table, where the equipment was set up.

“What? Are you going to do it?” She laughed lightly.

“I could probably figure it out,” he muttered, running his fingers lightly over some round buttons. “They’re taking forever.”

“They are,” she agreed, glancing toward the door.

“C’mon, lift your shirt up,” he said, taking hold of the wand.

Alma giggled. “This far?” she coyly asked, pushing her blouse over her belly. “Or do you want me to go higher, Mr. Doctor?”

“Ma’am, I’m happily married,” he said, causing them both to laugh. “Look at your bump,” he remarked, noticing how her belly looked more prominent today.

“Yeah,” she peered down with a smile. “It’s kinda…”

“Kinda what,” his eyes flicked up at her.

“Can you chill? I think it just looks big, but I’m probably just mostly bloated, babe.”

Suddenly, they heard footsteps on the linoleum floor coming from down the hall. “Put it up, put it up!” Alma urged in a harsh whisper, and Bill quickly returned the wand to its place while she pulled her shirt down.

The young ultrasound technician entered with a warm smile, and Bill swiftly found his seat again, nervousness returning as they prepared for the appointment.

“Okay, so not your first rodeo then,” the tech said after asking Alma if this was her first time amongst other various questions. “That’s great! How old is she?”

“Three. Four in November.”

“Oh! That’s such a good age to be a big sister! She’ll be so helpful. Alright, are you ready?” She smiled at them. “Could you lift your blouse up while I fire up this machine?”

Finally, Bill thought. He understood that part of the tech’s job was to be personable, but it felt like it was prolonging what they came for. He clasped his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees, watching as the tech applied the glycerine gel to Alma’s belly. Just then, she reached for his hand.

They looked ahead at the projection of what the machine was picking up, but there wasn’t anything discernible yet within the trapezoid on the screen—just black-and-white imaging.

“There’s baby!” The tech said happily. 

Bill excitedly raised his eyebrows as he clasped Alma’s hand in his, lifting them close to his face. The tech pointed out some features on the screen to help guide them through what was projected. There on the screen was a flicker of a strong heartbeat. Alma glanced over at him, noticing his focused yet happy expression, clearly not wanting to miss a single detail.

“How far along did you say again?” The tech asked suddenly.

Alma looked at her curiously; shouldn’t she know by reviewing her chart? “Nine weeks on Friday.”

“Hmm, let me take some pictures for measurements,” she said, clicking some buttons on the machine in front of her. 

Bill watched as the tech glided the wand across Alma’s belly, pressing in rather deep, but then she paused, causing him to glance at her screen to decipher what had caused her brows to furrow with concern. She continued sweeping the wand back and forth, reading the screen in a way she only understood before pausing again, this time pulling it away completely.

“Hmm, could you wait one moment, please? I’ll be right back, I promise,” the tech said before stepping out of the room.

“Did you see?” Alma smiled at Bill. “I can’t believe that’s inside me! It’s a trip.”

“It is,” Bill returned her smile, kissing the back of her hand. “I saw! So tiny. Uhm, do they usually leave the room like that?” he pointed. 

“Oh… uhm, no, but,” she lightly shrugged. “I don’t think it’s anything.”

Bill nodded, though Alma noticed his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, clearly anxious. A moment later, Alma’s OB walked in, followed closely by the tech.

“Hello, how are you today?” She asked Alma, warmly. “Oh, yes, it can be a bit rough at this stage. And you must be the father,” she added, extending her hand for a shake. “I’m Dr. Leslie.”

As she reached for the patient chart nearby, a wave of nervousness washed over Alma. Though the OB and tech were being amiable, she could sense through bullshit. Bill noticed the way Alma’s chest rose and slowly fell, and it didn’t ease his own anxieties.

“Miss Sanchez, could you…” Dr. Leslie gestured toward the machine.

The tech displayed the images she had taken, while Dr. Leslie glanced back at the chart. “Do you know the date of your last period?” she asked Alma. “And about the nausea—we prescribed medication for that at your last appointment, correct? Because we can fill that script today if not.” 

“Uhm, yeah. I got that filled. Is everything okay?” Alma asked, her voice steady despite the unease in the room.

Bill felt a wave of relief that she had asked before he could. He wasn’t sure his tone would have been as calm.

Dr. Leslie gave Alma a reassuring smile. “Of course. Yes, I apologize. How about we show them?” she said to the tech.

The wand was back on Alma’s belly. “Do you mind pushing your pants off your hips a bit more? I wouldn’t want to get them messy,” the tech requested.

Alma quickly complied, eager to understand why the doctor needed to be present. It felt unusual. 

“Okay, so here’s the baby. They’re measuring a little bigger than 9 weeks,” the tech said.

“Closer to twelve,” Dr. Leslie informed, as she focused on the screen, with her chin resting on the web of her hand.

“Really?” Alma’s eyes widened as she glanced over at Bill, who was equally astonished.

“Yes. The period you say you had in June was most likely implantation bleeding. That’s normal, but you haven’t experienced anything else like that since?” Dr. Leslie asked, looking at Alma.

“No,” she replied, still trying to process the information.

“Great. I’m really glad to hear that. So if you could show them now, Miss Sanchez,” Dr. Leslie instructed.

The tech swept the wand over just a bit, and Bill watched intently as the image of the fetus disappeared and another appeared on the screen. His brows furrowed in confusion, and then his head snapped toward Alma as the realization dawned on him. 

“This is baby number two,” the tech said excitedly.

Alma sat there, blinking, trying to comprehend what was being said. 

“Two? I-It’s twins!” Bill exclaimed, shock evident in his voice. “Holy shhh—” he began to say, but the curse word faltered into a whisper.

“Uhm…” was all Alma could mutter before falling silent again. Her mind raced as her heart sank.

“Let me see if I can get them both together for a picture,” the tech said, pressing the wand into Alma’s belly and focusing on the screen.

“Do twins run in your family?” Dr. Leslie tried to carefully ask, noticing that Alma seemed to have retreated into herself. 

“Uh,” Bill’s nervous gaze bounced between Alma and the doctor. “Uhm, on my wife’s side, yeah.” 

Alma flashed Bill a hard glance before turning her head toward the tech, wanting to see everything she was doing on the machine now. Miss Sanchez noticed, and she turned to her with a smile. 

“So exciting, right? This is my first time imaging twins,” she said happily. “Congrats!” 

“Yeah…” Alma nodded. “Right. Thank you,” she muttered. 

“See, their hearts beating,” the tech pointed at her screen as Alma watched. “Very strong! It’s amazing.” 

When they were finally alone with Dr. Leslie in her office, the reality of the situation hit harder as she began explaining the changes in their care plan now that it was a twin pregnancy. She calmly detailed the differences, pointing out that they were expecting fraternal twins and what that meant from now forward.

The doctor wrote Alma a new prescription for iron supplements, emphasizing the increased need for them, especially since Alma explained how tired and winded she could get. As well as suggesting baby aspirin, it would help her headaches and would serve as a precaution for high blood pressure. Alma’s mind was still spinning from the news, but she managed to take it all in as Dr. Leslie continued speaking of the babies.

Babies. Each time the doctor used the plural, it rang in Alma’s mind like an alarm. The initial excitement had given way to a strange, heavy reality. Bill glanced at Alma, trying to gauge her expression. She was quiet, and he knew she must be processing everything just as intensely, if not more, as he was.

A pang of guilt tugged at him. He had been the one to suggest having another child, but never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated this. Twins. He felt like he'd flown too close to the sun, wishing for something simple and getting more than he bargained for.

“While you're healthy and everything looks great with the babies. This is considered a high-risk pregnancy.” Dr. Leslie said as easily as she could. “I’m not trying to cause alarm, but you know, take it easy as we go further along. We’d like the babies to keep cooking for as long as is reasonable.” 

Alma sat quietly while Bill’s mind churned with a thousand thoughts. Take it easy. That phrase was foreign to his wife. He knew Alma rarely slowed down. The record shop, Echo, their house, her photography, her stubborn independence—taking it easy wasn’t exactly her style.

“Reasonable?” Bill asked, his voice tight.

“Yes,” Dr. Leslie said calmly. “Twins typically don’t go full term, but we aim to get as close as we can for a safe delivery.” She offered them a reassuring smile. “But let’s focus on the now. That way, we can stay on par for the course.”

Bill exhaled, rubbing his forehead, feeling overloaded. His mind raced through the logistics of having two babies and a toddler, while Alma continued to sit quietly next to him, chewing on her lip. 

“Okay,” Alma finally spoke up. “I can do that.”

Bill was surprised her voice remained so steady when she finally spoke. However, he knew his wife well and could see by her eyes how terrified she truly was. Beneath his concern for her, another feeling he had secretly held for a long time now gnawed at him—jealousy. He had always felt a little envious that Alma had gone through her first pregnancy alone, knowing the experience in a way he didn’t. This, though—twins—was uncharted territory for both of them. In this, they were equally new, equally unsure. He had to let his jealousy go.

When they left the center, Bill opened the Jeep’s passenger door for Alma, watching as she slid in quietly, still clutching the ultrasound photos. By the time he got into the driver's seat, she was staring down at the profiles of both babies, her expression unreadable. He turned the ignition but left the car idle in park. 

He looked down at the photos she held, then back at her. “They already look cute, don’t you think?” he said, trying to add some lightness. “The tech took some good pictures. On the projection, they kinda looked a little—freaky,” he lightly chuckled. 

“Mhmm,” Alma hummed in response, her voice distant. “Sorry, I just... I can’t wrap my head around it,” she muttered. “I didn’t think this was how today was going to go… I don’t know. I’m just—I’m hungry,” she sighed, slipping the ultrasound pictures back into the envelope, her thoughts seemingly elsewhere.

“Yeah, me too.” He nodded. “What do you feel like having?” 

“Just pick something,” she replied, a bit dismissive but not harsh. Bill nodded quietly, putting the car into drive without another word.

By the time they reached the café they frequented for lunch, the drizzle had turned into a steady, light rain.

"Could I get extra croutons on the grilled chicken Caesar, please? And for the half sandwich, I’ll have the pesto Italian—toasted. Also, a banana berry smoothie—a large," Alma ordered at the register with a polite smile. "Uhm, I’m going to find a seat," she added, running her hand down Bill’s arm before stepping away.

“And for you, sir?” 

"Huh?" Bill turned back after watching Alma leave. "Oh, yeah, uhm," he pressed his lips together, scanning the menu board above, trying to recall what he'd planned to order moments ago.

They sat together in their usual corner booth by the window, where raindrops clumsily zigzagged, absorbing into each other until they got so fat they slid down the pane like anvils. They weren’t conversing much, as they were occupied with eating, especially Alma, who was fully enjoying her meal. 

“Do you want to try?” she asked, holding her smoothie out to him. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

While Bill took a sip of the smoothie, Alma began spearing chopped romaine on her fork, her gaze drifting out the window. Across the street, she saw a family rushing through the rain, both parents carrying toddlers in matching purple jumpsuits. Two little girls. Twin little girls. She swallowed thickly as a lump formed in her throat. The culmination of their day and the sheer reality of what was happening inside her body hit her with a force.

Alma dropped her fork, the clatter of metal against the dish cutting through the murmur of casual conversation happening throughout the café. Without warning, she buried her face in her hands and began to sob audibly. Bill froze for a moment, unsure of what to do, but when he noticed a few patrons stretching their necks to see what this issue was, he swiftly moved. Sliding into the booth seat beside her to shield her from nosy onlookers. 

“Alma?” Bill said softly, gently wrapping his arm around her trembling shoulders.

“I just don’t understand!” she sobbed. “What does any of it even mean?!”

Bill frowned, unsure of how to comfort her. He remembered Scotty’s words about the helplessness of being on the sidelines, and now he truly understood. All he could do was support her, of course, but it pained him knowing that was all he could do. She had to do the rest, the hard part, for two lives now. 

He wanted to say, ‘Everything will be okay,’ but he couldn’t guarantee that, not really. And telling her he was scared too wouldn’t help ease her fears. So, he just took a deep breath and pulled her a little closer, offering the one thing he could—his presence.

“I’ll just go to the car,” Alma sniffled, wiping at her cheeks, though the tears continued to spill. “I want to go home.”

“Alright, love,” Bill nodded, noting the embarrassment written across her face.

Alma followed him out of the booth, and she headed straight out of the establishment while he gathered their food in to-go containers. He watched through the café window as she walked with slumped shoulders and showed no effort to shield herself from the rain. She sipped on her smoothie and was clearly still sobbing. Bill’s heart sank, and he hated himself for even thinking it, but it looked so pitiful. 

His poor wife, who detested crying in front of others, who even disliked crying in general, was now utterly overwhelmed by the hormones she couldn’t control.

Bill quickly jogged to the Jeep, placing the food in the back seat before entering the driver’s side. Speckled with rain, he slammed the door shut.

“Alma, I know this is fucking crazy,” he admitted. “I know you’ve been thinking about your siblings. But these are our babies.” Alma bit her quivering lip, feeling tears wanting to spill over again. He paused, rubbing his wet brow as he looked at the blur of water running down the windshield. Something about saying, “our babies,” out loud caused it to dawn on him further. There were two.

“I know,” Alma sniffled. “It just feels like a weird joke. It’s just not clicking!” 

“I get it. Yeah…” he replied, his brow furrowing in sympathy.

“And then the doctor said a bunch of scary shit—preeclampsia, c-sections. They’re going to cut me open, Bill! I said in her office I could do it, but—”

“Don’t think that way. You can do it,” he reached for her hand.

Alma took a deep, shaky breath. “I know I’ve done it once before, but this is so, so different! I haven’t done this…” She fell silent, glancing over at Bill. He looked so conflicted about how to comfort her. “I... I’m so glad I wasn’t alone this time. But I am happy, though.”

“Are you? I feel like you should be mad at me, or—” he said, his voice tinged with guilt.

Alma turned to look out her window. “I was,” she admitted, glancing back at him. “That’s why I didn’t say much in the ultrasound room.” Bill chuckled but quickly stifled it when he saw her serious expression. “It’s not funny. I was yelling at you in my head; you’re lucky,” she said, a light laugh escaping her. “But it’s my fault too… I guess.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

An inappropriate thought crossed Bill's mind, but he quickly pushed it aside; it didn’t fit the mood. “I’m happy too,” he finally said earnestly. “Like really happy. I don’t know, as a guy, it—” He bit his lip, searching for the right words. “There’s a sense of pride in being able to do it twice, honestly.”

“But it was my body that released two eggs? The doctor explained that.” 

“Yeah, sure. But I mean,” he lightly shrugged with a smug smirk. 

Alma shook her head at him. “You’re a sicko,” she twisted her lip. 

“Oh, don’t even start. You ask for it! And you take it too!” He shot back playfully.

“Oh my god! What is wrong with you?” Her cheeks went hot, knowing he was right. “Can we go home?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he playfully dismissed with a laugh. “You don’t like hearing the truth, huh?” he winked.

….

The record shop was buzzing with activity for a gig the following week, but Alma just didn’t have the energy to oversee it. She gave it her best effort, pushing through most of the day. However, while resting in the office, a sudden wave of nausea hit her, and before she knew it, her head was in the trash bin as her stomach emptied.

It was dizzying, and despite wanting to push through, she gave in and went home for the rest of the night, leaving Bill to handle things without her.

“Where’s Alma?” Ash asked him when she arrived for her shift. 

“Ah, not feeling well,” Bill informed her while he was leaning against the cash wrap counter watching the acts for the night having their merch tables filled. 

“No! She was excited about photographing the headliner tonight! Must be pretty bad, huh?”

“Yeah… she’ll be okay, though,” he lightly shrugged. “You down to do some Alma things tonight?”

“Hell yeah!” Ash said enthusiastically, pumping her fists, effectively making her bangles chime, eager to put some training to use. 

They still hadn’t shared the news that they were expecting. Earlier in the week, while in their home office, Bill had been flipping through one of Alma’s planners, curious about when they had conceived. Alma sat beside him, explaining how to count back from the week of gestation she was currently in.

“So, it didn’t happen on our honeymoon… It must have been in New York before we flew back,” he said.

“That’s what I think, yeah.”

"Hmm," he hummed, his bottom lip jutting out in contemplation and remembering the sex they had on their two-day layover in the city. Of all the times it could have happened, sex at the penthouse was the least adventurous location. Maybe even the least exciting performances they’ve given. 

“Something’s in the water there,” she joked with a soft laugh. 

“Apparently,” he said, closing her planner. “Uhm, should we tell people about the babies now?” 

“Uh…” Alma took a deep breath. "Well, I won’t be able to hide it much longer." She had been wearing oversized knit sweaters and layers to conceal the small, growing bump. "I wish I could wait until 20 weeks, but that’s impossible unless I literally never leave the house."

Bill nodded, understanding why she wanted to wait. Her siblings had never quite made it to that stage, and he knew that weighed on her. Still, he didn’t like the way she was thinking. He had assured her that technology and medicine had changed for the better, but it didn’t seem to ease her much.

"I’ll just show up to work one day without a damn sweater," she suggested with a light laugh. "Let them figure it out. That’s what I did when I was pregnant with Echo."

“What’d they say at the shop when you did that?” He smirked, curiously.

"Eh..." she grimaced slightly. "It was awkward. No one said anything my whole shift, but I could feel them staring! And, you know, they all thought I was single, so I’m sure they didn’t know what to say." She laughed, shaking her head. "When I had my next shift with Ulyssa, she knew, so she broke the ice by congratulating me, and then everyone else felt comfortable to do the same."

“I see,” he side-eyed her. “And what about your dad?” he asked carefully. 

Alma scratched her head, a worried look crossing her face. It didn’t matter that she was a thirty-three-year-old married woman—she was still fearful that she’d somehow get in trouble for falling pregnant. On top of that, she was anxious about how he’d react to the news that she was expecting twins. 

"Maybe... after we find out the sex of the babies. Then you can tell him what you did."

"Oh, so now I get to take some credit for it?" He teased with a light laugh.

When Bill returned home from the gig, the house was peacefully quiet. Alma was fast asleep, with Echo lying right beside her. He smiled at the sight of them sound asleep. As he slid into bed wearing sweatpants he had cut into long shorts, Alma stirred and mumbled in her sleep.

“Billy.” 

“Yeah?”

He was only met with silence, prompting him to glance down at her. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes were closed, and her long lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She turned away from his touch when he lightly poked her nose, and a string of jumbled words came out. 

“But did you look?” she muttered after a string of incoherence.

She was sleep talking, which he had noticed her doing so often these last few weeks. Nothing ever made much sense; it seemed as if her mind was filtering out unimportant nonsense. 

“Look where?” He softly asked, wondering if he’d get a response. 

She muttered incoherently as a reply, and he bit his lip to keep from audibly chuckling. 

“Look.” She said suddenly, making him pause. “He—just like you—like your pretty eyes.” 

He furrowed his brows, wondering what she could be dreaming about. Whatever it was, he was just glad it didn’t seem like a bad one for a change. 

….

The news of their pregnancy spread slowly—or as slowly as it could before Echo could blab it out to anyone who would listen. After her first week at the new Montessori preschool close to home, they took her out to McDonald’s to celebrate. She had eaten surprisingly well for a child her age, but despite introducing her to finer foods, not even a well-trained Michelin-awarded chef could compete with the chicken nuggets and fries a clown could offer. 

“Would you like to be a big sister, E?” Bill asked her.

“Slow down a little, baby,” Alma said, seeing her chow down rather quickly. “Your daddy asked you a question.” 

Bill repeated the question, and Echo paused, her hazel eyes shifting thoughtfully. “I like it now.”

“You like it now—like just us?” He asked, trying to understand what she meant. 

“Me. Papa. Mommy,” she pointed between them with a golden fry before smiling brightly at her mother.

"Hm," Bill pursed his lips and exchanged a glance with Alma, who raised her brows at him. "Well... what if I told you that you are? That you’re going to be a big sister."

"No. That's okay," Echo replied, returning to her chicken nuggets, disinterested in what her parents were trying to say.

"Um, well, Echo, I’m going to have a baby. Two babies," Alma gently added, trying to help explain.

"Mama having a baby?" Echo asked, scrunching her eyes as she nibbled on her ketchup-covered chicken nugget.

"Yeah! Two babies. They’re growing in my belly, E," Alma said, smiling, patting her stomach.

Echo’s brows furrowed in confusion. "How do they come out? You frow up?"

Bill laughed. "No, sweetheart. Sometimes Mama just doesn’t feel good, but the doctor helps take the babies out, and then they’re here."

Echo nodded, still a little confused, but they let it go. She quickly got distracted and decided she wanted to join the kids in the play area. Bill took a bite of his Big Mac, watching her as she eagerly clamored up the stairs on her own.

“Yeah, I don’t know,” Bill said, wiping his mouth. “Do you think she understands?” He glanced over at Alma next to him.

“I don’t think she cares.” She replied, taking a sip of soda from the yellow-striped straw.

“What? She seemed excited?” He said with a tinge of doubt in his voice. 

“No, she seemed disturbed.” 

“Disturbed?” He lightly chuckled. 

“I wish I didn’t forget the sonograms on the island. Maybe it would have helped, but right now she doesn’t care,” Alma lightly laughed, grabbing a few fries.

“We could take her to the next ultrasound,” he suggested. “Maybe if she feels involved in some way, that could even help.” 

Alma nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s a good idea, actually.” 

~~~

When the day finally arrived, Echo sat on her father’s lap in the ultrasound room, firing off a million questions while they waited. Bill was just glad it was her asking the questions this time, instead of him. Alma appeared calm and well rested, a contrast to Bill, who had tossed and turned the night before, too anxious for what lay ahead. He was surprised that morning to find Alma already half-dressed for the day, gently nudging him awake—he had shockingly overslept.

When the images of the twins appeared on the screen, Echo finally quieted down, her wide eyes shifting between the projection and Alma’s belly.

"See? I told you," Alma chuckled softly as Echo grew bashful and nestled closer to her father, who lightly caressed her pink cheek. 

Back at home, Bill joined Alma in the kitchen as she pinned the new sonogram photos to the fridge next to the birth announcement for Scotty’s son, Dean Scott Everett. She seemed genuinely happy after learning about the twins' sexes, which relieved him. He had feared tears might come instead. He wondered if she held back her emotions because their daughter was present but knew she didn’t have true control over that because of the surge of hormones running through her body. Earlier in the week, she'd burst into tears out of frustration when she couldn’t reconfigure the vacuum hose properly.

Echo was thrilled to learn she’d be a big sister to a little sister—Baby A. Bill was happy too, already experienced as a father to one daughter, and loving her so much made it easy to imagine loving another. Baby B was a boy, and while he felt just as happy, a strange sense of dread washed over him. First, he feared Alma's reaction to the news, and second, he worried that his son might mirror the parts of himself he didn’t like. He hated even having those thoughts.

Alma stepped back to look at their profiles on the sonogram photos on the fridge with a smile on her face that transferred over to Bill when he approached her. 

“They’re getting so cute,” she said, opening the fridge for some leftovers she could reheat. 

“Were you surprised when the tech told us they’d be a girl and a boy?” Bill asked as they finished lunch on the back patio. At the appointment, Alma hardly looked surprised at all, almost as if she had expected it.

"Uhm, well, yes. Now that we know, we can get serious about what to name them. And Echo definitely was—she immediately told her teacher when we dropped her off at school. "Alma chuckled softly. "Were you surprised?"

“Yeah, it’s still even wild seeing two in there,” he smiled, glancing at her bump. “It’s just—I don’t know—it seemed like you knew already…” he asked carefully. “Like they couldn’t possibly be anything else other than what they are.” 

Alma bit her cheek as she gazed out at the yard in thought. “I don’t know,” she sighed. “If I told you, you would just dismiss it anyway.” 

“Why would I be dismissive?” He raised a brow at her. 

“Because I dreamt of them," she shrugged. "Many times now, and that's only the ones I remember.”

“Dreams?” he asked skeptically.

"See? You don’t even want to believe it."

“No, no," he tried to assure her. “I mean, you’ve been talking a lot in your sleep too, so—”

"What do I say?"

"Nothing I can really understand, honestly. But tell me about the dreams."

"It’s just me caring for the babies, usually. I can’t see them exactly—it’s just blank?" She narrowed her eyes, trying to explain. "But I know. I know it’s a boy, and I know it’s a girl. Sometimes you’re in the dreams, and Echo too, but mostly it’s just me with them.

“Hmm,” he nodded thoughtfully. “Did you have dreams about Echo?”

“I did, sometimes, but not as much as with these babies.” Alma looked away for a moment, then bashfully admitted, “I dreamt about you a lot, though. Nice dreams.”

Bill felt a light blush creep up. “Nice ones?” he smiled.

“I—I just missed you so much,” she said, her voice trembling as her eyes filled with tears. He quickly wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close to help her settle.

“Yeah… in these new dreams, what am I doing there?” he asked quickly to distract her from her guilty thoughts.

“Oh,” she sniffled. “You’re just holding them. It’s sweet. Sorry,” she said, wiping her nose. “I’m sick of crying so much. I feel so fucking crazy lately.” 

He gave her a light, comforting squeeze. “Well, I understand you can’t help it. At least you look pretty when you do.” 

“Yeah, right,” she laughed, kissing his cheek.

~~~

October 1995

It was a chilly, dreary day in mid-October. Bill sat in the office that morning, shuffling paperwork, but his thoughts were miles elsewhere—in New York. Trigger Finger had been privately dealing with an issue for the past week, and earlier that morning, he’d been on the phone with Bianca discussing it. Telling her that he would bump his trip up and arrive sooner to see what was going on himself. 

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Bianca reassured him. “It’s only two weeks earlier than I planned,” Bill countered. “Just let things simmer for a bit. We’re good. Nothing falls on us anyway.”

The issue had started when one of Alvin’s footmen, who usually sold at their club, got tangled up with the authorities on unrelated charges. During his arrest, they discovered a significant amount of cash in his possession, raising suspicion. While the situation wasn’t likely to come back on them, Bill hated that it had happened at all. Still, they had both agreed to pause any sales at the club until the dust settled. Figuratively and literally.

“Fine, just keep me updated until I can get there,” Bill said.

“Like I’ve been doing?” Bianca shot back. “I’ve got it under control. Trust me, I want this to blow over just as much as you do. He’s a lower rung—nothing to stress about.”

At that moment, Alma walked into the office, moving sluggishly. She wore an oversized sweater tucked into a long skirt, her hair styled half-up in two buns. Since she reached the middle of her pregnancy, she was moving a little slower.

“Sure,” Bill pressed the speaker button on the phone. “Yeah, Alma’s here,” he said, giving her a subtle heads-up not to say anything revealing. Alma stood beside him, gently caressing his head.

Bianca greeted Alma, and Bill stood, offering Alma his seat. Before sitting, she wrapped her arms around him and nuzzled her face against his chest, soaking in his warmth. Lately, with the weather turning cooler and the days growing shorter, she had been extra cuddly with him. 

Before Bianca ended the call, she reminded Alma to take care of herself and joked, “Even though I know you’re expecting twins, I’ll only believe it when I see them with my own two eyes.”

“Weren’t you about to go?” Bill asked her while he brought a chair around the desk to sit next to her. 

“Eh, yeah,” Alma said, slumping into the cushy office chair, her hands gently cradling her belly. “I guess. I’m tired. I almost don’t feel like going out anymore, actually.”

“What do you feel up for?” Bill asked with a smirk, eyeing her lazy posture while he rested his head against his fist.

“A margarita. A menthol cigarette. Sushi. A massage. An Oreo, peanut butter milkshake,” she listed off on her fingers.

“Yeah, there are only two things there you can have.”

“Mhmm. The margarita and sushi,” she replied, closing her eyes in wistful thought.

“That does sound good. I think I’ll have that for dinner tonight,” he chuckled, earning a playful middle finger from Alma in response.

“Maybe I should call Ulyssa; she’ll be down to go shopping with me,” Alma mused.

“She’s in town?” Bill asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. But could you call her for me?” She pointed lazily at the phone on the desk.

“You don’t feel like doing that either?”

“I just don’t want to move until I have to,” she laughed lightly.

He shook his head, amused, dialing Ulyssa. After a few rings, her voice filled the room through the speaker. She cheerfully informed them that she could come over within the hour.

Alma noticed him glance at the clock on the wall, but she sensed the tense demeanor he’d carried all week simmering beneath the surface. She ran her hand down his forearm and laced her fingers with his, gently pulling him back from wherever his mind had wandered.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, her brows furrowed with concern.

“Hmm?” He turned to her, snapping out of his thoughts. “Yeah. I’m just a little—”

“Tired?” She tilted her head. 

He nodded, blinking his puffy eyes. He had been having trouble sleeping, and last night was no different. Plagued by an odd, repetitive nightmare of an intruder lurking in his home, jolting him awake in a cold sweat. It would leave a strange anxiety over him, keeping him from returning to sleep. This need to stay up and keep watch over his family, even when they were perfectly secure and sound, overtook him. 

“Could you help me up?” she asked, and he immediately obliged, pulling her up by her hands.

She led him out of the office, down the hall, and into their bedroom. When they entered, his hands wrapped around her from behind, pulling her close, and he ducked his head into her neck, making her giggle softly.

“Go lay down,” she said, turning her head to kiss him gently. “Take a nap!”

“Really?” He chuckled, a bit surprised.

“I’m so serious.”

“Do I look like hell?” He sighed as he sat on the edge of the bed and kicked off his house shoes.

“No…” she said unconvincingly. “You look perfect to me, actually. But sleep,” she insisted.

“Alright, yeah. I should,” he agreed, finally lying down while Alma gathered her coat and tote bag. “Do you have the catalog?”

Alma smiled at him. They had spent time together flipping through a department store catalog, circling items they needed and liked for the babies' nursery. “I got it. And I’m taking the Tahoe, by the way.”

“Alright,” he yawned loudly. Alma leaned down to kiss him goodbye and wait for Ulyssa downstairs, but instead, he grabbed her and pulled her down into bed with him. They made out, with her leg hiked on his hip, until Ulyssa rang the doorbell, forcing them apart. Bill cursed in his head but helped her out of bed.

Alma smirked when she noticed him subtly adjusting himself in his lounge pants. “You don’t have to walk me out this time,” she said, giving him a pointed look, signaling for him to stay in bed and actually take a nap.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed, leaning back against the headboard with one leg still hanging off the side of the bed.

“Do you want to see something before I go?” She teased, pulling up her skirt and ignoring the second ring of the doorbell.

Bill’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard but instantly intrigued. “Always,” he smirked.

He watched on curiously as her long skirt rose past her thighs until she took his hand and guided it past her panties, revealing how wet she was. A deep, pained groan rumbled in his chest, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. In her second trimester, she was wetter than he’d ever felt, insatiable in ways that only intensified their connection. Even when now, as they kept things fairly tame, the passion between them remained fierce.

But time was ticking. They had been advised to ease off once she reached her third trimester, or sooner if any complications arose. The thought lingered between them—that any time they were together like this could be the last for a while.

“Fuck! And you’re leaving?!” he groaned, two fingers flicking forward, causing Alma’s hips to jolt at the sensation. “Just sit on it for a second,” he peered up at her when he hooked his middle finger inside her, preventing her from pulling away.

Alma’s heart raced, her body wanting to give in. “I can’t. I have to go,” she said, grabbing his wrist and forcefully pulling his hand away.

Bill shook his head with an amused grin, pushing his erection down his pant leg, holding it down. “Why would you do that?” he lightly whined.

As Alma kissed him goodbye, she placed a hand on his cheek, meeting his lust-filled green eyes. “Maybe if you jerk off, you’ll nap better,” she teased with a cheeky smile before heading downstairs. “I love you,” she sang out from the hallway.

~~~

“Whoa! You must have had a really fun day!” Bill said as he picked Echo up from preschool that afternoon. Her little backpack bounced behind her as she ran happily into his arms. Other children were playing as they waited for the respective rides in the schoolyard. 

Echo's shirt was dirty, and the knees of her leggings were grass-stained from outdoor play. But what caught Bill's attention the most was her hair—Alma had carefully styled it into a sleek braided ponytail that morning, but now it had frizzed out, with flyaways sticking up like a crown of dandelion fluff.

“So fun!” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around his neck while he tried to smooth down her wild hair.

“I can tell,” he chuckled, giving her an affectionate squeeze.

Bill adjusted his sunglasses, scanning the area for Echo's teacher to sign her out. As he did, he caught her looking at him with a soft, admiring expression, standing alongside two teaching assistants who swooned at the sight of him. It wasn’t often that he picked Echo up alone—usually, Alma was the one doing it—but today, she was still out shopping. Even when Alma was present, he noticed the staff stealing discreet glances at him. Alone, however, they were bolder today. Even some mothers picking up their children dared to look a little longer than usual. 

The staff couldn’t help but notice how his black denim hugged him just right, the silver wallet chain bouncing against his thigh with each step of his boots. He wore a fluffy, oversized black sweater with a wide neckline, revealing a hint of the strap of the white muscle tank underneath. His silver necklace gleamed against his strong neck, accompanying the accentuating stud in his earlobe. His hands, adorned with rings, caught their attention. The skull ring worn on his middle right finger stole the show, but they seemed to overlook the significance of the one on his left ring finger today.

It wasn’t just that he was tall, edgy, and good-looking that drew their gazes. It was the rare sight of a father picking up his child, and Bill did it with a calm authority that was hard to ignore. The way he effortlessly connected with Echo, smoothing her messy hair and listening intently as she babbled about her day, made him stand out. The attentive, hot father look just made him all the more attractive. 

“Where’s Mama?” Echo asked as he signed the sheet on the clipboard the teacher happily held out for him.

“Say bye, E’,” he prompted, redirecting her attention instead of answering in front of the staff. As innocuous as shopping was, he knew the staff was surely listening in, and he didn’t want to feed their nosiness. “Thanks,” he said quietly to the teacher as he handed back the pen.

“Bye-bye, Mrs. Tilly!” Echo waved over Bill’s shoulder as they headed out.

They drove to the record store together, with Echo continuing to excitedly chatter about her day at school. Bill listened, noting how well she was picking up new things, despite his slight skepticism about the Montessori curriculum. He observed her growing independence with mixed feelings; while he was proud, it also made him a little sad to see her needing him a little less.

“And Papa? Papa? You hear me?” 

“Yeah, I’m listening, honey,” he replied, glancing at her through the rearview mirror.

“Papa. Can I—May I have a snack?” 

“Sure, when we get to the shop.” 

“Okay,” she said, kicking her feet in excitement. “And Mommy?”

“Oh!” he said, remembering that he never answered her. “She’s shopping with Aunt Ulyssa.” 

“Aww. I wish I go!” She lightly pouted over being left out, which made Bill chuckle. 

He wondered what Alma was up to. Several hours had passed since Alma left him behind for his “nap”—a nap he never actually took. He did pleasure himself with his fingers in his mouth, tasting Alma’s sweetness, however. Afterward, he found himself in the basement, lifting weights. The workout helped relieve some stress, invigorating him enough to proceed with his day, but as he was removing the added weight discs from the bar, one slipped off and landed squarely on the top of his foot.

He cursed loudly, hobbling for a moment before gingerly putting his full weight on it to ensure nothing was broken. It hurt like hell, but he was relieved to find he was mostly fine. However, it would be black and blue and irritatingly sore for a while.

In the office at Sheisty Sound Records, Bill set up a small snack for Echo, placing cheese and crackers alongside an apple juice box in front of her. He adjusted the chair, pushing it up a bit so she could reach the desk better. She settled in with a satisfied smile, ready to enjoy her snack while he tackled some paperwork while sipping black coffee from a paper cup.

Bill perched on the edge of the desk next to Echo, scanning a reminder list that Alma had left behind. It was a mix of calls she needed to make and orders for flyers. Lately, he had noticed her forgetfulness—small things—but he knew they could add up down the line. They had discussed when she should take off from work as her pregnancy progressed, but Alma was adamant about working until she simply couldn’t anymore. She did the same when pregnant with Echo. He knew she would say that, so he kept his thoughts to himself. He didn't want to come off as doubting her abilities, but her stubbornness sometimes frustrated him.

“Want some, Papa?” Echo asked, bits of cracker flying past her lips as her mouth was full. She held out a piece of cheese toward him.

“Thank you,” he replied, accepting her offering with a smile. “Could I get a cracker too?”

“Mhmm,” she nodded, handing him one with a proud grin. A sweet thing about her is that she always liked to share her food.

Shortly, there was a light rap on the door frame, and Bill turned, laying an order form down on the desk. 

“Oh, hey man,” he said, standing up. 

Bill was expecting Shuggy to stop by today, bringing over some studio equipment they needed. In exchange, Bill was hoping to offload some older gear to make space. Echo watched the two men shake hands, speaking amiably as they greeted each other.

“I can pull my van around back if you don’t mind,” Shuggy suggested, pointing towards the stage area.

“Yeah, I’ll meet you back there,” Bill replied, then turned to Echo. “Uh, you go ahead; I gotta make sure she’ll be alright.”

“Your kid?” Shuggy asked, glancing at Echo. Bill nodded. "You helping out today, little boss?” he asked, playfully.

Echo grinned shyly, nodding as she stayed perched in the chair. Bill chuckled. “Yeah, she’s keeping me in check.”

Shuggy proceeded, and Bill stayed back a moment, looking through the office window towards the cash wrap.

Both Ash and Darby were chatting during their shift change near the cash wrap. Bill hesitated, not wanting to interrupt their conversation to ask if they’d keep an eye on Echo. It wasn’t their responsibility, and he knew they were just being generous when they helped out in the past. With a sigh, he decided to close the office door instead, figuring he’d let Echo occupy herself for a bit while he handled business.

“E’, I’ll be right back, okay? Will you be fine by yourself?” Bill asked. Echo gave a little shrug, munching on her snack. “I’m going to close the door,” he continued, kneeling down to her level. “Don’t leave, alright? Only Ash or Darby are allowed in here when the door is closed, okay?”

“Okay, Papa,” she replied, her attention drifting off.

“Hey, look at me,” he asked gently. Hazel and pale green eyes meeting again. “Just stay in here. I won’t be long, baby,” he reassured her, brushing a hand over her wild hair before standing and heading for the door.

Meanwhile, Alma and Ulyssa found themselves at the bustling mall food court, taking a much-needed break from their shopping spree. They split a Philly cheesesteak, but Alma was taking smaller, more deliberate bites, quietly regretting not ordering a full one just for herself.

Shopping bags sat at their feet, filled with adorable baby clothes and other odds and ends they had picked up throughout the day. They had managed to find a few lovely little girl clothing items, but it was the tiny boy’s clothes that had captivated them the most. It was just so cute; it made Alma’s heart flutter with excitement.

Alma glanced at the clock tower in the middle of the food court, thinking how Bill would have picked Echo up from school by now and then returned to her conversation with Ulyssa. As they chatted, she reflected on how Bill had been in his head this week, which she chalked up to the anxiety of expecting twins finally hitting him. She felt he had been a little blasé about it all until now. Ulyssa's laugh about how crazy it all was brought a smile to Alma's face as she sipped her lemonade. As a twin herself, Ulyssa had been nothing but excited since learning the news. She loved having a sister and the special bond they had. In a way, learning Alma was an only child, Ulyssa gravitated to her wanting to be a person she could lean on despite her being fiercely independent, even sometimes to a fault. 

"You were saying about the winery?" Ulyssa nudged, excited to hear more details about Alma’s honeymoon.

“Well, listening to the ghost tour you took in Georgia,” Alma said, pushing her long hair from her shoulder. The prenatals were making it grow quickly, and dealing with it had been irritating to her lately. She didn’t mind the nail growth, though. “It reminded me of this witchy-looking altar in the orchard on the property,” she explained, describing the eerie scene.

“Oh, weird. But you know, it’s a place where they grow stuff, right? So the moon phases could represent growth—maybe it’s to bless the land for good crops. Makes sense, right? I would ask Ash. She knows more about that stuff, than I do, honestly.”

“Huh,” Alma said reflectively. “Yeah, I get what you mean. Still kind of spooky, though.”

“Eh, you should hear about the stuff that happens in Romania,” Ulyssa replied. “I’ve got a cousin who swears he met a vampire at a bar once. Next thing he knows, he’s half-naked in a ditch with what he claims was a bite on his thigh. We always joke that he got bit by a mangy stray dog,” she laughed with Alma. “Are you done?” Ulyssa asked, gathering their trash.

“Yeah, but… Could we get another one before we keep shopping?”

“Duh! The fact that you would even ask when you’re eating for three? Of course,” Ulyssa grinned.

Back at the shop, Bill dusted off his jeans as he wrapped up his equipment exchange with Shuggy. He jumped off the stage, regretfully limping on his sore foot for a moment for doing so as he headed back to the office. Through the windows, he noticed Echo wasn’t in the chair, but it hadn’t set off any alarms yet. Rounding the desk, he bent down and peeked underneath, expecting to see her playing there, but it was vacant. His heart rate picked up slightly as he straightened up and looked out toward the cash wrap. Darby and Matt were there, preoccupied with customers.

He frowned, quickly checking behind the door and under the small table in the corner, but no sign of her. Bill scratched his head, eyes scanning the office again. On the other side, he noticed papers that had once been neatly stacked on the desk had been knocked off and scattered across the floor along with her juice box. He didn’t like the way that looked—not one bit. His gut tightened with unease, his nightmares spilling into reality. Quickly, he checked the cabinets behind him, hoping she might be playing a game of hide-and-seek. But again, no sign of her.

His pace quickened as he left the office, scanning the aisles for any trace of his daughter. As he rounded a corner, he nearly bumped into Chrissy, who was busy shelving misplaced CDs.

“Hey, have you seen Echo running around?” he asked, his voice low but urgent. 

“Echo?” She paused with a CD in her hand, looking up at him. “No, I didn’t even know she was here.” 

Bill took a deep, uneasy breath, fighting against the panic that was welling up inside him. “Alright, well, if you see her, you know…”

“For sure,” Chrissy said, with a nod.

At the cash wrap, Darby caught sight of Bill crouching down, scanning under tables.

“You looking for something, man?” He asked, brow furrowing in concern.

Bill stood up, swallowing hard as the weight of worry pressed down on him. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Yeah. My kid.”

“Oh shit…” Darby’s eyes widened, the gravity of the situation hitting him hard now that he was a father too. “Matt, go stand by the door. Lock it behind everyone who goes out.”

“And don’t let anyone in!” Matt added, hopping out from behind the counter.

“Exactly. Good lookin’ out,” Darby said.

Darby hollered at Chrissy to take charge of the cash wrap while he began searching alongside Bill, who had already walked off to check the bathrooms. He slammed the door to the men's room open but found it vacant. Standing outside the women's room, he cracked the door open and called for Echo.

“Uhm… it’s just me…” a sheepish, girly voice answered. “Meg.” She announced, causing Bill to roll his eyes. 

Bill's mind was racing now as he stood by the stage, rubbing his forehead as dread washed over him. He and Alma had stressed to Echo the importance of stranger danger. She seemed to understand that fairly well, but the sight of the scattered papers on the floor twisted his stomach into a knot. His thoughts spiraled into a dark place, imagining the worst—what if someone had taken her? No one of authority seemed to have noticed she was at the shop, leaving him anxious about whether she had walked out with someone, willingly or unwillingly.

“Echo?” Darby was heard calling out her name from the other side of the room. 

Bill began to check the backstage area, pushing aside the heavy curtain. As he did, he heard a familiar giggle coming from somewhere within the pleats. "Echo, are you over here?" he called, hoping to coax her out. A giggle sounded, though it was faint and muffled. "E’, I heard you. Come out now.”

Darby began approaching the stage when he noticed Bill looking through the curtain frantically. Her laughter felt like a figment of his imagination, and his heart sank further with each passing second. Frustrated, he stomped his sore foot on the ground, and a sharp, startled squeal was heard. Bill looked at Darby, wondering if he had heard it too. 

“I heard that!” Darby pointed out, which reassured Bill’s sanity. 

Bill looked down at his feet, tapping the hollow stage. He quickly hopped off, ignoring the nagging pain in his foot, and made his way to the right side, where there was an opening for the crawl space underneath—an opening that was always supposed to remain locked. An opening that Alma had disturbed for extra mic stands and simply forgot to lock behind her.

Darby announced he’d come back with a flashlight when Bill pulled the door open and called for Echo, trying to reach out with his long arms, but she was far inside, and he was much too big to crawl in for her. “Hey, you gotta come out.” He said sternly, and he heard Echo whimper in trepidation. “You’re not in trouble, E’. You just need to come out; there are spiders down here,” he added, hoping to coax her out of the crawl space.

“Spiders?”

“Yeah, big ones.”

He heard her shuffling around in the dark, and as she finally emerged from the shadows, he quickly scooped her into his arms. “You can’t do that ever again,” his voice was stern but laced with relief, kissing her dusty cheek. “Like ever again. You scared, Papa.” 

She frowned, full of remorse, her hazel eyes filling with tears. “I sorry, Papa.” She cried out, hugging his neck. 

He rubbed her back while she wept. “I know you were just playing, honey. But I have to know, you were supposed to be in the office, remember?” He sighed. “I probably took too long to come back. I’m sorry.” 

Darby gave Bill a thumbs up, visibly relieved that Echo was safe and sound inside the shop instead of in the back of some creep's white windowless van. After the unfortunate day he’d endured, Bill decided it was best to head home.

“Hey, man, I’m sorry I must have not locked the storage space,” Darby said before Bill left.

“You don’t have to do that,” Bill replied, meeting Darby’s gaze with understanding. “I know it was Alma. It’s on me, though. It’s fine. Echo is fine; that’s all that matters. Thanks for helping, by the way.” 

“Yeah, man,” Darby nodded appreciatively. “I know you’d do the same for me.” 

While on the drive back home, he thought about Echo being missing; even for a few minutes felt like an eternity. As if he wasn’t deathly tired already, the fear he felt drained what was left of him in a matter of seconds. While he wished he could have driven in silence with only the sound of the rain against the car and the metronomic swish of the window wipers, Echo requested to listen to Human Fly by The Cramps, which she liked to listen to ad nauseam lately. 

“Bzz, bzz, bzz,” she giggled, singing along in the back seat happily. Without a care, she almost gave her father a mental breakdown not even 30 minutes ago. 

The pager, lying in the passenger seat, beeped, jolting him out of his remorseful brooding. Reaching over, he quickly grabbed it, the first few digits he recognized to be Alma, but it slipped from his fingers and fell on the floorboard. Causing him to let out a loud, heavy, defeated sigh.

When pulling into the driveway, Ulyssa was driving out and waved at him in passing with a friendly grin on her face. He liked her company, but he was relieved he didn’t have to entertain it that evening. He just wanted to shut in, away from the world, and let the weight of the day settle away in silence. 

When they entered through the side door, he helped Echo out of her coat and set her backpack on the bench while she scrambled to take her shoes off to search for her mother. He stayed behind for a moment, double-checking that he had locked the door—his lingering paranoia from recent dreams gnawing at him.

Suddenly, Echo’s excited squeal sounded through the house. She had found Alma in the kitchen, unpacking the takeout she'd bought for dinner. Bill felt his tension ease as he walked toward them, comforted by the sounds of home.

“Does it look nice?” He heard Alma ask their child as he made his way to join them. 

“It’s cute, Mommy. I like it!” She jumped excitedly.

“Aw, thank you, love. But what the heck happened to your hair?” She mused, making Echo bashfully giggle. 

Bill paused in the kitchen archway, momentarily stunned. Alma’s long hair was gone, replaced by a layered cut with curtain bangs that fell to her shoulders. It looked nice and healthy—he didn’t have an issue with her making her own decisions about her hair—but he hadn’t known she was planning to cut it. The surprise proved too much for him to process after the day he had. Alma ran her hand through her shorter locks, but her smile faltered when she noticed his expression, her excitement giving way to uncertainty.

"You don't like it?" she asked, frowning slightly.

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it, drawing a deep breath through his nose. “I—I do. It looks great, I just…” He rubbed his forehead, feeling the beginnings of a headache.

“You didn’t nap, did you?” Alma asked, noticing the tiredness in his eyes. “I know, I didn’t mention I was getting a haircut—it just kind of happened.”

“I just need... I just need a minute,” Bill said abruptly, turning away before Alma could respond.

She frowned and glanced at Echo, who seemed to have sensed the shift in the air. “He’s just tired, darling,” she assured to ease her concern. However, when she looked into her daughter’s eyes, she looked guilty of something. 

Bill didn’t know why he felt like crying; he didn’t know why he felt so strongly about a damn haircut. On a better day, he wouldn’t have reacted in the way he did. He felt bad over not being enthusiastic and leaving his wife to question whether he really liked it at all, but he just needed some space. He wanted quiet, he wanted to be still, and he didn’t want to think about anything else any further. 

Alma found him later that evening, choosing to let him be until he decided to emerge from the private sitting room. She had been in the den when the scent of marijuana wafted up from above, confirming he was still in there. As nighttime settled in, she climbed into the empty bed after putting Echo down in hers. She debated whether to check on him while she lay there; she didn’t like the thought of sleeping without him when he was just a room away. He hadn’t even kissed her when he came home, leaving her to worry if he truly disliked her haircut after all. She ran her fingers through her shorter locks, and regret settled in. 

Alma slipped out of bed, feeling a bit winded from moving too quickly. She carefully made her way to the sitting room and called out his name softly from the threshold, but there was no reply. Peeking in, she half-expected to find he had left through the secret passageway, but instead, she saw him lying on the couch, asleep. The 1,001 Baby Names book lay on the floor, having seemingly slipped from his sleepy grip. He was curled into himself, wearing dark gray thermal pants and a Sound Garden tee, she had cut the bottom hem off. It sat just above his cut hips, revealing his happy trail. 

Alma reached to gently stroke his stubbly jaw to softly wake him, but Bill jolted awake before she could. His quick reaction startled her, as she stood before him. 

“Are you okay?” she asked with worry. “Come to bed.”

“Shit, sorry,” he sighed, sitting up, running his hands down his face. 

“Echo told me what happened today…” 

Bill scratched his head, bracing himself for the lecture about keeping a better watch on their daughter, which would only deepen his sense of guilt. “I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve—”

“I’m sorry that happened,” she interjected. She couldn’t fault him for what happened, it was a mistake that could have easily happened with Echo under her watch as well. “I told her that wasn’t very nice of her. She said she wouldn’t do it again, and she’s very sorry,” Alma said, brushing her hand over her belly. Bill sat silent for a moment, slightly impressed that maybe the therapy books really have been helping her after all. 

“Is that all that happened?”

“Yeah…” he nodded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hmm,” she tilted her head, unconvinced that it was the only thing troubling him. “Is something going on in New York?”

He looked away from her, the knot in his stomach tightening again. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. As much as he insisted that the club was his business, he felt he had to bear the current issue alone, despite knowing he could tell her anything. However, the thought of burdening her, especially with her being pregnant, held him back. Alma sighed, swallowing hard. She could sense his tension and his avoidant demeanor, which worried her. 

“Is…” she paused, trying to be careful with her wording. “Is it something that can be settled? In an… appropriate manner?” 

“It basically already is,” he said, looking at her belly, covered by her wine-colored silk nightgown. “It’s nothing to worry about, love. I promise.” 

Alma nodded, biting her lip as she decided to leave it at that. He reached out, resting his hand on her belly. He was transfixed with seeing how her body was changing lately. “I like your hair,” he peered up at her. “It’s pretty, really. I was just overwhelmed after everything that happened.”

“Yeah… I guess if it was the reverse, I would have cried,” she laughed softly, affectionately pushing a lock of his brown hair back. “They were moving a lot today,” she mentioned, enjoying the sensation of his hand running over her belly in a soothing rhythm. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, fuck,” he nodded; he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime, and his stomach felt hollow. “What time is it?” 

“Almost ten. Just go lay in bed,” she gestured out the threshold. “I can bring you something to have up here.”

He rose to his full height, the cropped shirt raising further up his chiseled stomach, and followed her out, limping slightly until he acclimated to the pulsing pain in his foot and was able to walk properly. “I dropped a weight on my foot,” he explained, catching Alma’s curious glance at his sock-covered feet.

“Yeah, lay down,” she reiterated, recognizing he’s had a really crummy day. 

“What the hell is that?” He paused, noticing a large, long, arching pink pillow in their bed.

“It’s a pregnancy pillow. It’s really comfortable; you should try it,” she lightly laughed. “I bought it from a baby boutique today. They upsold me,” she shrugged. “I left most of the things I bought in the Tahoe, but the cribs and stuff like that are going to be delivered soon.”

Bill listened to her as he crawled into bed and lay into the void of the pillow, cuddling up to a side of it. “Is this what it’s like to lay next to me?” he asked, bemused, as the pillow was nearly the length of him.

“Isn’t it comfortable?”

Bill rested his cheek on the soft fabric, feeling the gentle curve of the pillow cradling him like a warm embrace. “Yeah—but is this going to be between us from now on?” He looked up at her.

“Yeah, sorry.” She bit her lip, stifling a smile as she watched him snuggle deeper into the pillow, even tossing a leg over it. 

“Damn it,” he grumbled, closing his eyes.

Though he didn’t like the thought, he snuggled in further, and Alma laughed at his genuine contentment when she left the room. 

…

November 1995 | New York City

At Trigger Finger, in the loft, Bill sat with Bianca amidst the electric energy of the club's rowdy atmosphere. The bass pulsed, and the laughter and cheers blended together into the lively night.

“But yeah, like I said,” Bianca paused, drawing the long, thin cigarette from her lips and flicking the ash into a small tray, the smoke curling lazily into the air. She glanced over at Bill, her expression sharp and focused. “Lower rung. Unless he wants additional charges, he’s not talking.”

“Yeah,” Bill replied, his eyes drifting toward the floor below. The raucous cheering pulled his attention, intrigued by the spectacle unfolding. A new girl had taken the stage, her movements captivating the crowd. She held herself upside down on the chrome pole, sensually arching her back. Then, in a breathtaking display, she righted herself and slid down the pole into a high-impact split that demanded dollar bills to be launched into the air. He could see why she was a crowd-pleaser.

“I spoke to Alvin. He told me as much.” Bill said, still half-watching the performance. “When we were back in business on Halloween, how did that go?” He took a puff of his cigarette. 

“Fuckin’ phenomenal. Like nothing happened.” She met his gaze, her dark eyes sparkling with the thrill of the club’s successful holiday night. “So, what do you think?”

“Well, the holidays are coming…” 

“Right,” Bianca replied, taking another puff on her cigarette.

“That’s the best time of year for us,” he continued, leaning forward.

“The most wonderful time of the year, some would say,” she winked, a playful smile spreading across her face.

Bill chuckled, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Exactly. So yeah, I’m cool with that. Because—what Alvin doesn’t know is that we have friends in the precinct.”

“Precisely!” Bianca laughed, pointing the glowing red ember of her cigarette at him.

“That fucker deserved a little scare. He’s too fucking cocky sometimes,” he said, ashing his cigarette in the ashtray between them. “He thinks we need him when it’s the fucking opposite.” 

“I agree,” Bianca said. “And that kind of attitude causes trouble. We don’t need that.” 

“No,” he shook his head. His gaze drifted back to the window; the new girl was collecting a hefty amount of tips from the stage. Her confidence radiated as she smiled at the patrons, effortlessly commanding their attention. It was then he noticed her nipple piercings catching the disco ball light. “What’s her name again?” 

“Avery,” Bianca said, stamping her cigarette. “She’s good. I like her. Since we lost Payday, she’s really been something.” 

“Hm,” he raised a brow, following Bianca in stamping out his cigarette. “Did you see her ringside during Simion’s premiere fight on TV last month?” 

“I did! She looked beautiful in that little sparkling silver dress! And the fur coat! Oh,” Bianca exclaimed, placing a hand on her bosom in envy.

“She did look pretty. I’m happy for her. I’m glad Simion won, too,” he smiled smugly. 

“Did you bet on him?” 

Bill chuckled. “Yeah—I had a little parlay going.” 

“Smart, smart,” Bianca nodded, her expression turning more serious. “Alright, well…” she began, smoothing down the short skirt of her tight red leopard print keyhole dress. “I speak to Alma, so I know she is doing well enough—bless it. So really, how are you?” Bianca tilted her head, pushing a dark lock from her big updo back. She spoke to Bill a fair bit as well, but in person she could get a better sense of him. 

“Eh, I mean, bigger picture, yes, everything is well. And I’m grateful, truly,” Bill replied, leaning back into the sofa as he contemplated. “But my wife... is different. Obviously, she can’t help that, I know.”

“‘Cause she cries a lot?” 

“Yeah…” he scratched his head, his gaze drifting. “She cried the whole day before I left.” It was a slight exaggeration, but it was a little more incessant than usual. He’d take the tears over a temper any day, though. It wasn’t that she often got upset, thankfully, but when it happened, it was startling. He learned to stay quiet, biting his tongue, and wait for her irrational hormonal eruption to give way to a flood of apologetic tears, as it always concluded. 

“Poor girl,” Bianca cooed.

“She wishes that she could’ve come, but she’s…” He arched his hand over his belly.

“Is she really big?” Bianca asked, with a brow arched in curiosity.

Bill took a deep breath. “Well… I’m not going to say so—” 

“Good boy,” she quickly quipped. 

“But she says she is. She said she looks nine months pregnant already. But all this to say, we’re staying in Washington for the holidays. She can’t travel. She’ll reach her third trimester this month, and we’re just hoping we can make it through the whole of December before the babies are born.” 

“Fuck, I knew that was coming,” Bianca frowned. “The holidays won’t feel the same without you all!”

“I know,” Bill nodded, sharing in her disappointment. “I know. We were really upset about having to make that decision, but—”

“What can you do, right?” She sighed in resignation. “But whatever’s best, of course, so that everyone's healthy.”

“Exactly, thank you,” he said sincerely. “At least Alma’s dad is coming to Seattle for Christmas, so that’s something,” he added, trying to find a silver lining.

“But?” Bianca prompted, sensing the hesitation in his voice.

“Well… I don’t know, it feels like I’m bitching.” 

“No! Bitch all you want, it feels like you need it, babe!” 

“Well, you know, if things were different, I’d rather be here for the holidays. But now it’s just me, my heavily pregnant wife, my child, and my 80-something-year-old father-in-law, who needs a cane to get around,” Bill replied, looking a bit exasperated at the thought.

“Oh, hell. What a crowd... Well, it’s just this year, right?” 

“I’m sure I’ll live, but yeah.” He said, rubbing his brow. 

“You will, honey. You want to say Alma’s different, but you seem a little different tonight yourself. Picking up some sympathy hormones?” She chuckled lightly.

Bill rolled his eyes. “That’s not a thing, is it?” 

“Oh, sure it is! My ex-husband gained weight with me when I was pregnant with Lorenzo. Craved some really nasty shit, too,” she grimaced with disgust while Bill glanced down at his stomach warily. He was fine there. “When I was pregnant with Gian, though, he had this phase where he had to check every lock on the doors and check the latches on the windows before bed. Even checked the stove burners. Like, every single night. Real OCD, I swear.” 

Bill raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? That bad?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It was sweet, in a way—but, man, it got old fast.”

“Hmm?” Bill crossed his arms, tilting his head curiously.

“Yeah. So, what have you been doing? Crying along with Alma?” she asked sarcastically, making him laugh. 

“Nah,” he scratched his clavicle. “I don’t know…” he shook his head, amused, still skeptical of her claims. 

There was a heavy rap on the loft door, cutting through their conversation. Bill and Bianca exchanged a quick look of shared annoyance at the interruption.

“Yeah?” They called out together.

The door cracked open, and the muffled music from the club below flooded the room in full fidelity. Theo stepped inside first, giving them a dutiful nod, followed closely by Scotty, who flashed a crooked grin as he entered.

“Oh shit!” Bill exclaimed, standing up with a grin to greet his friend.

“Did you forget I was coming or what?” Scotty laughed, pulling Bill into a tight hug.

“We just lost track chatting,” Bianca chimed in, rising from her seat to give Scotty a warm hug as well.

“Beautiful as ever, Bianca,” Scotty said, embracing her tightly. “So good to see you again.”

“Same, honey,” she smiled back, pushing a stray lock of his wavy, chocolate hair back affectionately. “You two heading off, or sticking around for a minute?”

“I could go for a drink,” Scotty replied with a wink, glancing at Bill.

“Yeah, sure,” Bill shrugged, not minding the delay on their planned bar crawl.

As Bianca led Scotty on a quick tour of the club, Bill lingered by the bar, chatting casually with a nearby patron. A nerdy tech guy speaking with him about some new file-sharing program. When Scotty returned, Julia, now an established bartender, was already poised to take their order. She was wearing a camo bikini top and daisy dukes with red cowboy boots. 

“Hey, how’s it going, Julia?”

Scotty’s eyes widened when Julia got right up in his face, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “Are you a fucking idiot, Everett?”

“Damn!” Scotty blurted, taken aback, his grin quickly fading as he realized his mistake. Julia had a reputation for being prickly, and now he was on the receiving end of her infamous biting attitude. Typically, he liked being berated by cute girls, but Julia truly scared him. “Yeah, yeah, I am an idiot. Sorry.” He raised his hands defensively.

Julia glared for a moment longer, her piercing gaze lingering, before finally stepping back with a scoff. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“No names,” Bill chimed in, putting a protective hand on his shoulder, saving Scotty from further wrath. “She goes by Cherry here.”

“Got it,” Scotty raised his brows. “And what the fuck do they call you here?” He turned to Bill after making his drink order. 

Bill grinned. “Badass Motherfucker.” He said, matter-of-factly.

“Fuck you!” Scotty retorted, laughing with his friend. 

Julia returned shortly, sliding their drinks over. “Enjoy, boys,” she muttered unceremoniously. 

“Thanks, Cherry,” Scotty winked, holding out a tip between his two fingers.

“Fuck off, Scott,” she said with a playful smirk, harshly snatching the tip from him and stuffing it in her bikini top before moving on to serve other patrons with more flirtatious enthusiasm than she bothered to offer them. 

Bill raised his glass, clinking it against Scotty’s. “Cheers, idiot.”

“Cheers, badass,” Scotty quipped, rolling his eyes playfully.

A glass of red wine sat next to two whiskeys on the low, polished table in the reserved VIP booth. One drink turned into two as Bill and Scotty lounged comfortably, chatting with Bianca. Scotty, usually animated and quick with a quip, found his attention drifting. 

It wasn’t just the spotlight of raining cash on the topless bombshell blonde act on stage that grabbed his attention—it was the sheer scale and atmosphere of the club. The lighting bathed the room in pink and red neon lights while sweeping glitter specs danced around them and the music reverberated through the air. The opulence was overwhelming, almost hypnotic. It was more than he’d imagined. He had only heard about the happenings at Trigger Finger, but being inside it was something else entirely. It was quite overstimulating, making it hard to focus on the conversation competing with the pulse of the music. 

Bill took a glance at Scotty, realizing his friend had quieted, a rarity for him because he had a penchant for hyperactive yapping. Bill smirked, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. He couldn’t help but feel a touch of pride at how thoroughly the club seemed to have captivated his friend.

“Could you hold off on telling Gian about me not being here for the holidays?” Bill asked Bianca next to him. “I have lunch with him before I go; I’d like to tell him myself.” 

“Sure, babe,” she nodded with a smile before taking a sip of her red wine, matching her shade of lipstick. “Gian still talks about Seattle all the time,” Bianca said, switching the subject. “And some girl he talks to on the computer. Gabriela? You know about her?”

Bill shook his head, calmly. “Don’t know. Probably some customer he met,” he shrugged.

“Aw, well, the way he talks about Seattle makes me a little jealous, even.”

“Yeah, we took him on that speed run through town. You have to come visit,” Bill said, taking a sip of his whiskey. “We’ll put Queenie in charge or something. I think she can handle it.”

“Hm,” Bianca nodded, agreeing with the idea. “Throw in Theo, and I may be convinced. You’ve been right, Scotty?” She asked him, pulling his attention away from the stage.

“Huh? Seattle? Yeah! A few times. I was there, uh, around this time last year, actually. Pretty place! Bill’s house is gorgeous—a good spot to party too,” he chuckled, remembering the after-party they’d hosted after the band he managed, Null, played at the record shop. A sold-out show, no less.

Soon, Theo shadowed the group while Bianca saw the men out, but not before she shared some flirtatious platitudes with Scotty. 

“Hopefully, the next time I see you again is in Vegas,” he winked at her, his arm still around her waist. “How about that?” 

“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Bianca replied, with her fingers brushing his cheek. “You were my little good luck charm the last time.” She poked his nose, his right nostril adorned with a gold hoop ring. 

Scotty’s grin widened as she sauntered back inside on her high heels, making her nearly as tall as him and Bill, leaving them to climb into the back of a taxi en route to their next destination. As the vehicle pulled away, Bill smirked, side-eyeing his friend.

“Are you trying to get at my business partner?” he teased, with mock suspicion.

“What?” Scotty’s eyes widened. “Nothing like that, man. Just having fun,” he shrugged, utterly unashamed.

“Yeah, sure,” Bill drawled, leaning back in his seat with a knowing grin. “For the record, she’s got like three boyfriends. I heard you have to get jumped by all of them if you want a spot on her roster.”

“Jumped?!” Scotty exclaimed with a scoff. 

“Yeah, and they’re all buff fucking meatheads, too!” Bill added, chuckling.

“Oh, fuckin’ hell. I bet! She’s a lot of woman. I’m man enough to admit I couldn’t handle that!” Scotty laughed, shaking his head.

After wrapping up their visit to a chic rooftop bar, Bill and Scotty found themselves in a grungy basement dive, feeling far more at ease in the unpolished charm of their new surroundings. The music blasted loud enough to vibrate through the sticky concrete floor, and the walls were a chaotic collage of band stickers, Sharpie-scrawled signatures, and layers of peeling graffiti. It wasn’t glamorous, but it had character—exactly the kind of place where they could unwind without pretension.

Scotty was in town handling some business with the music label, and as luck would have it, his trip coincided with Bill’s. Had Bill arrived two weeks earlier like he nearly had done, he would have missed him completely. Now, leaning at the far end of the bar, their black dress shirts undone just enough to suggest they’d left formality behind for the night. Sleeves rolled up to their elbows, and they each nursed a drink, their conversation blending into the din of thrash blasting overhead. They were making plans to meet the following day to see a duo band, which Scotty described as having an experimental metal electronica sound. 

“You think you can handle managing two bands?” Bill asked. 

“People do it all the time,” Scotty shrugged. “I got one band in the bag, cutting a legit studio album in LA right now. With this group, I mean, we’ll see how it goes.”

“Genre-bending, boundary-pushing. I can guess the allure.” 

“Exactly! You’ll see. If they work, they work. If they don’t, well,” he shrugged. 

“Right, sure. And I know people do it all the time.” Bill handed Scotty a cigarette and lit his own, taking a long drag. “I only asked ‘cause your son—excuse me—my godson was just born; I’d think you want to make some time.”

“Well, sure! Of course! But time is fucking money. C’mon, you know that,” Scotty said, lighting his cigarette. “You’ve got your titty bar and the record shop, among your other miscellaneous shit,” he said with a pointed look. “And Alma’s pregnant—with twins! Holy fuck, man, that was fast! You literally just got married. Anyway, when are you going to take a fucking break, dude?”

Bill let the smoke linger in his lungs for a moment before releasing it. “Alright, yeah, you got me there. But everything’s lined up, you know?” He shrugged. “I’ll slow down when the twins come. I have to.”

Scotty raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Right, and you’ll be sleeping like a baby when they arrive, huh?” he said sarcastically, earning an eye roll from his old friend. “Don’t get me wrong, Billy. It sucked, leaving him only being three months to LA with Null. But, eh, he won’t remember, you know.” He took a puff of his cigarette as remorse flickered across his face. “Of course, work isn’t everything, but I can’t go back to being dirt poor again. I rebuke that shit from the bottom of my balls!” He punctuated with grabbing his crotch.

Bill chuckled, blowing out smoke. "Was Ki' pissed that you left, though?" he asked, smirking a little. He knew how Kiara could be, especially from their phone calls, where Scotty often vented about her grievances with him.

“Surprisingly, no.” Scotty raised his brows as he took another drag. “You know, she would bitch and even break up with me because I didn’t have a ‘real job.’ But this time... not a word. Nothing.”

“Yeah,” Bill raised his brows, clearly not expecting that answer.

“Since Null got signed, she’s finally cool about it. Thank fuck.” 

"Guess she’s seeing the payoff now, huh?" He winked. 

“Need anything, fellas?” The male bartender interrupted, but they quickly ordered beers and a shot they really didn’t need to take, but they were buzzed enough that it sounded like a fantastic idea. 

“Alma, ever give you shit like that?” Scotty returned to their conversation after they shot back their Jim Beam.

“No... We fought about other stupider shit, though,” he laughed, something he could do now in hindsight. 

“Man... But dude, I’m happy for you and her!” He said, patting his friend on the shoulder. “You got names for the twins yet?”

Bill shook his head. “Nah… not yet. Nothing sounds right. Nothing—feels right. We have Echo, right, so we can’t call these other babies like Susan and Michael.” 

“Mike and Sue. Boring, regular shit, yeah, that won't work. Hey, I got a cousin who named her kid, Rope. Is that something you might consider?” He chuckled. 

“Shut up,” Bill laughed, shaking his head. “Rope? Really?” 

“They’re fuckin’ rednecks,” Scotty rolled his eyes, waving his hand dismissively. “Naming Dean was easy enough. James Dean. I mean, great-looking actor, right?” He winked, taking a sip of his drink.

“I like that,” Bill said, his words trailing off as his attention shifted. A young woman with full, dark-lined lips brushed her body between them to grab napkins off the bar. There was more room in several spots across the bar, but she went out of her way to do so. “Seems like it’s taken, though,” he added, his gaze flicking down to her just as she turned and winked at Scotty. The men shared a knowing look but played the weird flirtation off and continued as if nothing happened. “But yeah, I don’t know... A’ and I will figure it out. What was Dean almost named? There’s got to be a few that hit the chopping block,” Bill asked, genuinely curious.

“I was thinking of music-inspired names. Lyric—was too girly. It was almost Coda before Kiara and I settled on Dean. I really wanted to name him Riff, actually. Riff Scott. Kiara wouldn’t have it. She hated it,” Scotty chuckled.

“Let me put that on my mental list,” Bill joked, pretending to write it down on his palm.

“Yeah, go for it, man!” 

They paused to take a sip of their beers just as Human Fly by The Cramps began to play from the jukebox. Scotty started to lightly nod his head along to the beat, but Bill grimaced having to hear it against his will again.

“Fuck, I can’t stand this song anymore,” Bill shook his head as he took a drink. “I used to like it until Echo wanted to play it over and over these days,” he said, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Scotty laughed, clearly relating. “Yeah, I can’t even listen to Rhythm Nation anymore because of Jazzy. Can’t even enjoy watching Janet in the music video either. And she looks tough and sexy in it! But this is a classic! Poison Ivy—Lux Interior!”

“Sure, but—” 

“Hey, Lux—that’s not bad! Add that one to your mental list,” he said, before downing the rest of his beer in one go and slamming the empty glass on the bar top. “Let’s go to another bar! Fuck this song! Fuck work! Fuck all the noise! Let’s just have a good fucking time the rest of the night.” He patted Bill on the shoulder, encouraging him to chug the rest of his drink too. 

Bill slammed his empty glass down. “Yeah, fuck it, let’s go!” 

“Bzz, bzz, bzz,” Scotty playfully poked at him. 

~~~

The following morning, Alma called the penthouse when Bill hadn’t called. After the rings ended, she was just met with a low, hollow tone when it wasn’t answered. She sighed heavily and tried to bat her anxious thoughts away so she could prepare for the day. She shifted carefully, easing herself out of bed. Her movements were slow, not only to avoid waking Echo, who was sprawled out beside her but also because the dizziness that had plagued her recently made sudden movements a gamble. She sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her growing belly for a moment until she felt confident to rise. 

Bill had made her promise she wouldn’t do too much while he was out of town. Part of that promise was to not stay at the shop until close. She abided by that, but everything was beginning to feel like too much regardless.

Yesterday, she was leaving early despite the show going on that night, but she had trained Ash for moments like this, and this was her first run going completely solo. It needed to go well because she didn’t want Bill to tack on her duties onto everything else he had. 

While keeping her promise by leaving early, she was happily chatting with Darby when she leaned down to pick up her tote bag behind the cash to leave. In the motion, she suddenly felt herself continuing forward, unable to steady herself as the room spun. Darby, being quick, grabbed her arm and steadied her long enough to ease her on her bottom. 

“Whoa, hey! Just sit,” Darby said, his voice full of alarm as he met Alma’s unsteady gaze. “You’re okay,” he reassured with a hand on her shoulder.

Alma blinked slowly, her eyes focusing on a nearby table leg, willing the room to stop spinning around her while taking deep, deliberate breaths. Darby, moving quickly, disappeared to the office and returned with a cold bottle of water. Without asking, he pressed the cold plastic against the back of her neck.

She flinched, immediately swatting his hand away. “No,” she whispered. But she reached for the bottle, took it from him, and brought it to her lips for a long, much-needed sip. “Okay,” she breathed out after a few gulps, clearing her throat and trying to center herself. “I’m okay. Shit. Sorry,” she muttered, glancing at Darby with a weak, apologetic smile.

“No, no,” Darby shook his head. “No need to say sorry. You’re good. I’m just glad you didn’t hit the floor. Are you going to be—?”

“Do not tell Bill,” Alma interrupted him, almost pleading.

“Huh?” 

“He’s away. He doesn’t need to worry about this right now.” 

Darby chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Hey, I’m no rat. I won’t go running to him unless you’re in real trouble. Do you want help getting up?” He asked, offering his tattooed hand.

“Sure, yeah—thanks,” she sighed, taking his left hand, the one that read ‘SICK,’ across his knuckles. The back half of the phrase ‘LOVE SICK’ when he put his fists together. 

Darby helped Alma to her feet, keeping a firm grip on her arm to ensure she was steady. Once she was upright, he quickly grabbed her tote bag from behind the counter, sparing her the effort of bending down and risking another dizzy spell.

“I could drive you home if you want.” He offered, still concerned. 

Alma gave him a tired but grateful smile. “I’m just sitting, Darb’. I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “I’m heading straight home from here. Echo’s on a play date with her little library friend Austin, so she’s getting dropped off today.”

Darby nodded firmly. “Okay, alright… but I want to walk you to your Jeep, at least.”

Alma saw the concern still etched on his face, and, though she felt fine now, she nodded, allowing him. Together, they made their way outside, Darby staying close in case she wavered in her steps. 

As they reached her car, she turned to him with a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll call in when I get home,” she said when they reached her car. “Would that make you feel better?”

Darby exhaled in relief. “Please? It would,” he admitted. 

In New York City, Bill was dead asleep, having crashed hard after the late-night bender. However, his peaceful slumber was interrupted by a rough nudge. His bleary eyes cracked open, confused, struggling to remember where he was.

Instinctively, he pulled the soft, white feather-down duvet closer to his bare chest and backed away from the source of the disturbance, his body tensing up.

“Dude, relax,” Scotty's familiar voice cut through the haze of Bill’s grogginess, followed by a chuckle. He stood there beside the bed, his usual mischievous grin plastered across his face.

Bill roughly rubbed his sleep-crusted eyes, trying to make sense of his location. He was in a hotel room; that much he could process. It was a nice one too, something he would book. 

“Want some pizza?” Scotty asked, picking a piece out of the box on the desk and offering it to Bill.

Bill blinked, sitting up slightly. “Where are we?”

“My hotel room,” Scotty replied, approaching with the pizza. “You don’t remember? We’re at The Plaza, dude! I wanted to treat myself, I can’t  lie." He chuckled, holding the slice out until Bill took it.

Bill fell back into bed, took a bite of the cold, stiff pizza, and felt the night slowly returning to him. They had drinks in the hotel bar, having an unnecessary nightcap and shadowboxing each other obnoxiously around other patrons; it was a hazy memory, and it seemed everything went lights out from there. 

“I feel like shit,” Bill whined, taking another bite of pizza. 

“Yeah, we’re too old for this shit,” Scotty groaned.

Bill turned his head when he heard his friend rummaging through his suitcase. That’s when he noticed him showered and dressed for the day. He had on a dark dress shirt and black trousers with suspenders hanging off his shoulders. They were a long way away from their old punk roots, besides holding on to shady colors. 

“Are you not hungover?” Bill was surprised how unaffected he seemed after a night of binge-drinking with him.

Scotty flashed a grin as he zipped up his bag. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I’ve got a meeting soon. Trust me, I’d rather be where you are right now.”

“What fucking time is it?” His brows furrowed. 

“It’s about to be two.” 

“Shit,” Bill muttered, jolting right out of bed, dressed in nothing but gray boxer briefs and long black socks. “Where’s the phone?”

“Behind you,” Scotty nudged his head in its direction before taking a seat to put his pair of Solovair boots on. 

Bill quickly dialed home, and a snippet of the previous night filtered through his mind in a quick burst—rowdy laughter, booming voices, and the blur of city lights from inside the back of another taxi.

“What?!” Bill had laughed with incredulity. “She winked at you,” he said, pointing a finger at Scotty.

“Bullshit, man, that was definitely for you!” Scotty had countered, laughing loudly.

Now, as Bill anxiously bounced his leg as he sat in the chair by the small table with the receiver to his ear, willing the call to connect, he took in the luxurious room. It was a king suite with a single massive bed. 

His brows furrowed. “Where did you sleep?” He asked while the phone continued to ring.

Scotty turned to him, unimpressed. “You hog the hell out of the covers, man,” he shook his head. 

“Fuck,” he mused, scratching his jaw. The phone rang one last time before he was prompted to leave a voice message, but with a frown, he hung up instead. 

“Hey, you can stay, but I have to head out,” Scotty said, spritzing himself with cologne as he checked his appearance in the mirror. “If you’re not here when I come back—” 

“You know where to find me.” 

“Always, brother,” he leaned down to give Bill a handshake that turned into a half hug. “Tell Al’, I say hello,” he winked, knowing exactly who he was trying to reach. 

“She hates when people call her Al’.” 

“I know,” Scotty chuckled at his own obnoxiousness. 

Bill dialed again once he was alone in the hotel room. It only rang twice before it was answered, and he heard some labored breaths over the line.

“Hello?” Alma managed to say, her voice a bit strained.

“Hey—it’s me.” Even if his voice sounded sleepy and gravelly, Alma recognized it. “But are you alright? You sound—”

“Oh my god,” she sighed heavily, her irritation palpable over the phone. “I’m tired of people asking—I’m pregnant, I’m not fucking terminal.”

Bill tossed his head back, not expecting to be met with such an attitude, but he knew better than to argue with an irritable pregnant woman while he was hungover.

“Uhh… Well, no, you’re not that,” he said, trying to keep his tone light.

“Where are you calling from? I don’t recognize the number.”

Bill rubbed his stubbly chin. “I—uh... Scotty is in town. He’s staying at The Plaza.”

“Oh? Did you go out?” Her tone softened slightly.

“I did… I ended up crashing here. I’m going home when I get off the phone, though. I need to shower,” he said, leaning back to sniff his ripe, hairy armpit. “Bad.”

Alma smiled. “Well, that explains why you didn’t call this morning, sounds like you had fun. That’s good. I miss you.” 

“Yeah, I miss you too,” Bill replied, his heart warming at her words. “I hope I didn’t worry you.” 

“It was getting to that point. I even emailed you this morning,” she laughed lightly. “Uhm, I gotta pick E’ up from school, it's a half day, remember…”

“Okay. Just checking in.”

“I was on my way out when the phone rang, but I—well, I’m not that fast at the moment, so…”

“Ah,” he nodded, understanding what the huffing and puffing was about when she first answered. “I see.”

“I’ll tell Echo you said hello, love.”

“Oh, he went to a meeting, but Scotty said hello too.”

“Tell him… fuck you,” she replied, making Bill laugh.

….

November 1995 | Seattle

When Bill returned from his trip, he arrived before noon, offloading his luggage from the trunk of the cab with the assistance of the taxi driver, who escorted him home from the airport.

Alma slowly descended the stairs, as carefully and gracefully as she could, while keeping a firm grip on the banister to meet him when the door opened. She greeted him with a warm and radiant smile on her face when he walked in. His eyes widened in surprise. Had it only been a few days? Her belly seemed so much rounder than when he’d left. She wore a fitted top that usually downplayed her curves, but now her fuller breasts made the neckline more revealing than usual, showcasing cleavage that caught him off guard. It really hit him then that in just a few more weeks, the babies would be in the world.

“Wow… you’re fucking gorgeous,” Bill breathed with awe as he let his duffle bag fall to the floor. In two quick steps, he wrapped Alma in a tight hug where she stood on the last step. 

For a moment, he just held her, marveling at how surreal it all felt. It was almost unbelievable that the girl he’d met so many moons ago—the one who had captivated him with her sharp wit, her sincere kindness, and her quiet strength—was now his wife, standing before him, pregnant with his children. If he could go back in time and tell his younger self this would one day be his life, he wouldn’t have believed it for a second. His younger self wouldn’t have interpreted his future self as some optimistic oracle, but  rather a deranged intruder, and would have spat in his face. Hell, even who he was about ten years ago would have done so too. 

“You’re glowing!” he said, leaning back just enough to take in her face. Without waiting for her response, he cupped her cheeks and kissed her deeply, pouring every ounce of his love and gratitude into it.

Alma’s cheeks flushed as Bill pulled away, seeing as his absence made his heart grow even fonder of her. It was only a short trip, no different from others he had taken in the past. While it hit a slight reset against the tedium of late, the separation felt too great this time.

“You’re so sweet,” she said softly, her hand caressing his cheek. She didn’t quite feel like anything he’d expressed about her—she felt puffy and heavy—but it was nice to hear all the same. “I’m glad you came back in one piece,” she added with a gentle smile, her eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face, noticing some gray hairs at his temples.

Bill had some time to settle in before they both headed out to pick up Echo from school. When she saw him, her face lit up with pure joy, running straight into his arms. On the ride home, Alma nudged Echo's leg, prompting her to share the news she had been eagerly waiting to tell her father.

"You finally decided how you want to celebrate your birthday, E’?" Bill asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror, curious about her choice.

“McDonald’s!” Echo exclaimed excitedly. “With the chicken nuggets!”

“Really?” Bill raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Alma, who shrugged lightly. They’d been suggesting all sorts of other ideas, but nothing had swayed her. Ever since Alma’s friend Liz had thrown a McDonald’s birthday party for her son Austin, Echo couldn’t let the idea go.

“You know, they provide the cake and all that,” Alma added, with a hint of relief in her voice. Hosting the party there meant she wouldn’t have to worry about setting up at home. They would avoid having hyperactive kids ransacking the place and could return to a clean, quiet house afterward.

“Yeah, well that’s a good choice E’,” Bill nodded, though he leaned over and muttered to Alma, “I was hoping she'd pick the museum.”

Alma smiled knowingly. Bill had been trying to convince Echo to have her party at the Natural Science Museum for weeks, but it looked like that would have to wait for another day.

They settled into the evening, with Bill showing Echo the new winter coat he’d brought back from New York. It was a puffy violet coat with white fur trim on the hood, and Echo’s face lit up with excitement as she twirled in it. Alma smiled, watching their interaction from the opposite side of the couch, where she tried to get comfortable. 

“And this, Papa,” Echo pointed to some garments still in the shopping bag he produced the coat from. “Something for me, too?” 

“Uh, no, baby,” he said, lifting the bag on the couch. “It’s something for your baby sister and baby brother.” 

“May I see?” Echo asked.

“Yeah,” Alma said, smiling with intrigue. “May I see, too?” 

“Well,” Bill began, pulling out two tiny Sesame Street-themed jumpsuits with Big Bird and friends embroidered in the center of the chest, “while I was looking for Echo’s coat, I spotted these. It’ll still be winter when they’re born, so I thought they’d need something warm too.”

He handed the jumpsuits to Alma, who grinned as she held up the colorful garments. Her heart swelled, seeing that he had picked out something for the babies on his own. 

“I got you something too,” he said, and she looked up at him curiously. “It’s in my luggage. But they're for your eyes—and mine,” he smirked. 

“Oh!” she raised her brows. “Well, these are so cute,” she said, her eyes soft with affection, as she ran her fingers over the material.

“So very cute, Papa!” Echo agreed.

Bill turned to Echo, lifting her up off her feet and planting a flurry of playful kisses on her cheeks. “You’re the cutest of all!” he teased, making her giggle loudly as she squirmed in his arms.

“Mommy, Mommy! Help me!” She squealed in a fit of hearty giggles as she reached out for Alma, feigning the need to be saved. 

~~~

After Echo was tucked in for bed, Bill found Alma in the kitchen, wearing an oversized flannel and biker shorts, making herself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—heavy on the peanut butter, as of late. Twice before, he’d already caught her eating peanut butter straight from the jar with a spoon, and she hadn’t even bothered to hide it. Once, he saw her bite into a whole tomato the same way you would an apple. He never realized you could just do that, until then, it seemed so forbidden. Besides pasta, she usually didn’t have any particular cravings, she was always just hungry—for anything. 

“You want one?” she asked, pointing at her sandwich with the used butter knife.

“I’m good,” he said, eyeing her with a smirk. “Can I have a bite, though?”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, licking the knife clean as she turned to put it in the dishwasher. 

Behind her back, Bill quickly scurried away to the den after giving her rear a love tap. So when she turned around to see what he was snickering about, she saw the damage done to her sandwich.

“Oh, you asshole!” she yelled, loud enough for him to hear from the den. He had taken a very large bite out of it, so much for not wanting one. 

They settled into bed not long after, abandoning the movie they'd chosen halfway through. It turned out to be a bore for both of them, but truthfully, it was more about the impatience to be close after nearly a week of sleeping without one another. It was the one thing they couldn’t stand when apart. Too many nights without each other existed, and they hated adding to it.

Bill lay with his head resting on Alma’s moisturized belly, having undone the bottom buttons of her flannel shirt to get closer to her skin. She was propped up against her pregnancy pillow, her fingers gently running through his hair as they chatted. Alma couldn’t help but laugh when he mentioned how he and Scotty had shared a bed. Her laughter made her belly shake, but, despite the movement, the babies remained still, much to Bill’s disappointment. 

Anytime the twins would give a significant kick, Alma would eagerly urge him to feel, but they just wouldn’t perform as soon as he was near. While it was still incredible to feel even the faintest of flutters, Bill couldn’t help but want more. For now, though, it seemed all he’d get were ghost-like movements beneath her skin but nothing too significant.

“We should really get serious about what to name them,” Alma said, pushing her shoulders back, growing a bit uncomfortable from staying in the same position for too long.

“Yeah,” Bill agreed, sighing as he peppered kisses on her belly.

“We can make a list of ones we like. Maybe we can fairly narrow it down that way?” She asked because anytime she’d verbally suggest a name he didn’t like it and vice versa. 

“It’s hard to think about,” Bill admitted. “A lot of pressure.”

“Yeah, I know. Naming Echo was easy. I didn’t have to think twice.”

“Mhmm, because technically I chose it,” he nodded, sweeping his hand over the peak of her belly and tracing the dark meridian line that lay vertically over it. 

Alma smiled. “A long, long time ago, too.” 

“You say they move when I talk?” He said becoming distracted.

“They do.”

“I’m literally right here, and they won’t move. Hello?” He tapped his finger above her navel the same way you’d check a live mic. 

Alma laughed softly. “They’re probably asleep, love.” She shifted her hips, signaling she needed to adjust to a more comfortable position.

Bill caught on but couldn’t resist one last playful move. Before he backed off, he blew raspberries on the side of her stomach. Suddenly, he felt a small jolt push back against him. Alma winced slightly, her hand instinctively going to her side.

Bill looked up at her, eyes wide in surprise. “Was that—”

“Yeah, that was the baby,” she laughed. “I don’t think she liked that.” 

“It’s baby girl?” Bill asked, trying to remember their configuration inside her. He blew raspberries against her skin again, and just like before, he got the same response. “She hates it,” he laughed. “What about baby boy?”

“He moved too, just on the other side. He’s not as active as her, but the other day I think he was hiccuping. It was a weird sensation,” Alma said, relaxing as Bill helped her get more comfortable in bed.

“Hiccuping? It wasn’t gas?” He asked, intrigued, as he slipped under the covers and pulled them over her.

“Shut up! No. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me,” she yawned, her face nuzzling into her pillow. “At first I thought I was just feeling my heartbeat in my lower back, but it was rhythmic, just like when you hiccup. Kind of freaky, huh?”

“It’s strange,” he agreed, nodding. “Cool, too.” 

They both fell quiet for a moment. A subtle tension lingered between them. As much as he was enamored with her changing body, he missed it too. He eyed the oversized pregnancy pillow between them with a pang of jealousy. The way she cuddled up against it—when it should’ve been him she had her leg draped over—slightly irked him.

“Do you have to sleep with this tonight?” Bill asked as they lay there in the soft darkness.

Alma shifted, kicking her leg under the pillow, and her cold foot brushed against his hairy shin. He took it as a small gesture of compromise while he complained about the plush pink barrier between them.

“I guess not,” she replied, sitting up and pushing the pillow’s arched arm behind her, to his surprise.

She snuggled into him, and he adjusted the pillow to support her back. As she held him tightly, the desire for closeness was mutual, but Alma hesitated, uncertain if she could. When Bill slid his hand under her shirt, she couldn’t resist leaning in for a kiss. A soft moan escaped her lips against his, her nipples hyper-sensitive at his touch.

Before long, Alma found herself straddling him, her shirt slipping down to her waist, leaving only her forearms covered. Bill gazed up at her body with admiration and awe as she moved slowly, riding him at a gentle, deliberate pace. His large hands roamed, yet no matter how much he touched, it never felt like enough. He wanted to not only remember every inch of her body by sight alone but also by feeling.

Alma shifted his hand away from her breast, the sensation becoming a bit too overwhelming. She guided his fingers to her mouth, wrapping her lips around them in a way that made him swallow hard, appreciating the sensation for what it was. Since finding out they were expecting, Bill hadn’t felt comfortable with her giving him blowjobs. It made him anxious, thinking it might restrict her breathing too much in a way that would affect the babies, and he didn’t feel like it was a wise thing to participate in fully.

As she leaned forward, resting her hands on his bare chest, the pressure of her body pushing him into the mattress drove him wild. Her hips rocked in a rhythm that made her breathing quicken, the angle hitting just the right spots when she ground down. Bill sucked in a sharp breath, feeling her hot wetness, his head falling back onto the pillow.

“Alma,” he moaned, his voice rough with pleasure. “Baby… Fuck, you feel so good.”

Alma looked down at him, catching sight of his intense expression—his brows furrowed, neck strained, veins bulging on his biceps and forearms, while he bit his flushed bottom lip. His words spurred her on, and she kept up the pace, knowing her climax was right within reach. Every movement brought her closer, her body trembling as their breaths mingled in the dark.

Below her, Bill felt her elbows buckle until she straightened up and continued to roll her hips. His eyes closed, his heart racing, succumbing to all the sensations. Her moans filled the room, erratic at first until they went shallow again. Her once steady rhythm slowed almost suddenly. He opened his eyes, thinking maybe it was time for him to take over from below. Until he saw that her eyes rolled back into her skull, her head lolled back, and her body went limp. For a split second, he thought she was overwhelmed by pleasure, but when she began to fall backward, his protective instincts kicked in.

"Alma!?" he gasped, quickly catching her and easing her onto the mattress. Her eyes fluttered open but looked unfocused, and her breathing was shallow. Bill's hand stroked her flushed cheek gently. "Hey, hey," he called softly, trying not to panic.

Alma blinked through her dizziness and her ears still rang when she saw Bill's face hovering above her with worry etched across his features. Her heart sank when she realized what had happened, and embarrassment quickly followed.

Bill’s hand rested gently on her shoulder as she tried to sit up. "No, no, just lay down," he said, soft but firm.

"I’m sorry..." she muttered, her voice shaking as tears began to well in her eyes.

Bill let out a slow breath, roughly running his hand through his hair. "What—did you faint?" he asked, uneasiness in his tone as he tried to understand what had just happened.

"I got… dizzy," she admitted quietly, looking away, trying to downplay it.

His frown deepened, and he shook his head, knowing she wasn’t telling him the full story. “Let me help you get your clothes back on,” he said, a sigh escaping him.

“You’re mad?” Alma bit her lip. 

“No,” he said, a bit more harsh than he intended to, as he plucked his gray sweatpants from the floor, swiftly putting them on. The band slipped from his thumbs, snapping against his skin. “No,” he said, gently now. “I’m concerned, honestly.” He held back on what he really wanted to say—that the sight of her limp in his arms had terrified him. Uttering those words he feared would only serve to scare her, though. He didn’t like the feeling of her limp body in his arms and gently guiding her down safely on the mattress. It unnerved him, it was too macabre, too reminiscent of a lifeless body. His pregnant wife's lifeless body, no less. 

“I’m sorry…” Alma whispered again as Bill helped her step into her shorts, steadying her before easing her back into bed.

“Don’t,” he muttered, swallowing hard as he lay beside her. His eyes closed for a moment, gathering himself before he looked at her again. “There is nothing to be sorry about. I’m not upset in the way you think I am,” he explained softly. Her gaze remained downcast, with guilt. He studied her, trying to understand where her feelings were coming from, he was never an asshole about not getting off when he wanted to. She knew that, too. However, there was a mutual understanding now that sex, at least in the traditional sense, was off the table from now on. “It’s okay,” he said softly, tilting his head slightly to catch her eyes. “Maybe… you shouldn’t have been on top?” He felt a little regretful. Wanting to receive her and take her in completely in the moment, he may have been a little too greedy in hindsight.

Alma’s eyes met his again. “It’s my fault,” she murmured. “It started a few days ago, but... I just like being close to you. I—”

“Shit, Alma,” Bill interrupted, stunned to know the truth. “I like being close to you, too, but you can’t push yourself like this right now.” He shook his head, surprised she would even risk such a thing. “How many times has it happened?”

“Twice. Once at the shop and then… tonight,” she admitted, seeing the tension tighten his jaw. “But—” she quickly added before he could respond. “I already made an appointment with the doctor. It’s tomorrow.”

Bill exhaled deeply, in relief. “Good. Okay. I feel better knowing that,” he said, leaning in to kiss her gently.

They lay there, cuddling in the dark, trying to settle their nerves and get some rest. However, Alma kept shifting her hips, searching for a comfortable position that wouldn’t strain them too much.

“You want the pillow?” Bill suggested, suddenly feeling a bit selfish about his earlier request.

“Please?” she giggled, as he was already up, retrieving the pillow from the side of the bed and helping her nestle into it comfortably.

…

December 1995

It was a frigid, overcast Christmas week. However, to Bill, it wasn’t quite as cold as he knew New York to be. Though he wished he were there, it felt nice to celebrate the holiday festivities in his new family home. The sight of the house dressed up with red ribbons, paper stars strung on the mantle, green garlands on the banister, and the twelve-foot Fraser fir sparkling with ornaments and scenting in the living room brought him a sense of warmth he hadn’t expected. He found himself regretting not spending their first holiday in their new house; to think he had never really liked Christmas before. Having a child changed his jaded perspective, allowing himself to see the enchantment and wonderment through Echo's hazel eyes. 

Alma’s father, Antonio, had been in town for a few days, and surprisingly, the visit had been relatively painless. When he arrived, he personally gifted Bill a bottle of Mezcal for the opportunity to stay at his home. For Alma, he gave her a bag of dry chiles and a jar of local Texas honey. The old man appreciated his own space and often retreated early to his sleeping quarters in the basement to chat on the phone with his wife Connie, who was with family in San Antonio until he was ready for bed. Other times, Bill would find Antonio inspecting their home, looking for creaky floorboards or tapping the walls with his knuckles, ensuring the integrity of them. 

They were still gathered around the dinner table after supper, where Bill had stared off at a nativity scene with all the little biblical figures under a barn roof on the banquet table. Alma had bought it and tucked it away in the dining room so that her father didn’t think they were completely godless despite being so. Bill, having known his father-in-law a little more over the years, had learned that it was Alma’s mother Maria who had been the more devout Catholic out of the two.

Alma had been showing Antonio developed photos from their wedding in Vegas, an appropriate few from their honeymoon in Italy until she began showing him photos from Halloween. Echo had at first insisted on being a boombox. Alma had no clue where that idea came to her, but they both went on a trip for the supplies to make it. It was at the store that Echo encountered a yellow Power Ranger costume and her vision pivoted. In the photo, Antonio was looking at Echo mid-karate kick in her costume.

She showed him photos from Echo’s McDonald’s birthday, and Antonio chuckled at the ones she took with the poor minimum-wage working soul who had to don the Grimace costume. She smiled, but her eyes gave off a skeptical uncertainty with the big, oblong purple thing. Echo had a nice birthday, with some classmates, and Liz’s children. However, Alma felt a pang of sadness when she learned that Liz and her family were relocating to a military base in Colorado after the holidays that day.

Echo left her mother’s side after growing bored and onto Bill’s lap when Alma began showing off some concert photography to Antonio, original prints of photos that had been published in several other music magazines now. Two from international publications, one from Japan and the other from the UK. Her father looked impressed, seeing the tangible proof of her success. She had a real knack for framing and capturing the kinetic energy in the scenes she photographed.

She was pointing at a photo of a band, explaining how they were on a big European tour recently. Then, at another group, explaining how a year ago the band's manager asked if she’d travel with the group on their west coast tour to take photographs of them while on the road. She found herself considering it, but she had too much going on during that time herself. Bill was silently relieved she didn’t go, but he figured a similar opportunity would arise at a better time anyway. 

“This is the band from Rolling Stone,” Antonio recalled, tapping on the original photo laid out before him among others. “I saw the news about this guy.”

“Oh, yeah. Sad, huh?” Alma replied, gazing at the photo thoughtfully.

“Bit of a waste, if you ask me,” he added, glancing at her, hoping he didn’t come off as callous. She didn’t seem bothered, though. 

“Mhmm.” Bill hummed, joining the conversation as he returned from the den after Echo asked if she could watch TV. “Alma has been getting calls from biographers recently. They want to interview her about their hometown return and see all the material she has.”

“Really?” Antonio turned to Alma, intrigued.

“Uhm, yeah. I just need to research who these people are because—”

“You don’t trust them?” he asked, sensing her hesitation.

“Well, I just don’t know what they would do with my words or my photos. I even have video footage too,” she explained.

“I think you should save that for something else, love,” Bill suggested. 

They had discussed the value of her material, and while they agreed it belonged to the fans in some capacity, there was already an oversaturation of media surrounding the band. The lead singer's conspiratorial demise had become a constant topic across every medium imaginable, and they felt it would be wise to not add to that noise without careful consideration.

“I just need to curate what photos I would like to share. Like these,” Alma said, opening a portfolio and fishing out the photos of baby Echo nestled among the band members, sharing a sweet moment with the lead singer. A few shots zoomed in on the lead singer and Echo alone. “I wouldn’t give this away until one day she can decide for herself, you know. So… yeah. I don’t know, it just makes me nervous,” she admitted, exchanging a look with Bill, who gave her an understanding nod. “Uh, you can keep looking through everything if you want to,” she said to her father. “But—I have to pee really bad.”

“I’ll help y—” Bill started to rise from his seat but paused. 

“Use this,” Antonio said, holding out his cane to her.

She smiled, amused, but took a firm grip on the brass handle as she rose carefully. Her big pregnant belly emerged from under the table in an almost shocking display. Bill saw her every day, but still, there were moments when he really took note of how pregnant she was. Even feeling a slight tinge of guilt. This was one of those instances. While he had learned to keep his reactions in check, he noticed Antonio's eyes widen for a moment, clearly taken aback. 

“Oh, this isn’t so bad,” Alma said after taking a few careful steps with the cane’s assistance. 

“You should get one,” Antonio suggested with a wink. 

“A wheelchair would be better. A motorized one,” she joked, making her father chuckle. 

When Bill made the call to Antonio a few months ago to inform him he’d be a grandfather again, he caught himself feeling a bit nervous. Just like with Echo, he would take responsibility, despite it being a team effort, but he was glad that this time Alma sat next to him on the couch in the living room.

“Just sound, like, a little happier in tone,” Alma said. 

“You want me to be cheery?” he raised his brows at her. “He’s going to think I’m on fucking drugs. It doesn’t matter how I sound if it’s me calling, he always figures it has something to do with you anyway.” 

“Fine.” Alma tutted.

“Do you want to do it?” He said, trying to pass the phone off to her, she was doing nothing to help the nerves he felt.

“What are you nervous all of a sudden?” she asked knowingly, eyeing the phone offensively.

“Not like you are. You’re my wife, you're acting like–” 

“Like what?” she tilted her head.

“Like if we’re teenagers and I accidentally got you pregnant? We’re in our 30s, A’. If anything, he should be happy that these babies were made in marriage this time.”

Alma rolled her eyes. “Well, go ahead and tell him that, then.”

“Fine.” He leaned back and dialed.

“Bueno?” Antonio answered.

“Hey, it’s Bill,” he said quickly, hitting the speaker button.

“Oh… uhm, is Alma—”

“I’m here, Apá, I’m fine,” she interjected quickly before he could start worrying.

“Hi, mija! So?”

Antonio was receptive to the news when Bill informed him. He congratulated them both as he was very happy for them and also thrilled about being a grandfather again, especially. Again—he was happy they were blessed enough to say that. And grateful that another baby would be joining their family, it made his heart swell at the opportunity.

“And have you been feeling okay, Almacita?” Antonio asked.

“Uhm,” Alma bit her lip and crossed her arms uncomfortably. “Well, as good as I can,” her eyes flicked up at Bill, seeking some support. “I’m fine, but it’s just a little harder because we’re having twins.” Alma covered her mouth with her hand nervously. 

“Uh, yeah, it’s another girl, and we’re having a boy, too,” Bill continued.

There was a long pause at the end of the line and they both looked at each other worried. Bill wondered if the old man’s heart went into arrest.

“Apá?” Alma thickly swallowed. “Did you hear that? I’m twenty-two weeks today. More than halfway!” She said, trying her best to sound optimistic. “Everything—I’m okay.” She didn’t want to tell him until she surpassed a week after the gestation her siblings were prematurely born on. That way, she felt, would ease some worry. 

“Yeah, Alma is healthy, and the babies are healthy. They’re all doing well.” 

Antonio could be heard clearing his throat before he spoke. “That’s a blessing. Wow... I’m happy for you. I just think of your Mamá you know…” 

Alma took a deep, shaky breath and frowned. “Yeah… me too.” 

“But you’re strong, Alma. I know you are. Just take care of yourself, okay? And—you too, Bill.”

As they sat in the dining room, waiting for Alma to return, Bill and Antonio shared an unspoken sense of awkwardness, neither of them really knew how to interact. The start was usually hard, but when they got going, the conversation flowed easily. However, both men sat there quietly, deliberating on whether to go first.

“This dining room,” Antonio began, glancing around the space after removing his reading glasses. “It’s big. I know you stayed here for Thanksgiving this year—did everyone come here to eat?”

“Oh, uh, no.” Bill shook his head. “Actually, we were invited to the Darby’s Thanksgiving.”

“Guy with the tattoos?” Antonio asked, sweeping a hand over his wrinkly arm.

“That’s him.” Bill nodded with a smile. “It was nice. You know, Thanksgiving in New York started when Bianca gathered all the stragglers for the holiday so they wouldn’t be lonely and of course, so she could stuff everyone full of food,” he chuckled. “I was the first to her holiday parties. Then the next year, it was Queenie. Then Marcy. And then, Alma, eventually. Darby’s Thanksgiving was a lot like that. Even though we miss our friends back on the East Coast, it had the same kind of feel.”

“Oh, I’m glad Bianca and Darby are so gracious like that. Found family in a way, huh.”

“Yeah, good people,” Bill agreed. “Bianca insists on cooking everything herself, but Darby does it potluck-style. Alma and Echo made pecan pies, and I handled the mashed potatoes. That kind of thing. Um, while we were there, Darby and his wife Jennifer announced that they were expecting again.” He said, twisting his wedding band, still feeling the awkward air between them.

“Exciting.” Antonio nodded. “That’s great.” 

He paused, glancing at Antonio. “You were in San Antonio for Thanksgiving with Connie, right?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Antonio replied, scratching his head. “She has two sons, older, both in their 50s, they’re nice,” he shrugged indifferently. “I haven’t mentioned this to Alma, yet. I just don’t want to upset her right now, but we’re thinking about moving there— permanently.”

“Really?” Bill didn’t think Alma would be upset, she’d probably be happy that he was moving away from Missouri.

“Mhmm. I’m from Texas—Houston, specifically,” he proudly clarified. “But San Antonio’s nice. And a lot warmer,” he added, looking out at the barren trees through the bay windows, where the sky was a bright, wintry white. “You two leave the curtains open in every room here. You’re not worried about people looking in?”

“Um,” Bill hummed, looking out the window with him. “Well, having the curtains drawn makes it feel more open here. In New York, everything can feel so... closed in.” He gestured with his hands. “But I guess, now, you can see that neighbor all the way over there,” he pointed, through the tall leafless trees. “But usually, the trees cover us well in season.”

“I guess,” Antonio looked unconvinced. “People can look in. Or something?” 

“Something?” Bill smirked. “Like an animal?”

“No,” he said definitively. “You never know what’s out there, I guess,” he lightly shrugged.

“Uh-huh.”

“You have a gun?” 

Bill tilted his head, surprised by his question. He deliberated on how to answer him for a moment. “Well,” he licked his lips, becoming serious. “Don’t tell her I told you, but Alma does.” 

“I have what?” Alma’s voice cut in as she re-entered the dining room, catching them both mid-chuckle. She found it nice to see them having a moment.

“Uh,” Bill scratched his chin. “That you have bear mace,” he thought quickly. “You know, for the bears everyone tried to scare us about when we moved here.”

“Have you seen one?” Antonio asked her curiously, raising a bushy brow.

“A bear? Yeah,” Alma said, which piqued Bill’s attention because he hadn’t been aware she had. It seemed like something important enough to mention. “Bill, some mornings,” she laughed when he shook his head at her joke. 

….

The next day, Alma and her father prepared to head out for some last-minute Christmas shopping. Alma was slipping on her coat and a thick scarf while Bill knelt beside her, tying the laces on her Vans by the side door.

“You two going to be out long?” he asked, double-knotting her shoelace.

“Nah. I mean, look at who’s going,” she giggled. “We’ll shop, eat somewhere, and then meet you and E’ at the shop.”

He stood up and kissed her. “Alright. Call me for anything. I’m serious.” 

“I know, I know. I’m taking the Mustang by the way,” she said, taking the key off the hook. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said at his disapproving gaze. “I’m with my dad, remember, I’ll be on my best behavior. I just want him to enjoy a ride in it.” 

Bill sighed, relenting. “Alright, fine. Just be safe.”

Antonio met them after greeting Echo, who was enjoying cereal at the kitchen island. He was held up for a moment when she proudly showed him yet again the school artwork she had done, pinned with magnets to the fridge. One, in particular, were odd-shaped people who represented her mother and father, herself, and two star-like shapes she said were her siblings.

“Ready?” Alma smiled at her father when he appeared. 

“Ready.” He smiled, smoothing down his heavy coat.

The mall bustled with holiday shoppers, but Alma and her father took their time, strolling at an easy pace through a department store. Their paces were quite similar, so Alma found it nice that she didn’t have to take uncomfortably long strides like she had to with Bill most times. They found some respite sitting on the edge of a display bed with snowman-themed jersey sheets, watching the shoppers whiz by them. 

“I know, you and Bill don’t ask for much. But when you showed off how the nursery is shaping up, I noticed something you don’t have, yet.”

“We forgot something?” Alma asked, the image of the nursery coming to mind. They had everything she thought, and not only that two of everything.  

“You did. I didn’t see a rocking chair.” 

Her eyes widened in surprise. “I forgot! My head, I swear I can’t even remember anything lately.” 

“Well, thankfully I still have my mind,” he tapped his temple with a wink. “Let’s get one.”

After purchasing a rocking chair that would be delivered post-Christmas, they continued browsing before settling at a Tex-Mex restaurant to eat at. As they ate, Antonio brought up the quirky squinting Echo would sometimes do and asked if she needed glasses in the same way Alma did. Echo was close to the age Alma was when she was prescribed glasses. She quickly informed him that she had them checked and that she was fine, much to his relief when the conversation drifted toward naming the babies.

“Well, we’ve been narrowing it down. So we’re close.” She said as she chewed a bite from her massive burrito. 

“What are the names you like, though?” Antonio asked. She mentioned a few, most quite unconventional, some a little old-fashioned, some just things, but one, in particular, gave him pause. “No. Not that one.” He bristled, taking a sip of his beer.

“What?” she said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. Antonio was glad she finally did, her top lip was stained with red salsa for a good minute, but he hadn’t wanted to interrupt her. “Why? I think it’s pretty, Bill, too.” 

“That’s an ex-girlfriend's name—before your Mamá. Don’t name her that.” He shook his head disapprovingly. 

“Apá? Ex-girlfriend?!” Alma laughed, surprised by the revelation. “Okay, then... We’ll cross that off.”

“You want a Spanish name, though?” 

“It’s not mandatory,” she replied, “but I think it’d be nice, you know? Something with a bit of heritage, I guess.”

“I think so, too,” he smiled. He loved his daughter's name, after all. “Flora, Sol, Paloma, Luna, Cielo,” he listed, letting the names roll off his tongue. “I don’t know… just some ideas, but I keep coming back to Vida, from your list.” 

“Oh, you like that one?” 

“It’s nice,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I like it. It kind of shares a little something with your name in a way.” 

Alma sipped from her glass bottle of Mexican Coca-Cola, letting the thought sink in. “You know, that was on both mine and Bill’s list,” she said with a little laugh. “But we thought maybe we could think of something better?”

“Were there any other names you both had on your lists?”

She shook her head. “No, just that one.”

“Well, maybe it’s a sign,” Antonio said with a gentle smile. “You both agreed on it before you even knew you’d have to convince each other. Maybe it’s meant to be Vida.”

They returned home so that they could unload the car of their shopping bags before making their way to the shop. Only one item Antonio helped carry in and hid in the downstairs coat closet for Alma, everything else they left inside by the side door, not wanting to put any more effort than that. There was a mellow acoustic show going on tonight, as well as a small staff holiday party, and both Alma and Bill wanted Antonio to see the place in action. 

Alma was waiting for a car to pass while she sat on the edge of the driveway when said car slowed and partially pulled in beside her. It was her neighbor from down the way, and through the window, Alma could see her eyeing the Mustang with keen interest.

“What does she want?” Antonio asked, eyeing the neighbor with suspicion. He didn't like the sharp, haughty turn she made in her Land Rover.

Alma sighed. “I don’t know.” She said, rolling the window down. 

“My, you are pregnant!” the neighbor exclaimed, her tone overly enthusiastic, with her slight southern twang she didn’t do a good job of suppressing. She wasn’t local, but she pretended to be.

“Can I help you with something?” She asked neutrally, ignoring her comment. 

“Oh, well, I don’t mean to cause alarm,” the neighbor rushed to say. “But have you heard gunshots? It was maybe a few months back? I was talking to the Turners. They live just on the other side of me. They said they heard it too from this direction. Strange, right?”

“Really? Yeah, that is strange,” Alma said, furrowing her brow, feigning concern. “We don’t own any guns. But you know, my husband mentioned something like that a few months ago. But he heard them come from down your way, actually.” She deflected.

“Interesting,” the neighbor said, leaning out her window slightly, her voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “Well, we are armed, it's our God-given right to be. But we’re responsible. To hear shots ringing out of season? That’s just not what we do.” She shook her head, disapprovingly.

“Right…” Alma said, her eyes narrowed at her skeptically. “Well, sorry, I can’t help you? I mean, it was months ago, right? Could have been anything.” Alma replied, trying to keep her tone light. Of all times to do so, it was so very inconvenient that the neighbor was bringing up months-old speculation while her father was present. 

“It was some time ago. Oh! I didn’t see you there,” the neighbor said, suddenly noticing Antonio in the passenger seat. “I’m Whit’, Alma’s neighbor. You must be her grandfather,” she added with a disingenuous smile.

Alma raised her hand, so her father wouldn’t speak. She could feel her irritation bubbling up, how she hated when her classmates teased her for her much older parents. 

“Father,” she said tightly, forcing a smile. “He’s not much older than—um, sorry, what’s your husband’s name again?”

“George.”

“George, yeah. He’s about 80 too, right?” Alma shot back, her annoyance creeping into her voice.

“Hmph,” Whit’ said, her expression hardening as she put her buggy sunglasses back on. “Well, I’m sorry to hold you up. You really look due any day now. Really, just about to pop!”

“Mhmm. Have a Merry Christmas,” Alma replied, rolling her window up quickly, cutting off any further commentary.

“What the hell was that?” Antonio asked after being a bystander to their odd passive-aggressive exchange. “Does she have a problem with you?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, turning safely onto the road. “I’ve only interacted with her a handful of times, and she’s never acted like that before.” Out of very small, small talk, the most they ever spoke was Whit’ taking interest in her unique engagement ring. 

“She’s jealous,” Antonio suspected, glancing at his daughter.

“What?” Alma chuckled. “I don’t see why? She has a rich old husband, no kids, and stays home drinking wine, and spending his money. Good life, I think. I certainly wouldn’t be worried about gunshots from months ago.” She rolled her eyes.

“That’s true about the husband? She looks your age,” Antonio said, raising a brow.

Alma laughed. “He’s probably in his sixties, not eighty. I was just getting a dig at her. Sorry,” she quickly said for doing so at her father’s expense. 

“Maybe she wants a young, rich husband like you,” he chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Alma’s lip curled at the thought. “We don’t have them, by the way—guns,” She lied to her father, unknowing that Bill hadn’t told him they did to some degree. Antonio didn’t take offense that she wasn’t being truthful, she was smart to not reveal to anyone they had the means to protect themselves. “But, if she wants to accuse us of shooting guns, she should be smart and back the hell away.” She said, making her father laugh. 

…

Christmas Eve/Day 1995 

It was late in the evening on Christmas Eve but Bill and Alma were in the living room planting Echo’s presents under the base of the large tree, but currently he was taking pictures of Alma in front of their twinkling fir. She quickly threw on a nice tunic she knew would fit without the fuss of shimming it on and stood cradling her belly while Bill took photos with one of her professional cameras. 

“So that’s all she said?” Bill asked, still curious about the strange interaction she had with the neighbor, while he adjusted some camera settings before holding it back up.

Alma sighed. “Yeah, I told you about the noise. It carries through the trees.” 

“Smile,” Bill chuckled, seeing her scowling at him through the viewfinder. “What did your dad say?” 

“Nothing. He just wanted to know what her problem was.” 

Bill nodded, he would have wondered the same if he was there for the interaction. Especially when hearing the covertly rude comments the neighbor made about how pregnant his wife looked. It pissed him off, frankly, because who the hell was she?

“She’s bored. Don’t worry about it, love. You want one more?” He asked, taking a snapshot of her, glancing down while taking a step out of position. He thought that would come out pretty, it looked relaxed, and she looked more herself as he saw her.

“I think that’s good,” she smiled appreciatively.

They set to work, gently arranging Echo’s presents beneath the tree. Bill walked over to the couch to grab a few more gifts, and Alma could hear him chuckling quietly behind her.

“What’s funny?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

She stared at him with an annoyed glint in her eyes until he settled his laughter. “It’s just when your back is directly facing me, you don’t look pregnant. But the second you turn a little—boom, there’s your bump, all out of nowhere.”

“For real?” She rolled her eyes. Why would he even point that out after everything she’d just said about the neighbor’s comments? “So, like this?” She positioned herself facing straight forward again, then angled slightly to reveal the curve of her belly, making him laugh again. “Leave me alone!” she said, swatting the air in his direction, though a hint of a smile tugged at her lips.

“It can’t,” he said through his laughter. “It’s cute. You’re cute.” 

She bit her lip to keep from laughing with him, but in her mind's eye she could picture how jarring it could look, sometimes she’d catch her figure in the reflection of a mirror and would even shock herself. Failing to hold her laughter caused her to snort loudly, and when she joined him it only made them laugh even harder. 

After they finished, Alma glanced over the pile of gifts. “I think we went overboard… E’ has so much this year.” 

“Eh,” Bill shrugged, hugging her from behind and kissing the top of her head before resting his chin on it. “Well… it’s her last Christmas as an only child before we have to budget three ways next year.” 

“Aww, yeah,” Alma wistfully sighed. After a beat, she tilted her head up at him, her eyes twinkling, reflecting the lights on the tree. “I have an extra gift for you, but it’s not wrapped... I had my dad put it in the coat closet.”

“Oh,” he said, anticipating something else entirely until she mentioned her father. “A Game Boy?” He said, almost expectantly.

 Her smile fell. “Dammit,” she said in the same tone Echo would since it had become an inside joke between her and Bill. “No… they were sold out.” He had dropped very obvious hints about wanting one after trying to beat Giancarlo’s high scores on his over the summer. “But—I think it’s something you’ll want to use in the morning.” 

~~~

They crept quietly, hand in hand, down the hall, careful not to wake Echo, surprised she hadn’t come barreling in their room to wake them first on Christmas morning. It was quite early, but Alma assumed her father would be up by now sitting in the breakfast nook with the newspaper like he had been this week, but the sound of the water pipes humming told her he was just starting his day.

Alma popped a blueberry bagel into the toaster while Bill grinned, pushing the sleeves of his Italian cardigan up, experimenting with his new espresso machine–hissing and steaming. She’d noticed him eyeing it a few times when they were out, catching his gaze lingering just a little too long at the display. She didn’t know why he held off buying it himself, but it seemed like he was putting priorities in front of just a want. A want she could easily tell would be a daily need with how he was fixing himself a latte, a change from his usual black mugs of coffee. 

While slathering cream cheese on her toasty bagel, she watched him take a sip of his creation, raising his brows in satisfaction. She missed coffee. Besides the occasional sip here and there, she made the personal decision to abstain after learning she was pregnant. This morning, though, Bill walked around the island with his matte, slate-green mug and encouraged her to steal a sip at the very least. However, she found it so tasty she ended up keeping his mug, but he didn’t mind making another, taking the opportunity to happily fiddle with his new machine more. 

~~~

Echo enjoyed a bountiful Christmas this season. She had gotten everything she wanted on the list she wrote to Santa and more. Though she quickly moved on from the clothing she was gifted by both her parents and grandfather, she was still appreciative. However, her attention was fully captured by the Barbie castle and the assortment of accessories that would be perfect for the Barbies she’d received on her birthday.

With his pocket knife, Antonio was helping Echo open the packaging that housed the baby doll he and Connie had gotten her, while Bill and Alma tidied the room. Of course, most of the mess was from the wrappings from Echo things. For Antonio, they’d picked out a high-quality mag flashlight he’d mentioned in passing over the phone. Alma also gifted dress shirts she knew he’d like (the same work over-shirt he had in various colors) and cozy loungewear for Connie to receive later.

Bill and Alma exchanged their perfume and cologne gifts, a custom they’d kept every Christmas. But this year, they decided to treat themselves to Nokia cell phones, which they bought at the beginning of the month. Alma had a celestial hard shell cover on hers, but Bill left his bare. 

“I think Echo has one more present?” Bill announced. Echo perked up, her eyes going wide with excitement as she looked between her parents.

“Did you check under the whole tree?” Alma asked, hoping to keep Echo occupied while Bill slipped out to the dining room.

Moments later, Bill returned, pushing in a pink, battery-powered Jeep with a big red bow stuck to the front of it. Echo squealed, leaping off the couch and clambering into the driver’s seat. “It’s like Mommy’s! Look, Mommy!”

“Yeah! It is just like mine!” Alma laughed, her own face lighting up at Echo’s joy.

“Make it go, Papa!” Echo said, bouncing in the seat, eager to take off.

“We can, but outside after breakfast, okay?” 

“You should hug your mom and dad, Echo,” Antonio suggested with a warm glint in his eye. “Tell them thank you,” he added, giving her a little wink.

Echo looked up at her parents, her excitement softening as she scrambled out of her new pink Jeep. She wrapped her little arms around Bill and then Alma, but not before she ran her hands all over her belly first as she thanked her too. 

“You’re very welcome, darling,” she said to her daughter and looked at her father Antonio with a smile, silently thanking him for giving Echo the gentle reminder.

~~~

Bill was helping Echo into her coat, while Alma and her father lingered in the living room, chatting after breakfast. Antonio mentioned with a laugh that their laughter from the night before had woken him where he slept just below, though he wasn’t complaining; he’d found it rather endearing. 

Echo squirmed impatiently while Bill worked to button the toggles of her coat, her energy so high she could hardly stand still. She was eager to enjoy her new ride and still buzzing from her excitement that morning. She had come down the stairs to find her parents waiting for everyone below, sharing kisses and smiles as they sat together on the couch. Echo gripped the stair railing tightly but, in her rush, tripped on the last step but recovered quickly to her parents' relief. Not even letting the blunder hinder her from the gifts awaiting under the tree.

“We’ll follow in a second,” Alma called to Bill, who replied with a wink and a nod as he stepped outside with Echo.

Alma stayed behind to rest for a moment, especially since she was still full after eating a hefty plate of chilaquiles, the sauce she made from the dry chiles her father had brought. Her feet were not only swollen lately, but they just plain hurt too. While Alma was thanking Antonio for the nice hair accessory set he had gifted her and the shoe-shining kit he gave Bill, she sighed, propping her swollen feet up. Antonio handed her a throw pillow to place under them, noting her visible discomfort as she sank further into the couch.

“Did Bill get you anything else?” Antonio asked, noticing they didn’t exchange much. 

“You know, the basement’s pretty big? Well, Bill is going to make a space there to build a small dark room for me after the twins get here,” she smiled. 

Outside, Bill kept a watchful eye on Echo as she navigated her new toy, guiding her away from the bushes and helping her learn the stops and starts. Her laughter bubbled up as she tapped the gas, stopping and starting as she got a feel for her Jeep’s controls. When a hind wheel became stuck between the damp grass and the driveway, Bill stepped in, holding the steering wheel lightly. 

“Alright, hit the pedal,” he instructed, giving the car a gentle nudge to free it from the spot.

As Echo zoomed down the driveway, she turned around at his call and drove back toward him, her face glowing with a big dimpled smile that mirrored his. The whir of the motor whined down as she approached and then came to a stop altogether. 

"Hit the pedal?” Bill said, his brows furrowing as he watched her tap it with a concerned frown. “Hm," he murmured, scratching his head under his black beanie with a hint of regret. "Maybe I didn’t charge the battery long enough, baby."

Echo’s face twisted into a pout, clearly unimpressed by his oversight. Her little arms crossed, and her expression was unmistakably displeased, which he was taken aback by. Mostly because her low-brow glare he was met with revealed just how menacing his own could look. 

“Fix it!” she whined. 

“Echo,” he said gently, tilting his head at her. “I can, but we have to go inside while the battery charges.” 

“No!” she screamed. 

Bill bit his lip, sighing quietly through his nose as his shoulder slightly slumped. She’d been acting out more than usual lately, mostly with Alma, and they both suspected the change had to do with the twins’ impending arrival. When they’d started setting up the nursery, she happily helped in her own little way, but once Bill put the cribs together, it seemed to make everything feel much more real for her. The finishing touch—the bassinets in her parents’ bedroom—seemed to have triggered her even more. The twins not only had their own room but their own little sleeping area in her parents’ space, too, a luxury she didn’t have. That realization had sparked a subtle jealousy in her, though she couldn’t quite put it into words.

Bill scratched his brow, unsure what to do as Echo’s cries grew louder, filling the quiet morning air. “Let’s go inside, Echo,” he tried again, gently helping her off the Jeep. She allowed it at first, but as soon as her pink, sparkly rain boots hit the ground, she plopped down and let out an even louder wail, refusing to move. When he knelt down to help her up, she flopped back and went limp, kicking her legs in defiance each time he tried.

“Oh my god,” Alma said, looking out the living room window, and seeing the situation outside. 

“She’s tired,” Antonio remarked. His gaze remained on Bill, slightly out of morbid curiosity, to see how he’d handle his child's tantrum. He saw that Bill was lightly frazzled, but otherwise he was very calm. 

“Yeah, but—” Alma sighed, beginning to ease herself off the couch to go outside.

“Mija, just—” he said, placing his hand on her knee. “He’s got it.”

Outside, Bill took a deep breath as he righted himself. “Okay, well, I’m going inside, so… I guess I’ll see you later,” he said, moving away slowly. He heard her cries soften a bit, glancing back over his shoulder, he saw her watching him, a hint of surprise on her tear-streaked face at the idea of him leaving her outside. “Do you want to come in?” he asked gently.

“No!” she shouted, her little voice resolute.

“Fine,” he sighed. “Just remember, you’ll have to knock if you want us to let you in.” He stepped onto the porch, giving her one last chance. He paused for a beat, hoping she’d get up, but he could tell she was hoping for him to change his mind first, so he began to twist the doorknob.

“No! Don’t leave me, Papa!” she cried, making his heart twinge. “I want to go inside!” she scrambled to her feet and ran toward him, her little arms wrapping around his leg tightly.

He knelt down, immediately scooping her up, noticing the overtired look in her eyes. She’d had so much excitement for such an early morning, and the day’s overstimulation was catching up to her. “When we go in, you’re taking a nap,” he said softly but firmly. Echo frowned at the suggestion, clearly not thrilled. “Hey,” he murmured, brushing the tear stains from her cheeks with his thumb. “What’s the matter?” She stayed quiet, wrapping her little arms around his neck in a hug instead. “Ready to go inside now?” 

“Yeah,” she whimpered softly, “I sorry, Papa,” she said, rubbing her tired eyes.

“I love you,” he said, kissing the top of her head as they walked back into the warm house together.

Once inside, Alma took over, guiding Echo to her room for a nap. Meanwhile, Bill slipped into the office to have a cigarette and return a missed call from his oldest brother.

“E’, you comfy?” Alma asked, pulling the covers up around Echo as she snuggled in, nodding happily. “Good. Ow!” Suddenly, Alma winced as her hand flew to her belly, feeling the twins shift in a big, sudden movement. She looked down, noticing that her belly, which had been sitting high, seemed to have dropped. “Did you see that?” she asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“The babies moving, Mama!” 

“Yeah! They did a flip!” She lightly laughed, but that only alerted Alma to the fact that they positioned themselves for birth. “Are you excited to meet them?” 

“Mm,” Echo lightly shrugged indifferently before yawning.

“They’re so excited to meet you,” Alma said, softly caressing her cheek. 

“How do you know?” Echo asked, curiously. 

“They whisper to my heart,” Alma replied, her hand resting on her chest. “They tell me they love you too.” She gently tickled Echo's side, eliciting a fit of giggles from the little girl.

“Really?” Echo asked, her hazel eyes sparkling with wonder. “What do they say?”

Alma leaned in closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “They say they can’t wait to see your smile and give you hugs. They know you’re going to be the best big sister ever.” She said, stamping her lips on her daughter's cheek lovingly. 

Christmas Day was set to end with a grilled steak dinner, and Bill was outside on the patio, bundled up warmly as he tended to the steaks. The cold air made his breath visible when he blew on his hand after holding the cool metal tongs. Inside, Alma was on the phone with Carla, sharing a giggle as she prepared some sides. 

At the breakfast nook, Antonio and Echo were having a bowl of Sopa de Estrellitas. “Want some more sopita, bwello?” she asked, her little voice sweet and earnest.

Antonio patted his belly. “Abuelo, is full, Mijita,” he smiled warmly at her. “Pero, gracias.”

“Gracias!” She said excitedly, delighted she understood the word.

He chuckled. “When someone says ‘gracias’, you can say, ‘de nada’. You say it,” he encouraged. “De nada.” 

“Day nada!” 

While he praised her effort, his gaze followed Alma as she brought out foil-wrapped mushrooms and other veggies to the grill, her pregnant belly leading her way while she waddled toward Bill.

Bill quickly threw his cigarette inside the chiminea he started a flame in, fanning away the lingering smoke with his hand. When he saw Alma approaching, his eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. He immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace, and she began to say something when he cut her off with a long, tender kiss.

“How’s it going,” she asked, glancing over at the grill. 

“Still trying to bring myself to cook one of these steaks well done for Ulyssa,” he grimaced, making Alma giggle. Ulyssa and Yolani were expected to come soon for dinner. "Are you not cold?" Bill asked, rubbing her arm, since Alma didn’t bother to put a coat over the emerald green wrap dress she'd changed out of her pajamas into.

"I'm warm," she replied with a smile. "It actually feels nice out here for now. How are your brothers?" she asked, remembering he’d called them earlier.

“Good,” he nodded. “Same ol’ thing, you know.” 

“Mhmm,” she looked up at him, trying to read him. “Is it different this year? Since, you know, your dad passed?” 

Bill's chest rose, taking a deep breath and twisting his lip in thought as he looked out across the yard. “Yes and no…” he met her gaze. “I never had a good Christmas with that man since my mom passed, so it’s not like there’s much to reflect on. I guess this year just feels a little… weird.” he shrugged, indifferently. “Have you thought about your mom today?” he asked, softly.

“Well, yeah,” she said truthfully. “But I have been during this whole pregnancy.”

“I thought so,” he nodded, understandingly. He thought of his mother too but after so many years the memories he could recall were so distant. “Your dad misses her too. He was talking about her earlier having a smoke with me on the balcony.” 

Alma's eyes widened. “Shut up. My dad doesn’t smoke,” she scoffed. 

“Yeah, he does,” Bill said adamantly, raising his brows. 

“He quit before—”

“You were born. I know he told me while we were smoking.” 

“What the fuck?” 

“He said he only does it socially with Connie when they play dominoes with their friends and that he’s old now, it doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t anyway.” 

“For real?” She said, still in denial. 

“Yes!” He pressed. “When he asked for a cig’ I laughed at first because I thought he was joking—but no. Trust me, I was surprised too. Never in my life, I thought I’d ever share a smoke with your dad.” Little did he know that he’d share a glass of mezcal with him later that evening. “It was kinda fucking weird, but whatever, I guess.” 

“Yeah… I guess.” Alma shook her head, still in disbelief. “He likes you,” she looked up at him with a knowing smile. 

He shrugged as he walked over to the grill to flip the thick steaks. “Sure, whatever.” 

“No, it’s not whatever,” she followed him grinning. “That’s a good thing, babe. I know it’s not cool but don’t be so punk fucking rock that you can’t accept that your father-in-law actually likes you.” 

Bill shot her a side glance as he closed the lid to the grill. “Okay fine. He thinks I’m… alright—cool,” he said dismissively, which made Alma laugh at his stubbornness. “Anyway, did Carla like her holiday package?” he asked to change the subject. 

“She did.” Alma slipped her arms into his heavy coat and held him, and there he noticed she was much warmer than him for a change. “She said hello, by the way.”

Resting her cheek on his soft sweater and taking in the spicy scent of his new cologne, she felt his hands run down her lower back and over the curve of her ass. She quickly turned them around so that Bill’s back faced the windows instead.

“Stop, my dad can see out here,” she harshly whispered with a smirk on her face. 

Bill chuckled before giving her ass a small tap. “It’s my house? I think I’m allowed to touch my wife here.”

“Don’t be weird,” she lightly laughed.

“You just look so pretty.”

“You too,” she murmured back, discreetly palming his package. 

He jerked back slightly, raising an eyebrow. “I hope he saw that—you’re going to drive him to smoke another cigarette.”

They both started laughing and Antonio, momentarily looking up from helping Echo dress her Barbie, noticed them. He was mid-task, carefully pulling a tiny top over the doll, when Echo insisted on covering its plastic "chi-chi’s," making them both chuckle. But as Antonio's gaze shifted, he caught sight of Bill rubbing Alma's belly in a gesture filled with tenderness and with a hint of protectiveness.

It was a small, ordinary moment, but for Antonio, it meant everything. Seeing his daughter this way, settled and happy, in a home she loved with a family around her, eased something in him. As her father, he would always care deeply for Alma, always feeling that tug to protect her, and he would continue to do so on behalf of his late wife, Maria, also. He had taken a better liking to Bill and being in his home, he felt a pang of regret about his old abject thoughts about him. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t ever admit that to his son-in-law just to stubbornly hold a small edge over Bill because being an old man, that's all he had left. But deep down, he knew his past disdain for the man his daughter had chosen was unwarranted. Seeing them here, witnessing firsthand the life they had built, brought him a sense of peace he hadn’t felt before. Behaving so domestically, though they lived unconventionally. It was their life, how they liked it. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he could worry less about his daughter because he knew she had Bill.

…

January 1996 

It was close to the end of the first month of the new year. Alma was to be induced to deliver within the week. At her final doctor’s appointment, she received the news she’d been hoping for. She had the green light to attempt a vaginal delivery rather than a c-section, as long as the twins stayed in position. With any luck, everything would go as planned—at least she hoped. Alma would joke with Bill that she felt ninety-nine years pregnant, but by now, it wasn’t feeling like such a joke anymore. 

The babies seemed restless, often stretching out in ways that made her ribs ache and her breathing shallow. Worse was the pressure on her bladder, and she often found herself racing to the bathroom. Last week, she'd barely made it in time, ending up standing in the shower and just letting it happen there to avoid an accident on the floor. Having been alone in the house at the time, she saved herself from the embarrassment. She was over being pregnant right then and there. Luckily, it will all be coming to an end soon.

It was evening, while Bill soaked in the bath while Alma sat on the wide ledge, her legs submerged in the warm water with him. She had showered prior and wore only a pair of granny panties and a comfortable lounge bra, a fresh change from the shirt she’d been living in for days. She had neglected her hairy legs, and he was carefully shaving them for her. His hair was slicked back, still dripping from the bath, as he concentrated on running the razor along her shin one last time.

“Ouch!” Alma inhaled sharply, jerking her leg back.

“Quit fuckin’ playing,” Bill laughed, shaking his head. She’d already tricked him twice into thinking he’d accidentally cut her, and he was onto her game now. 

Alma giggled mischievously. Before draining the tub, Bill leaned down to speckle kisses up her freshly shaved smooth legs, making her squirm and laugh even more.

“Okay, how short do you want it?” Bill asked, standing outside the tub wearing black compression boxers and holding up the clippers with a raised eyebrow.

Alma stood in the tub, a towel under her feet, her panties already set aside, and full bush out. “As short as you can, I guess,” she said, her cheeks warming slightly as she spoke.

“Alright,” he replied, adjusting the guard on the clippers. “Put your foot on the ledge—and don’t mess around this time. This is a delicate area.”

Alma carefully adjusted herself as Bill got into position, only for him to pause and peel a small, forgotten sticker clinging to the underside of her belly. The print on it had been worn away, all that was left was the paper silhouette, likely rubbed away from her loofah during her shower.

“You forgot one,” he teased with a smirk, flicking the stubborn sticky paper off his finger. Echo spent that evening before bed gleefully decorating Alma’s belly with stickers, an activity that left both of them in fits of laughter because the babies seemed to move against her hand as if following along.

Once that was out of the way, Bill turned his focus back to the task at hand and diligently leaned in with the buzzing clippers. The moment stretched into an awkward silence, only the quiet hum of the clippers filling the room, and Alma found herself gazing blankly at the bathroom wall. 

“This is so weird,” she muttered, breaking the silence while Bill concentrated below her, the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. 

“You asked,” he shrugged, unaffected. “It’s like 1981 down here.” 

Alma rolled her eyes, pursing her lips. “You didn’t even see it in ‘81.” 

“No. But I saw it in the winter of ‘87 looking just like this,” he laughed, teasingly. 

“Whatever,” Alma said, stifling a giggle. “You know, you could probably use a trim yourself,” she quipped. They had let personal grooming slide, especially since pausing their usual intimacy. In the meantime, she’d gotten creative, perfecting her hand job skills when she felt like it.

“Sure,” Bill paused, pulling the clippers away to meet her eyes. His smile turned sly. “But only if you do it,” he winked. 

PART B

[th3-0bjectivist]

Folks, for just over two months I’ve been digging up the festering carcasses of the BEST and DEADEST of dead bands. People out there seem to like the running theme, and your hearts on my posts are like candy-coated heroine syringes for both my stats and my ego. So, suit up, dear listener. That’s right, into the armored wetsuit with ya! This week we’re diving directly into earth’s molten core, because rare gems built under pressure like this are not meant to be simply forgotten. Let me take you back to the early 2000’s for a moment. George W. was in charge, we were on the verge of the war in Iraq, Korn and Linkin Park were still all the rage on radio waves, and one band that was the very definition of anti-establishment had temporarily broken up. The band I’m referring to is KMFDM, and if you don’t know about them, shame on you. You can self-flagellate repeatedly in any manner you choose after reading this post. For reference, I've covered KMFDM before on this blog, as well as recently creamed my long johns over hottie Lucia Cifarelli. In 1999, industrial techno German powerhouse KMFDM had temporarily broken up over internal stress and creative differences. Two members remained to attempt to formulate a new sound: rock/metal instrumentalist legend Tim Skold and group founder Sascha Konietzko, who shortly thereafter drafted a down-on-her-luck Lucia Cifarelli, making them a trio. This group released a grand total of one album in 2000 which sold over a hundred thousand copies, only to then revert directly back to the KMFDM brand due to popular demand and a new recording label deal. The apparent point of this short-lived breakoff group, MDFMK, was to provide a slight inversion from KMFDM’s dance-club heavy tunes and give their already built-in international audience a far more aggressive and ‘futuristic’ noise. What I think they ended up creating with their one and only album is what we refer to today as electronica, but with a slightly more guitar-laden twist that I would recommend sipping for flavor. It’s not really intended for dancing, but you can sure as hell dance to it. I don’t think it’s meant to be catchy per se, but a big portion of it manages to be. And with three lead vocalists and an endless creative capacity between its members, MDFMK’s sound may have eventually outshined its predecessor if only it had stayed a viable and continuing musical enterprise. Alas, it was not to be, and so the originality and moniker of MDFMK was sacrificed so that KMFDM could live once again. This is Get Out of My Head, a song I’ve loved for something like 15 years. Thanks Pandora! Back with more nostalgic and musical necromancy soon!

Their full album is here if you care to have a gander. It’s a trip, but it's also a decent trip. Next time I post music, it will include the lovely Lucia and come with a 90’s grunge aftertaste. Image source: https://music.youtube.com/channel/UCQWxPw6Fvg3cq_MiydIntyw