#REGISTERED THERE AND MADE AN APPOINTMENT FOR NEXT WEEK

[steampoweredskeleton]

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Ignore

[apocalypse-shuffle]

BLACK NOIR | EARVING (the boys)

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“Just a Trim” (Black Noir x Gn!Reader)

| In a spur of the moment move you offer to do Earving’s hair in order to spend more time with him. To your shock, he takes you up on the offer.

| SFW, Noir being briefly insecure about his disfigurement, hair care, good vibes, stand-alone fic.

| 1k+ words

Tomorrow was going to be a marked day. One of those dates that you held close to your heart and pulled out anytime you were even peripherally pressed about the event.

In passing Black Noir had mentioned his regularly scheduled grooming appointment. The hair that did still grow on his head would need a trim so he’d be offsite at a smaller Vought facility for a few hours.

You’d taken in his words, a mix between excitement that he felt it necessary to share his whereabouts at all warring with upset at how long he’d be gone (basically your whole workday) on the final day of the week you’d be able to see him until you were allowed back onto the upper floors in another four days.

It’s that heavy swirl of emotions that spurred your mouth into action and had, “I could trim it if you want,” falling past your lips unbidden.

He’d turned on deft feet at your words to stare you down from behind the mask, back ramrod straight and body still.

Finally, after maybe a minute of you waiting him out (the type of contemplative minute between you two that you cherished), Noir gave a slow nod of his head and pointed to two numbers on one of the recruitment posters on the wall next to you before marching off.

He’d indicated the numbers ‘two’ and ‘thirty’, and you’d never admit to anyone but him that you’d had a little bit of a bounce to your step after you’d registered what that meant.

So what if the thought of him allowing you into his hair had sent butterflies dashing through your bloodstream? It didn’t matter that he’d typically had what were no doubt unfeeling trims from Vought hired barbers either, because he had to know that you weren’t going to treat his hair with such clinical detachment.

You were going to be sharing some level of intimacy - he was going to let you be that intimate with him, period! - and you planned on treating this undoubtedly maskless milestone in your relationship with the appropriate amount of significance.

This was huge!

Holy hell you needed to gather your supplies.

─────

The top of his head is not devoid of similar scars as the ones that mar his face. A patch of gnarled scar tissue takes up a third of his scalp, scars running in their steep wiggling pattern and stopping any hair from growing.

The marks from the explosion still being so prominent even after all these years makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

His interesting hair growth pattern is the first thing that drew you gaze when you’d entered. After your greeting he’d stared at you for a while, the note paper in his hand boldly proclaiming: ‘tell me if you want me to put it back on’, before he tossed the paper aside and ripped off his mask. For a moment all you’d been able to do was blink uncomprehendingly before realization dawned and you threw him a smile, or tried to since he’d kind of stopped looking at you entirely and has just been deathly still for the last minute or so.

After that you’ve forgotten yourself too much to not let your eyes wander, the white of his blind eye snagging your attention next and then the scars that crawled up the entirety of one side of his face and sprawled into his hair stole all of your remaining attention once more.

The scars are steep and plentiful and even the reports on his injury from back when he was originally caught by the explosive didn’t do even the sight of the scars left behind justice.

Finally, his expression registers and you cringe back and tear your gaze away from him entirely at the edges of the grimace you can see on his downturned face.

Way to go, you’ve gone and made the man uncomfortable.

“I’m ready when you are,” you say quickly, voice soft as you move further into his sparse personal space in the tower.

With a tentative two person shift and shuffle routine eventually you both end up settling down, you sitting towards the edge of the only lounge chair in his sitting room - bare feet planted flat on the unbelievably soft carpet - and Earving on the ground between your spread legs.

You don’t really talk much after that, preoccupied with getting his hair saturated with water so that it’s ready for you to detangle and stretch. The last thing you want to do is take length off of Earving’s hair that he didn’t want and skew his trust like that.

Up close his scarring is easier for you to map out as you brush your fingers over his wet curls with the finger of one hand, nothing but the edge of your pinkie on your other hand daring to press into his hairline in order to brace his head and keep it still.

Unthinkingly you stray from running over his curls to trace the border of the patch of skin between the scars on his head and the growth of his hair with your nail. The blunt point shifts fine hairs and barely applies any pressure as it goes but Earving shivers anyway.

The speed you snatch your hand back with jostles the both of you.

“Sorry!” Your voice comes out mostly squeak as you pull away even more, doing everything but straight up sailing across the room as your face heats up something fierce - though your cheeks show nothing for it - and your hands raise placatingly. “I’m so sorry. That’s on me. I wasn’t thinking—”

Your word vomit stops dead when Earving begins shaking his head and fully pivots his head up to look at you. From between your legs where he’s sitting down, stretched out legs crossed at the ankle in front of him and face on full display for you, he looks so damn unreal your words peter off like a dying engine.

Christ almighty if Earving didn’t look painful, but he was perfect all the same.

Watching the way he so readily faces you now with both his good and bad eye without obstruction and the tentative quirk of his lips, you shiver. So fucking perfect.

He shakes his head again, his functioning eye still meeting one of your similarly brown ones, and then leans forward to press a lingering kiss to the bend of your knee.

At no point does he stop holding your gaze.

A tiny noise falls from your lips and you watch, entranced, as a full lopsided smile takes over the bottom half of his face before he nuzzles into the brown skin on the inside of your thigh with another branding press of his lips.

“Earving,” you breathe, too close to choked up to regulate your voice anymore than that.

Your tone is incredibly transparent, but you can’t even be mad about it when he’s gazing up at you with such a sharp glimmer in his eye.

In response he wraps a tender hand around your ankle and taps lightly at your skin for you to continue before stretching his neck back until his damp hair is pressed to your stomach again.

Painfully aware of your closeness - and where his head is, good lord - you heed his request with far steadier fingers than before.

Y’all were good. He’s pretty clearly just shown you that, now you just had to let yourself believe it.

This time when you press against his head to shift him around as you work you’re not so tentative.

When you brush your free hand down his face to ease him into a better angle for you to pick out his hair he leans into your hold and strengthens it, his breath rushing over your fingers like a proclamation as you run the pad of your middle finger over the bow of his lip and the raised lines of his scars brand a claim into your palm.

When the teeth of the pick snag on a tight congregation of coils and you murmur a soft apology his thumb rubs circles into the ball of your foot and sends shivers up your dark skin.

When you’ve finally combed out his shrinkage and pulled out the well loved hair grade shears he responds to the shaky breath you take while lifting the blades to his head with a firm grip on your ankle and a strong squeeze to ground you.

The both of you move like this for the rest of the hour and by the end you’re trimming with steady hands and intermittently tipping Earving’s head up to blow away stray hair trimmings and press little kisses along his hairline just to draw out his telltale huff of laughter.

Sure, after this you’ll both go back to just being two people working in the same unfeeling company and Earving will go back to being Black Noir, one of the ever merciless gods that you were all little more than ants in the eyes of, but for now he pulls you up and you tug him down and y’all are able to come together like wayward nephilim to experience the finer things in life somewhere in the middle of all that hierarchical bullshit.

Just for an hour or two; trapped in your own little pocket of the world.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed! Please mind any typos, I am but one lowly creature and my eyes can only catch so much.

I don’t know why this character is so amazing at being my impromptu spur of the moment muse, but he really is so good for it.

Also, lowkey I kind of feel like Noir would wear his mask all the time even if he’s wearing civilian clothes like Wade/Deadpool tends to do (and there might’ve been a Vought commercial of him wearing civilian clothing over his suit once so there’s also that option). I don’t know, the image just came to me.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[pedrospatch]

family

Preoutbreak! Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You and Joel have some news to share with Sarah.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) pregnancy, small age gap (reader is in her 20’s and Joel is 35). fluff, fluff, fluff, Joel and Sarah being the most adorable father daughter duo.

word count: 3.3k

a/n:this is my response to this request right here; a huge thank you to whoever sent this one in!

You let out a small, tired sigh and wiped the back of your hand across your forehead. The early afternoon lunch rush at Moe’s Diner had just ended and you were exhausted beyond belief. Moe’s was one of the more popular locally owned joints in Austin, Texas, and while having a lot of customers coming into the establishment meant earning heftier tips and of course, a bigger paycheck, there was a small part of you that couldn’t help but wish that you could have at least one slow day, just one single day of the week where you weren’t waiting about a dozen tables all at once.

The moment you dropped the last stack of used plates into the plastic gray bin for Hugo, the dishwasher, to come and collect, you washed your hands thoroughly with soap and warm water and then made your way over to the old, electronic cash register behind the main counter to punch in the tips you’d earned after the rush; an hour’s worth of working and you had already made about a hundred bucks to take home at the end of your shift. As you finished logging your earnings, you could feel a pair of eyes watching you from a distance. You didn’t even need to look up to see that it was Joel. He had made something of a habit of coming to join you on his lunch hour. He’d been working longer and longer days lately, and if his only chance to spend time with you was during his lunch break, then that is exactly what he was going to do.

You tossed your receipt into the register and closed it up, turning to your coworker, Melinda. “Alright. All the tables have been cashed out, cleared, and wiped down,” You informed her, sticking your own copy of the receipt for your tips into the crisp, white apron of your uniform. “Mind if I go and take a break now?”

“Go right ahead. Don’t want to keep lover boy over there waiting for too long,” Melinda responded with a teasing wink.

“Oh, shut up,” You snipped at her, although the smile was evident in your tone of voice. You turned around and quickly poured two cups of coffee, a regular for Joel and a decaffeinated roast for yourself. Last week during your doctor’s appointment, your obstetrician reassured you that it would be a while before you really had to start easing up on the amount of caffeine you put into your body, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to start weaning yourself off of it while you were still in the earlier stages of pregnancy. Better to deal with the withdrawals sooner rather than later. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to help you with the next rush,” You told Melinda over your shoulder. You took the two cups in your hands and walked over towards one of the booths in the far corner of the fifties themed restaurant where Joel had chosen to sit today. You set his cup of coffee down in front of him and kissed his cheek lightly before sliding into the booth across from him. “I am so sorry to have kept you waiting. Two for one lunch special brought in a lot more people than Moe had anticipated.” You rolled your eyes, gently shaking your head. “He understaffed us. Again.”

Joel frowned as he noted, “I can tell. You look exhausted.”

“Which is basically code for, you look like shit, isn’t it?” You asked him teasingly.

“S’not what I meant and you know it,” he replied, rolling his eyes at you as he took a careful sip of his coffee. “You shouldn’t be workin’ so damn hard, y’know. S’not good for you to strain yourself, not in your condition.”

“In my condition,” You mimicked him with an amused little chuckle. It earned you a stern glare. “Oh come on, Joel. I’m only about six weeks along.” You shrugged your shoulders and then leaned back into the seat of the booth. “Come back to me with that bullshit when I’m in my third trimester and waddling around this place.”

Joel snorted. “Well, I’m hopin’ that by that time, you won’t be workin’ at all.”

Your playful smile faded slightly from your face. “What are you talking about?” You asked, crossing your arms stubbornly over your chest. It baffled you that he would even suggest such a thing. “We have a baby on the way. That means that I have to work, Joel. I have to work for as long as I possibly can before it comes. And then after a couple months of maternity leave, I’m going to have to come back and work some more.”

“Wait a minute, what about school?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow at you. “How exactly do you plan to juggle studyin’ while workin’ and bein’ a mom too?”

Stumped on how to answer him without upsetting him, you remained quiet and chewed nervously on your bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong. You hadn’t exactly told him yet, but the reality was that you knew it would be tough to handle all three and there was a pretty good chance that your teaching degree would have to be put on the back burner for an indefinite amount of time.

“You’re not givin’ up on that degree,” Joel asserted, as if he had read your thoughts. “No way in hell, I won’t let you. You only have one year left,” he reminded you firmly. “Look, business has been boomin’ on my end of things. If it stays that way, I can get you out of this place. Let you focus on bein’ a mom and gettin’ your teachin’ credential.”

You bit back a sigh. “Joel, it’s a bit too early to even be talking about all of this, don’t you think?” You said after a moment, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the conversation. “There’s no need to worry about that stuff yet.” Noticing the exasperated expression on his face, you outstretched your arm across the able and held out your hand. “I’m serious, Joel. I don’t want you to worry about it, not right now.”

He smiled warily as he took your hand in his. He leaned over and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it gently. “Look, I know it’s early,” he acknowledged. “But I’m just plannin’ ahead.” He paused long enough to press another kiss onto your hand. “I just wanna take care of you, darlin’. That’s all.”

“I know you do,” You replied softly, squeezing his hand. You could see Melinda over behind the counter tapping the invisible watch around her wrist as if to tell you that your time was running out. “What time do you have to be back at the job site?”

Joel glanced down at his watch, but it was useless. The damn thing had stopped working once again, and yet he refused to take it to get repaired. “Probably have to start headin’ back soon, actually,” he realized, the disappointment present in his tone. He hadn’t gotten nearly as much time with you as he would have liked. “Oh, I forgot to mention. Tommy said he’s not gonna be home for dinner tonight,” he informed you. “Said he’s spendin’ the night with a buddy, but we both know what that means.”

You giggled. “Another blonde he met at the bar, huh?”

“Yeah, sounds ‘bout right.” Joel laughed and rolled his eyes. “But anyway, I was thinkin’ that tonight might be the night to finally tell Sarah, seein’ as it’ll just be the three of us. What do you think, baby?”

You squeezed his hand again. “I’m kind of nervous, Joel. About telling her.”

“Yeah, me too.” Joel wasn’t nervous for Sarah’s reaction because he’d thought she would feel negatively about the baby or about you. Rather, he knew his teenager would be horrified thinking about how this blessed miracle came to be seeing as he’d signed a permission slip for her to learn all about the birds and the bees in health class at school last semester. At thirteen, Sarah was in that one stage where anything that Joel did embarrassed her—or grossed her out.

And this would certainly gross her out.

“Jesus, here comes round two of the rush,” You muttered, watching three large parties of people walk into the diner. Reluctantly, you released Joel’s hand. “I should go and help Melinda. Besides, you really need to get back to work before you’re late.”

Both you and Joel slid out of the booth and stood up. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest in one of those tight, warm hugs that you’d grown to adore over the last couple of years. “I’ll be home on time for dinner tonight,” he promised you. “If you need anythin’ while I’m at work, you let me know, alright?”

You chuckled. “Yes, Joel.”

He let go of you and stood back, his eyes meeting yours. “I’m serious. You need anythin’ at all, you call me, alright? My phone will be in my pocket.”

“I’ll be fine, Joel,” You insisted, shaking your head as you laughed. “Now go on, get going before your boss chews you out for being late.”

“I am my boss, darlin’.” He grinned boyishly at you before pressing his lips lightly against yours, murmuring gently against them. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Ugh, this is too good.” Sarah let out a small groan of satisfaction as she took another bite of her spaghetti. She turned to you a minute later, dabbing at her mouth with her paper napkin before telling you, “Have I told you that it’s my favorite? Because it’s my favorite and I simply must give my compliments to the chef.”

You lifted your chin slightly, feeling pleased with yourself. “Thank you.”

Joel pouted, feigning offense. “Now wait a damn minute, I thought the spaghetti that I made you was your favorite?”

“Dad, you use the jarred crap,” Sarah reminded him. “Her sauce is homemade. She actually makes it from scratch, like you’re supposed to.” She pointed her fork at him. “Your spaghetti is just one step above Chef Boyardee. And that’s being generous.”

Joel picked a crouton from the salad bowl in the middle of the table and flicked it at her. “Turd.”

“Bigger turd,” she shot back at him with a tiny giggle as she picked up the crouton and popped it into her mouth.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” You chuckled, waving a hand. “Settle down you two or I’ll put you both in timeout.”

“Y’see what you do? Gettin’ us in trouble,” Joel joked before biting into a slice of garlic bread.

Sarah stuck her tongue out at him. “You started it.”

You giggled, shaking your head.

You adored the dynamic between the two, although there were times when it could be a bit much. Somehow, you seemed to bring a bit of balance to it all—you had become the calm, level headed presence if and when Sarah and Joel’s antics ever went overboard.

You wouldn’t have it any other way, of course.

Although Joel had been seeing you for about two or so years now, he hadn’t introduced you to Sarah until six months into the relationship. You hadn’t been offended by that in the slightest—you knew that he’d done his fair share of dating around before you came along, and he had made the sore mistake of introducing his young, impressionable daughter to a large number of different women who, in the end, never stuck around. Not wanting to cause any further confusion or strife for Sarah, Joel vowed never to bring another woman into his daughter’s life again, not unless he was absolutely certain it was someone who would actually stay.

That woman turned out to be you.

Joel had met you when he and his younger brother, Tommy, walked into Moe’s one afternoon for lunch. Tommy set his sights on you first, flirting up a storm, but it was Joel who you’d connected with. Joel ended up visiting the diner several times after that, going in for a cup of coffee at least every other day until he’d finally worked up the courage to ask you out on a date. That one date turned into two, two turned into three, and by date number six, you two had completely fallen for each other. Joel realized early on that you were the real deal, but nevertheless, he still chose to wait to introduce you to his then eleven year old.

When the time to meet Sarah finally came, you’d been so nervous; you were in love with Joel, but you knew that if his daughter didn’t like you, it could all come crashing down. Your first interaction with Sarah had been a little awkward, but as you got to know each other, things slowly started to shift in the right direction. The more time you’d started spending around her—with her—the closer you two became and your bond eventually flourished.

A few months later, you moved in with her, Joel, and Tommy.

“It’s going to be so nice having another girl around here,” Sarah had told you excitedly while helping you unpack a box of your things in Joel’s bedroom. “There’s way too much testosterone around here.”

The two of you had become inseparable.

Joel often liked to joke that she liked you more than she liked him.

He wasn’t totally wrong about that.

All you could do was hope that the news of the baby wouldn’t change how Sarah felt about you. You loved Joel, of course, but you’d grown to love Sarah too. They were your family.

The timer that you’d set on the oven started beeping loudly, pulling you from your train of thoughts. “Those would be the cupcakes that I made for dessert.”

“Chocolate?” Sarah asked you with shining, hopeful eyes.

“Of course. What other flavor is there?” You winked as you stood up from your chair.

She punched the air lightly. “Yes! Can I help you frost them?”

“As soon as they cool down,” You promised, touching her shoulder lightly as you walked by her and off into the kitchen.

“Tonight just keeps getting better and better,” Sarah sighed contentedly, picking up her fork.

Joel watched her for a moment in silence, a small smile on his face. “Hey,” he said after minute or two, garnering Sarah’s attention. “You really like her, don’t you, kiddo?”

“Of course! She’s got to be like, the coolest person ever,” Sarah remarked in between more bites of her pasta. “What’s not to like? She’s smart, she’s pretty, she’s fun to talk to,” she started ticking things off her list. “She has amazing taste in movies and music. Oh, and she lets me borrow her clothes.”

He laughed, suddenly realizing that the Red Hot Chili Peppers band tee shirt she was wearing actually belonged to you. “You’re askin’ for her permission to wear her stuff, right?”

Sarah batted her eyelashes innocently at him. “She said that I didn’t have to ask. In fact, she said I could just help myself to her side of the closet whenever I wanted.”

Joel tossed another crouton at her. “I don’t care what she said, it’s still polite to ask, missy.”

“I’m just kidding, dad! Jeez,” Sarah rolled her eyes. “Of course I ask her. You didn’t raise a heathen.”

Joel snorted lightly and leaned back into his chair. “Sometimes I ain’t so sure about that, babygirl.”

After a minute, Sarah’s eyes met his across the table. “Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“You like her a lot too, don’t you?”

“A hell of a lot,” he answered, honestly. “You know, I never thought I’d meet someone like her.”

“Me either,” Sarah admitted. “But I’m really glad that you did.” She paused, offering him a tiny, but genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy, you know?”

Joel’s heart warmed inside of his chest. He lightly kicked her foot underneath the table with his. “Look at you being a big ol’ pile of sentimental goo.”

“And this is exactly why I don’t ever say anything,” Sarah huffed, but she giggled. “You always ruin it.”

“Always ruin what?” You asked as you walked back out of the kitchen. You took your seat and picked up your glass of iced tea looking between the two. “What did I miss?”

“Oh nothing, my dad is just being annoying, as always,” Sarah kidded before she began to polish off the remainder of her dinner.

A long, but comfortable silence fell over the table.

You glanced over at Joel, wondering when it would be time. His gaze met yours and he raised an eyebrow, as if silently asking you if you were ready. Although you weren’t, you gave him a subtle nod.

Joel cleared his throat. “Sarah?”

“Hmm?”

“There’s somethin’ that we want to tell you,” he began to say, earning himself a puzzled look from his daughter. He hesitated, as if trying to figure out the best way to just spit it out. “We’ve been wantin’ to tell you this for a couple of weeks now, but we wanted to find the right moment and well, I think this is it—we’re havin’ a baby.”

Sarah’s fork clinked loudly against her plate as she dropped it in surprise. “What?” she gasped, her wide eyes flicking to you. “Are you freaking serious?”

You nodded, wondering if that was a good reaction or a bad one. You couldn’t quite tell just yet. “I’m having a baby,” you confirmed, lifting a hand and running it nervously through your hair.

Sarah stared at you, her eyes still wide and what looked like a smile threatening to break out across her face. “Swear it?”

You exhaled a breath of relief. “Swear it. I’m six weeks right now.”

Letting out a little squeal, she jumped up from her chair and ran over to you, throwing her arms around your shoulders. “I can’t believe this!” She squeezed you tightly—a little too tightly. “Do you know what it is yet? When will you know? Can we start looking at baby stuff this weekend? Can we buy it clothes already?”

“Sarah, breathe.” Joel shook his head, although he was grinning from ear to ear. “And more importantly, let her breathe.”

“Shut up, Joel. She’s fine,” You waved a hand dismissively at him as you wrapped your arms around her, hugging her back. “I honestly didn’t think you’d be this excited.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sarah exclaimed as she pulled away. “This is the best news ever! I’ve been all by myself for so long!”

“Hey, what are we? Chopped liver?” Joel threw his hands up and then brought them back down onto his lap.

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“No, I really don’t.”

Sarah shrugged. “Well, it’s just been me all these years, dad. But now I get to have a little brother or sister.” She paused and glanced at you. “Is it wrong to say that I really, really hope it’s a girl?”

“Then it would be three against one,” Joel realized, the color draining from his face slightly. “Jesus Christ, I really hope it’s a boy.”

“You have Uncle Tommy.”

“He doesn’t count.”

“Joel!” You snapped at him, causing Sarah to throw her head back and laugh. “Don’t say that.”

“The score is even,” Sarah stated. She pointed a finger at him as she walked back to her chair and sat down. “Two boys, two girls. The baby will be the tie breaker. When will find out what it is?”

“In a few more weeks,” You responded, chuckling at the way her face fell. “Trust me, they’ll go by faster than you think.”

“I can’t wait!” Sarah beamed brightly, looking between the two of you. “Oh man, this is awesome.”

Joel tilted his head curiously at her. “Yeah? You happy, babygirl?”

“I get to have a family,” she murmured, her hand resting lightly on her chest. “A real family, like the ones you see on TV or in the movies." She looked at him, her eyes twinkling brightly. “Happy doesn’t even cover it, dad.”

[lupinsweater]

part one

Teacher!James Potter x Single Mom!Reader 💌 1.3k words

thank you to @moonpascal and @amiableness for beta reading for me!

♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡ ~ ♡

Things did not go the way you had imagined the next time you saw James.

You had already been running on empty for weeks before school started, but your newfound busier schedule added to your inability to sleep at night. Every morning, you woke up with a dull ache behind your eyes and a stuffy nose that usually cleared up by noon.

Between helping Charlie with his homework and trying to meet your deadlines at work, there was hardly any time to rest. You hoped that things would clear up on their own if you stayed hydrated, but you could only stave off your incoming illness for so long before you hit a breaking point.

The morning that you finally decided you were too sick to go into work came about a week after Charlie had started school.

You’d spent the last week thinking about your interaction at parent-teacher night. Every day, Charlie came home excitedly sharing stories from class, and it was clear he had a special fondness for James, which only made it more difficult for you to stop thinking about him. You had spent the previous night tossing and turning, unable to stop coughing for long enough to fall asleep. Eventually, you gave up on trying to get any sleep and turned on the television until the morning rolled around. When it came, you phoned your boss and called in sick, trying your best to sound professional despite the exhaustion in your voice. Just as you were finishing your call, Charlie wandered into your room, dressed for school and eating handfuls of cereal from the box.

“Yes, I think it’s just influenza,” you said, clearing your throat in an attempt to hold back a cough. “Okay, that sounds great. Thank you again. See you next week.” Relief washed over you when you hung up the phone, but it only lasted a moment.

“Mummy?” Charlie asked, brushing his hands off on his jeans and setting the box of cereal down on your bedroom floor, approaching your bed. “Mrs. Wood isn’t here yet. Am I going to be late for school?”

You blinked blearily at him before registering what he was saying, and you reached for your phone to check the time. When you turned your phone back on, a reminder popped up on the top of the screen - TAKE CHARLIE TO SCHOOL. Instantly, you were wide awake.

You had completely forgotten that your neighbor who usually took Charlie to school for you- a sweet older lady named Mrs. Wood- had an appointment with her doctor that morning. She had given you a heads up weeks ago. You scrambled out of bed, pulling on a pair of slippers and grabbing Charlie in your arms, hastily carrying him down the stairs and out the door.

You helped Charlie buckle his seatbelt and situate his booster seat before hurrying over to start the car. An old Britney Spears album played over the speakers, and you went to flip it off, but Charlie’s protests stopped you. Reluctantly, you left it on for the drive, lowering the volume only as you approached the drop-off spot.

As you approached the curb, you could see James standing outside, greeting the students and chatting with parents. You groaned, running a hand down your face with embarrassment. Charlie reached down and fumbled with his seatbelt before it unclasped, and he wrenched the car door open excitedly, his little fingers fumbling with his backpack as he rushed to put it on.

“Mr. James!” Charlie exclaimed, running over to him. James’ face lit up as he saw Charlie approaching, and he dropped to a squat so he was eye level with Charlie. He offered his fist out for a fist bump, and Charlie returned the gesture. James pretended to stumble backwards, his eyes wide. Charlie giggled as James made a show of pretending to rebalance himself.

“Careful there, buddy! You’re stronger than you think!” James exclaimed, ruffling Charlie’s hair with a smile as he stood up. Charlie beamed at him before saying excitedly, “Mr. James! Mummy brought me to school today because she’s sick, and Mrs. Wood had a doctor’s appointment.” James’ gaze snapped up towards your car, and you smiled sheepishly at him as he approached. Charlie followed a few steps behind, watching James curiously.

“Fancy seeing you here,” James said as you rolled down the window. He closed the door that Charlie left open casually, giving you that lopsided smile. You couldn’t tell if your face was flushed, or if it was just a fever. “A little bird tells me that you’re sick.”

“She has in-flu-en-za,” Charlie said carefully, pronouncing the word slowly. James looked down at Charlie, biting back a smile as he said, “Ah, I see. That’s a shame.” He caught your eye, and you fought to hide your own smile.

“It’s not too bad,” you said, grimacing slightly as you looked down at your worn Snoopy pajamas and raggedy slippers. “I’m planning on sleeping as much of it off as I can while Charlie’s at school, and then downing a few cups of coffee so I can make dinner.” James frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. He studied you for a moment, his eyes trailing over you.

“You like Peanuts?” James said with a small smile. You stared at him blankly, your brain trying to process his question. His smile grew as he watched you struggle with the question. “You know, like Snoopy?” He tilted his head downwards, and you glanced down at your pajamas again. You were definitely blushing now.

“Oh! Yes. I love Peanuts,” you stuttered, trying your best to avoid James’ gaze, but getting more flustered as you noticed his patient, almost endeared smile. Charlie piped up again, “Mummy loves Snoopy! She has a Snoopy plushie she sleeps with every night.”

“Charlie!” You hissed, shooting him a warning look. James laughed, the sound warm and smooth, while Charlie just beamed at you, clearly pleased to have made James laugh.

“No, no, it’s okay,” James said with a chuckle. “I think it’s cute, actually.” He caught your eye again, and his smile softened. You swallowed nervously, which triggered a coughing fit. You doubled over, coughing into your elbow for a moment before straightening up, your eyes watering slightly. James looked at you sympathetically.

“Well, I won’t keep you,” James said when you finally stopped coughing. “You go get some rest. Charlie and I are going to have a great day of school, aren’t we?” James looked down at your son, and he nodded fervently in response.

“Yes! I want to go to class. I love you, Mummy!” Charlie said, placing a kiss on the palm of his hand and reaching his hand up to the window. You grabbed his hand with a smile, squeezing his small palm in yours.

“I love you too, Charlie. Be good today,” you replied. You snuck a glace up at James, who was watching the two of you with a soft, almost fond, smile. Charlie ran over to James again, and he guided him gently into the building, giving you a small wave as the two of them went inside.

That afternoon, Charlie came home with a small gift basket that contained a box of tea, a few cans of soup, and an envelope with your name scrawled across the front in slanted letters. There was a takeaway gift card stuffed at the front, and as you pulled it out you noticed the note behind it. It appeared to have been written on a small school notepad, and there were alphabet blocks that bordered the sheet of paper. On it, a few simple words were inscribed with the same handwriting.

“So you don’t have to cook tonight. -James.”

He had drawn a small cartoon of Snoopy next to his name.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 19: Love is the comfort of quiet moments @tboygareth

High school had been a simple schedule for Steve. Tuesday nights were games, Sundays were swimming meets. Thursday nights were training, Friday's were for parties. Steve didn't bother much with homework, too many words, he managed to always get his maths done though. Once he had his licence his routine was seamless.

That was, of course, until November 1983.

In all fairness, his week became less chaotic. He had to quit the swim team, doctor's orders, practically begged to stay on the basketball team. Less parties, too many bad memories. But he could stay steady, he could keep his head above water picking Nancy up from school, date nights on Saturday.

That was, of course, until October 1984.

His schedule really changed after that. Still had basketball, barely, but Billy made it almost unbearable. No more parties, no more date nights. Now, he had the arcade on Sundays, DnD nights Wednesdays and dinner at the Hendersons every Friday. It was good, a warmer routine, Steve felt whole with every pick up and hug goodbye. Soon it would Scoops every Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.

That was, of course, until July 1985.

No more basketball, unless you counted Thursdays at the court with Lucas. Sorry ladies of Hawkins Saturday nights were for cuddling with Robin and watching weird movies. He practically lived at the Hendersons now, but always made time for Friday dinners with them. Arcade days and quarry days and now the kids were headed to school so Wednesdays were pick ups from that club they wouldn't stop mentioning, he thinks that guy Eddie runs it. Any free time he has was for work, saving up for an apartment once Robin graduated, wherever she was going next he'd follow.

That was, of course, until March 1986.

There wasn't time for normal routines in the events following the fall of Vecna. A town split apart needed volunteers. Anytime Steve had spare he gave to helping and every night he wasn't dragged home by Robin or Claudia he sat vigil by Eddie or Max depending on if Wayne had work. He felt adrift in these months, not knowing what would happen next.

That was, of course, until May 1986.

The day Eddie was released from hospital was the first step towards normal Steve had felt in months. He got into a new routine of dropping him and Max off for appointments, working at the barely open Family Video with Robin, making sure the kids and teens got to school, they were all going to be at Eddie's (and Nancy and Robin's) graduation soon. By the summertime Steve's routine included sharing a bed every night and kisses goodbye before work.

Steve loves his routine, but when his week was suddenly filled with graduation, then a party, and work, and the kids and Claudia's dinner and movie night, he felt stretched thin. It didn't help that today was Eddie's birthday and they'd all gathered at the Hopper-Byers for a barbecue. The kids were splashing loudly in the above ground pool Hopper had built, the adults chattering away, music blaring. He could barely hear Eddie and he was talking right next to him. Everything was just too loud, too bright, he was just too tired, too drained.

"Stevie?"

Eddie had stopped talking and was looking at him with that face he got when he was reading Steve like a book. Whatever he was looking for he found, giving Steve a quick kiss on the cheek and promising to be right back.

Steve just stood there, he doesn't know how long but it felt like no time passed before Eddie's fingers were intertwined with his and pulling him towards the van out front. Steve barely registered the drive and soon enough found himself in his sweats, laying beside Eddie in their bed at the trailer. The world was quiet at last.

The two of them laid in silence, Steve closing his eyes and enjoying the sound of just them breathing, sometimes Eddie would trail a finger up his back but mostly they just laid there, existing.

"Thank you," Steve whispered eventually.

"You just needed someone to give you a break for a minute, love, I know that."

"Didn't ruin your birthday?"

"Would rather spend my birthday with just you than all the people in the world."

This was Steve's favourite part of his routine, him and Eddie, wherever they were, together.

[elfarons]

You're My Religion

cw: nsfw mentions but nothing explicit, religious themes, power dynamic, (tell me if i missed any O_O)

priest!Ren who has devoted his entire life to the town's temple since birth, committed to preaching the holy gospel

he noticed how his faith started wavering, jaded after being in this lifestyle for so long, missing something...

passion.

when was the last time they felt strongly about.. anything?

this will surely past, he tells himself as he pushes through, seeing the churchgoers smile after their prayers make them feel closer to heaven, but he's never felt farther.

ren prepares for what could potentially be his last sermon, telling everyone to bow their heads in silent prayer.

he will determine whether or not he'll give up this lifestyle after this last day-

when you walk in for the first time.

as soon as you see each other, it feels like time stopped. it feels like heaven's gates opening, it feels like their heart beats for the first time in years.

it was like you were the only two people on earth as you held each others gaze.

he couldn't believe god had sent down an angel.

you smiled and broke the stare, sitting down a couple rows behind the next person.

the priest of the town's church, who is used to having eyes on him, feels hyperaware of your stare. after he finished preaching, ren beelines straight towards you, introducing themself and inviting you to one-on-one appointments to acquaint yourself with the religion.

you came to the first meeting. then the next, and the next, eventually becoming a near daily routine. after a couple weeks, the appointments started to feel more like hanging out with a best friend, conversations evolving from church topics to the more personal details.

your life recently fell apart out of nowhere. you lost your job, you're backed up on bills, then your friends have all left you. he would never leave you. every time, ren would reassure you this is a test of faith and comfort you with warm hugs that smelled of clean linen and myrrh.

his hugs always made your heartbeat faster. you hoped he never noticed.

he proposed you move into the church as a temporary solution. of course, you accepted. what choice did u have?

although he insisted it was fine, you wanted to pay him back somehow, so you started helping out around the temple.

ren was absolutely ecstatic. everyday you would see each other, if only for just a quick smile from across the room. you'd have to leave soon after, but ren would pinch his wrist and hold his pendant, cursing himself for wanting you so bad.

you were eager to help out everyday. the holy water was running out? you would assist ren in making holy water. the garden looked a little too sad? you'd tend to the plants, maybe surprise ren with a lotus from a nearby pond. the living quarters needed cleaning? ren told you to clean his room last because the others must be tired and he'd stay up late anyways.

you noticed ren had little to no decorations around his room. that's odd, considering he's lived here basically his entire life, but you didn't push the matter.

as the holidays neared the church was busy with preparations, with ren being the busiest. god he missed you. the way you'd always smile at him, show genuine interest in what he had to say, look longingly at his lips...

after entering his room, he laid down, exhausted. his bedsheets smelled so nicely of you. how did they smell of you so perfectly? whatever he's not complaining. mind wandering, he barely registered his hand trailing down into his pants, thinking about their perfect angel.

he could almost imagine that you stayed behind and you were the one touching him. or maybe he would tell you to sit back and let him worship you instead, letting his lips and hands perform a prayer so full of devotion even god would be jealous.

in the following days, they couldn't even bother to feel ashamed, even when it looked like the statues on the walls stared into his soul. their only regret was that they couldn't work up the courage to confess everything they felt to you... until tonight.

when you both finally had a chance to talk it felt like home again. you both talked well into the night about anything and everything. from how you wanted to restore the garden, to how stressed ren was about all this pressure on him and how he just needed someone, anyone.

he's done so much for you, you can practically feel your heart shatter when tears start streaming down his cheeks. he doesn't deserve this.

he shakes when you hug him, not just because he's genuinely about to break down in his angel's arms, but he's also so terribly happy.

he's got you now.

...

...

but you were never completely innocent were you?

you knew what you were doing the first day you walked in. the rumors said the priest was good-looking, so naturally you styled yourself to perfection.

the rumors weren't even close because holy shit. tall stature, flawless pale skin, broad shoulders, dark hair in a loose, low ponytail resting on their shoulder.

angels are real, and one is looking right at you.

the meetings excited you as much as they did him, feeling a guilty pleasure at how he would sometimes ignore his duties to stay with you a little longer. but eventually you would always leave for your job, hoping he'd miss you like you missed him.

you let them into your life. you knew that fire at your job was to get you laid off and spend more time with them. you knew your friends left you because you saw a figure in all black leave threatening notes on their doorsteps. you knew all the small things you purposefully forgot went somewhere for his own safekeeping.

and every time, you ran back into his arms. but what about everything he's done? why is the man who ruined your life the one you run to for comfort? aren't you scared?

ren was your guardian angel! they had always said your friends and job were toxic anyways and they'd end up hurting you in the long run, but rest assured ren would never hurt you.

after moving into the temple, you saw him everyday and it made you want him even more. even while being worked to the bone, the fleeting glances you shared across the room was enough for you to stop and collect yourself in a hidden corner, holding your heart in fear it might jump out.

eventually, small smiles across the room didn't cut it. when you headed up to ren's room to do nightly cleaning, you noticed the room just smelled so much of them. you missed ren deeply.

well... something small would be fine as long as you didn't get caught right? you laid on their bed and smelled the sheets. it was almost as if he was here, enveloping you in arms, whispering those sweet, reassuring words in your ear...

what started as innocently imagining him holding you ended with swearing to never tell him how just being in his bed had brought you to euphoric bliss.

~ ~ ~

after the festivites. you were sitting with him on that same bed, letting him cry into your shoulder. you rubbed their back up and down, soothing them until their sobs died down and they fell asleep in your arms, exhausted.

when you gently laid them down on their back, they tightly held onto you, afraid to lose you even in his sleep. as much as you wanted to stay in their arms, you didn't want to be presumptuous, so you very softly untangled yourself from their hold.

brushing a strand of hair away from their face. you fondly cupped their face and looked at ren's face while they slept. so peaceful and free from worry. but seeing them so peaceful was just what made you snap.

you wanted to keep them safe, but you had to know more. you want to see his baby pictures, you want to find his middle school diary, you want to know everything about him.

determined, you searched through everything around the room until the bookshelf was left. it consisted of mainly books relating to his studies throughout the years, but there was one book that captured your eye. Angels and their offerings.

there was a click! as you grabbed it and you whipped to ren. still asleep facing you. you felt something was loose, but the book wouldn't come out any more..?

oh. oh. a secret door. you should have guessed as much. being perfect to the public just meant being more careful with secrets.

opening the shelf-door revealed a staircase that led down to a hidden area with light emanating somewhere to the side. you tiptoed down the stairs, silently cursing and tensing whenever a step creaked. finally, you made it down and peeked around the corner to find a door with light dancing under the gap, like it's reaching out. you took its hand and opened the door.

ren has consumed your being. he's your everything.

clearly you were his too.

floors and walls covered with pictures of you, both drawn and photographed. the drawn ones depicted you in a variety of poses and situations. one was you kissing ren while sitting on his lap, another was you, as an angel, holding him while he bled out, presumably bringing him to heaven. the photographs were of your daily life doing chores and talking to the other members, but everyone else's face was crossed out to only leave you in.

starting to get flushed, you examine the back wall that displays a shrine dedicated to you. three tiers of all the belongings he's taken from you, adorned with candles.

the bottom tier was your trash, like the paper you doodled on earlier, a fork that you used at lunch last week, or your empty shampoo bottle from 3 months ago. the middle tier was stuff you purposefully left out for him, like your underwear, your necklace, or the pen you chewed on during bible study. the highest tier seemed to hold his favorites, like the, now dead lotus, the holy water jars he made with you, the sheets that smelled exactly like you.

hanging in the center was a framed photo of the day you moved in, just you and ren smiling at the camera. hearts drawn on the glass in front of your face.

before you know it, you feel two hands on your shoulders quickly spinning you around to look right into powdery blue eyes. you freeze, caught like a deer in headlights, anticipating the worst.

instead, you gasp when ren gets down on one knee, then both, kissing your hand and looking up at you like you've given him all the answers. to them, you truly looked like the most benevolent god.

ren didn't have to say anything for you to get the message.

you were who he will devote the rest of his life to, who he will make offerings for, who they will preach the gospel for.

kneeling down with him, you bestowed him the blessing of a kiss, then let him prove his faith by taking care of you in all the ways you wanted from ren. all the ways you needed from ren. their sinful fantasy of being able to worship you with hands and lips no longer a fantasy.

he will live and die for you. you will live and die for him.

you were his religion. he was yours.

author's note: MIC DROP, HAPPY HALLOWEEENNNNNN MUAHAHA !!! i decided to get a lil smutty in there because i watched secretary and i was like wait,, angel and priest ren with that yearning... a little insecure because i felt like i wrote too much while literally trying to do no dialogue orz i hope you still enjoyed tho!!

literally posting this while getting ready to go out :3 i hope you all stay safe if you celebrate or just have a good day!

ren is from @14dayswithyou , dividers by @/enchanthings !!

[dsireland86]

Hi! I'm this anon "God i can't stop picturing Matt as a dad or literally any of the boys i have really bad baby fever right now."

And in all honesty i will take whatever you are willing to give me or have time to write

Anonymous.... I'm sorry this took so long. Hope this makes up for all the time waiting

🤰🩷🫄💙👨‍🍼🩷👩‍🍼💙👶🩷👶💙👶🩷👶

Baby Fever

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @thefallenangel @fadingintothegrey  @an0mallly @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrsnoahsebastian

Each one is different, yet the same. Both dad and baby are made up of the same D.N.A, but somehow, they manage to become two entirely different personalities.

Dad Matt/Little Critter:

He's extremely protective of his mama bear. From the very first moment he saw the two little blue lines on the pregnancy test, Matt went into hard core protective mode. For the first few weeks, he was seriously worried about your morning sickness. Every time that it happened, he was asking if the little critter was okay or if you needed to go to the hospital, completely stressed over the number of times you kept getting sick. Eventually, you convinced him that it was normal and he settled down.

The next few months, your belly got bigger, and at first, it didn't register with Matt that the baby could move in such a tight little space. But one night, while you were laying down in bed, watching "Gray's Anatomy" reruns, and he had his hand resting on your swollen belly, he felt the baby kick, and it blew his mind. It made him so happy that he spent the next hour in the family group chat telling the guys all about it.

When you and the baby got to thirty-six weeks, Matt was a panicked lunatic. He worried constantly, making sure you remembered the steps to your birth plan and how to breathe once labor started. He had everything you and your little critter needed packed and by the front door for when the time came. However, babies come when they want to come, which happened to be while you were at the grocery store, and your water broke. It wasn't long before the contractions started, twelve minutes apart at first. Matt rushed you to the car, completely abandoning the cat of groceries, and got you to the hospital as your contractions grew closer together.

Hours later, Matt held his newborn son in his arms. After watching you go through what you did, you had become his hero. You were officially the strongest and bravest person he knew. Matt gushed over your baby, in complete disbelief that the two of you had created something so perfect. After showing him off to the guys through copious amounts of texts and pictures, Matt climbed into the hospital bed with you that night, and with your son safely beside you, held you while you rested and recovered safely under his protection.

Dad Nicholas/Little Bean:

Nicholas is the laid-back soon to be dad. He was in the studio when you texted him to come home where he found you crying on the sofa with a positive pregnancy test in your hand. He knew you weren't upset about the baby, but rather just scared. Immediately taking it upon himself to be the strong one for the both of you, Nicholas booked an appointment for a mani/pedi session later that day.

Cravings, cravings, cravings... that is what Nick was the best at. Whatever you and little bean were craving, he made it, and if he couldn't make it, he went out and got it. At first, he didn't mind the semi-odd foods: vanilla ice cream with Doritos or pickle sandwiches, but when you started asking for things like chocolate chip cookies topped with baked beans or watermelon with hot sauce, Nicholas may or may not have gaged a little.

By the end of the pregnancy, you were beyond exhausted. Creating and carrying your little bean hadn't been an easy task. Nicholas knew this and made it a point to spoil you with foot rubs, massages, and warm bubble baths, joining you occasionally. He loved watching and feeling your belly as your baby moved from the feeling of the warm water or the sound of their daddy's voice. After getting out, Nicholas would dry you off because bending over was out of the question, helping you dress and walk you to the bed where you'd pass out almost immediately.

The birth was scary for you. Full of anxiety, when you went into labor, you almost had a panic attack because of how intense the contractions were. Nick got you to the hospital where your water broke just as soon as you made it inside the hospital. Forty-five minutes later, your beautiful newborn baby girl laid safely on your chest. Nicholas beamed with pride over his girls, praising you for how well both of you did. That night, as you slept soundly, Nicholas sat in the chair with your little bean safely asleep on his chest.

Dad Noah/ Little Angel:

Noah sat with you in the bathroom the morning you took the first pregnancy test. When the little plus sign appeared, all he could do at first was just silently stare at it. You caressed his face, telling him everything was going to be okay. You both had wanted a baby for a long time, and now the time had finally come. Noah believed you, gaining faith through your confidence, but it still didn't keep him from overthinking and over analyzing everything.

The day came to find out what you were having. You had asked Noah if he wanted to find out or keep it a secret until birth, but he was persistent about finding out. He said he needed a name to go with the little human you had created together. Sitting in the dimly lit room, the sound of your baby's heartbeat surrounded you. Its soft echo was music to Noah's ears based on the smile he was wearing. He looked at you, and you swear you saw years. After a few minutes of waiting, the nurse finally informed you that your baby was a little girl. You watched in absolute joy as a tear rolled down Noah's cheek while he tightly held your hand, staring up at the screen that showed him his little baby girl.

Singing, lots of singing, and music. The house was filled with it. From the day he found out you were having a little girl, Noah was singing to your belly constantly. Most of the time it was soft whispers of new lyrics or soft chords of the guitar when you were laying in bed together. His hand would lay gently on your bump, feeling the low thumps of your little angel's little heartbeat or the rapid kicks and movement when she recognized your voices. The connection to your baby that Noah already had was precious, making your heart skip beats after beats at knowing how great of a dad he was going to be.

The birth of your little angel wasn't ideal. She was breached, causing you to have a scheduled cesarean section in order to protect both of your lives. You were nervous, but Noah was beside himself. Every worry, every concern, every fear, he wore on his face, making your heart break for him. You assured Noah that everything would be fine, that he would be able to be with you and watch your baby girl make her grand entrance. On a rainy afternoon, your little angel arrived after a fifty minute surgery. Once in recovery, Noah cuddled up next to you very carefully, watching in awe as you nurse your baby girl. You fed her from your body like a pro, your mommy instincts already kicking in. Noah kissed your forehead as you rested against him, both of you gazing lovingly at your new precious gift.

Dad Folio/Little Fish:

Everyone knew the moment you and Folio got married that it was just a matter of time before he got you pregnant. Seven months later, the little plus sign appeared, making Folio howl in excitement. He was like a crazy person, picking you up and running with you through the house screaming about how much he loved you and couldn't believe he was going to be a dad. Nothing about the news frightened him. Folio had everything already planned out as far as taking the baby fishing and teaching him or her how to ride and play drums. Through all the crazy excitement, you were constantly having to remind Nick that the baby had to grow a little before teaching them all of that stuff. He understood, but it made you wonder the day he came home with a baby size Harley shirt and a fishing pole.

The sex wouldn't stop. Folio was all about how your bump grew and your body changed. It was a huge turn-on for him, watching the way your breasts swelled and your flat little tummy began to expand with the life of his child. He was constantly telling you how beautiful you looked, even though you felt like road kill from all the morning sickness. Because he was afraid of hurting you little fish, taking you from behind quickly became his favorite position unless you were on top. He loved watching you pleasure yourself on him while his hands rested on your swollen belly, rubbing it and feeling the life with move against his callused drummer hands.

Creating the nursery wasn't something you thought Folio would be into. When it came time to pick a theme, he wanted to choose it. After finding out that your little fish was a boy, Folio went crazy in picking out ten different themes. Thankfully, you were able to reel him in and eventually talk him down to two, finally settling on fish, of course. He did everything: painted the walls, hung the border, put together the crib and the changing table, and brought in the chest of drawers. Seeing him so committed to making you happy and making the life of his unborn child so comfortable made your heart swell with pride.

Unfortunately, Folio was late for the birth. After spending all day in the studio tracking drums, he got your call about going into labor. He left immediately, but thanks to traffic, was late getting to you. He walked in just as you were pushing, bursting into the happiest tears the second you saw him. He rushed over to you, kissed you, and encouraged you to listen to the doctor when she told you to push, holding your hand the entire time. Folio watched as your baby boy, your little fish, entered the world, even cutting the cord himself and placing the screaming little fella right on your chest. Instantly he stopped crying, and Folio watched as you held his child, comforting him as if you had known him your whole life.

Dad Jolly/Little Nugget:

Jolly knew you were pregnant before you did. Six weeks after your missed period, he told you that everything about you looked different; that you were glowing. Irritated, you told him you were just stressed because of how much he was driving you crazy (and not in a good way). But a small part of you knew he was right. One night he surprised you with a small gift bag with the words "please" written on it. Inside was a pregnancy test. Turns out, Jolly was right. After a doctor visit and an ultrasound, you found out together that you were eight and a half weeks pregnant.

The first six months were horrible. So much morning sickness, so much nerve pain, so much swelling and irritation. You were miserable. Jolly coddled you, never making you do anything you didn't feel like doing. You gained more weight than you wanted, which made you feel ugly and disgusting. Jolly, however, said you'd never looked more beautiful. He worshiped you and your little nugget, making sure you were mentally strong enough to continue this pregnancy to the end.

During the last month of the pregnancy you were put on bed rest due to a medical condition that was dangerous for you and the little nugget. You were beside yourself, your depression hitting you hard. But Jolly was there, loving you, holding you up, and making sure you knew how brave and strong you were and that everything was going to work out. Most days you stayed in bed, getting up to only use the bathroom, shower, eat and do some light walking. Jolly took complete time off from work, staying with you each and every day so that you were never alone. Each night, he'd lay next to you with his large hand gently caressing your belly. The little nugget would kick and move around, bringing you both hope that everything would be fine.

Jolly held your hand the moment the nurses rushed you into the emergency room. Your little nugget's head and umbilical cord were all over the place but in the right ones to produce a healthy delivery. You were crying, pleading for Jolly not to leave you, scared something horrible was going to happen. He spoke to you softly, promising everything was going to be fine. He was confident. Getting suited up quickly, Jolly made his way into surgery just as the doctor made your incisions, staying right by your side. He kissed and caressed your forehead, making sure his eyes never left yours and when you both heard the sound of your baby's cries, tears of relief and joy filled your eyes. Later on in recovery, you watched Jolly cradle your newborn daughter, rocking her lovingly and softly humming to her a Swedish lullaby.

[ckret2]

Chapter 29 of human Bill Cipher will find a way out of being the Pines' prisoner or so help him, featuring:

Summerween!!!!

and also:

Henchmaniacs.

Kryptos doesn't actually talk like that, it's just how he's currently feeling.

####

January 1, 1982

"You're late," Bill said, a bit reproachfully.

Ford gave him a surprised look. "Did we have an appointment?" He didn't remember one. He was pretty sure he'd remember an appointment with his muse, even if he'd made it in a dream.

"Pfff, appointments are for people without an eternity of time! No, I'm just used to you dreaming by midnight. It's weird for you to stay up past two when you aren't working on a project."

"I suppose it is." Ford was flattered Bill was paying close enough attention to notice his sleep habits. "I thought I'd stay up late to bring in the new year."

"The what?"

"The... new year?" What wasn't registering. How do you explain New Year's to an alien/angelic messenger? "It's when—"

"Oh, oh right." Bill waved off the rest of Ford's explanation. Several calendars and clocks spiraled in the air like a Ferris wheel in front of Bill, "Between trying to figure out whether you meant it was 0 Pop or Tishrei 1, I completely forgot about Chaos 1. You guys have too many calendars!"

And he'd skipped over January entirely. Wryly, Ford said, "The next time somebody asks for my input, I'll let them know you want us to use a few less."

Bill laughed. "Smart aleck." The calendars and clocks vanished. "And all you did to celebrate was stay up a little later than usual? No parties? Okay, I know you don't know anyone throwing a party—but you didn't even celebrate at a bar?" Bill ruffled his hair. "All work and no play makes Ford a dull boy!"

Ford endured the ruffling. He wasn't quite sure whether Bill was scolding him for staying up celebrating, or for not celebrating enough. "I... suppose I could celebrate in here?"

"What do you want, a fireworks show?" In the distance in Ford's mindscape, a single large firework exploded. It shifted colors, purple to yellow to green to red, before fading. "I don't think so! If you wanted fireworks, you should've gone to the show on the lake. I've got some prophecies to pass on, and I'd rather get to them this REM cycle."

By "prophecies" he probably meant a random assortment of warnings about Ford's upcoming week, which historically had varied in severity from "don't visit the lake Tuesday evening or you'll get caught in a snowstorm and die of hypothermia" to "you'd better get groceries in the morning before they sell out of your toothpaste brand." And Ford was always grateful for such messages—but now he wished he could see what sort of fantastical color-changing dream fireworks show his muse could put on. "I take it it's not a new year on your calendar."

"I don't keep track of that stuff. When you're as ancient as me, celebrating the new year is like celebrating a new hour."

Bill had so easily brushed off the implicit invitation to discuss "his" calendar. Ford wasn't surprised. Over the years of sporadic meetings with his muse, Ford had noted that Bill never shared information about where he'd come from or how he filled his time when he wasn't bestowing his wisdom—as if Bill was a thing that simply is, a muse that offered inspiration because it was made to inspire, with no history or identity outside of its role in service to humanity. He always dodged the questions gracefully.

But he never seemed bothered that Ford had asked. In fact, as long as Ford didn't pry into Bill's history and kept his inquiries comfortably shallow, Bill always seemed happy to receive personal questions. Ford had found that even when Bill talked like he was in a hurry, it was very easy to get him off track (and consequently extend his visit to two or three more dreams) by asking him about himself.

Ford wondered why that was. Was it a part of his duty—was he compelled to answer his chosen students' questions, to enlighten them on the mysteries of the universe, to help tug back the curtain of reality to reveal wonders unknown��wonders that included Bill himself? Or perhaps Bill was used to students seeing him as a source of knowledge without seeing him. Perhaps he was grateful that somebody was interested in him enough to ask.

Whatever the case—Bill clearly liked being asked about himself, and Ford liked getting his muse to stick around a little longer than planned. So rather than letting Bill get on to the prophecies he'd promised, Ford asked, "Do you ever... participate in any human holidays? After all, you've offered so much to humanity. I'm sure any of your prior protégés would have been honored to invite you as a guest to our celebrations. I would be honored." And Ford wouldn't mind having friendly company on the holidays that he'd gotten in the habit of ignoring until they shrank to nothing but a square on a calendar.

"Ha, I know you would! But no, not really," Bill said. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I look down on your cute little local festivals. They just don't have any relevance to me! A celebration of a bountiful harvest, a prayer to get through the winter, the veneration of a local long-dead celebrity... I come from a timeless realm of divinity, sublimity, color and light! Most of your planet's holidays are about issues that don't matter to me."

"Ah. I see," Ford said. "Are there any human holidays you care about?"

Bill mulled over the question. "Maybe one or two."

####

June 22, 2013

Bill thundered down the stairs, charged into the kitchen, and announced to the Pines, "If I don't get to wear a Summerween costume I will literally die."

Without looking up from the morning paper, Ford said, "Then die."

####

It took ten minutes for Bill to bargain Ford up from "death" to permission to wear a costume—provided that it was free; that Bill agree to stay inside for the holiday without complaint (WITHOUT COMPLAINT) no matter what fun activities he heard happening outside; that Ford didn't have to do anything to help Bill obtain said costume; and that Bill take a dang shower.

Bill groaned. "Another shower already?"

"You wouldn't need so many if you didn't insist on running around in an acrylic sweater and polyester leggings in summer."

Bill knew that. That was one of the reasons he did it. It was useful for the humans to think the showers were their idea.

Bill agreed to all terms, and even volunteered to get the dang shower over with now so they could both get on with the rest of their days.

He'd never admit it, but Bill had been wanting a shower. Not for the hygiene, but for the privacy. This was the first time he'd had a door between himself and the Pines since he'd broken the shack's unicorn hair barrier.

Time to call in reinforcements.

Bill covered the mirrors, turned on the shower, undressed, stuck his head under the shower stream so that if anyone barged in on him he could use his wet hair as proof he'd been showering, and squinted through the wooden door to confirm there weren't any humans lurking nearby. Coast was clear—but wow, it hurt to bend his eye that way. He rubbed at it irritably as he set up his ring of candles again, and wasn't surprised when his fingertips came away bloody. He thought it hurt more than it had last time. He wondered how many more times he could glance into higher dimensions before this body's eyeballs gave out on him. Hopefully he wouldn't need them that long.

He drew Kryptos on the floor, lit the candles, and started muttering the chant to summon him. "Rhombus sapphirinus. Fraternitas, caritas..."

The steamy air went chill, the water pattering in the tub grew muffled, the whole world slowed and paused. For weeks, Bill's every attempt to break into the mindscape had been a futile strain; but now, instead, the mindscape surged up and swallowed him into its gray twilight, like evening embracing the land on the heels of sunlight's departure. Bill knew he wasn't awake anymore. It was working.

A force outside of Bill borrowed his throat to speak the last of the ritual—it worked!—and before his eyes, a diamond window opened into the Nightmare Realm.

####

Standing at the edge of one of the Quadrangle of Qonfusion's many perpendicular floors, arms crossed, scowling deeply, Pyronica glared at a neon-acidic cotton candy nebula light years away. "Guys," she said, "it's doing the thing again."

8 Ball, Keyhole, and Zanthar glanced away from their video game toward the nebula. Amorphous Shape peeled a few squares off a column to peer at it with Hectorgon.

"Look at this." Pyronica clapped her hands.

In the nebula, crackles of lightning-like bolts of light millions of miles long shot through the starry clouds. A noise like thunder boomed from it, rattling the Quadrangle. An ugly statue fell off a column-shaped pedestal and landed on a wall.

She clapped twice more—each time, eliciting more lightning—then gestured emphatically at the nebula. "How am I doing that!"

"Can't be you controlling it," Amorphous Shape said. "That nebula's over a dozen light years away. That light had to have happened years ago, we're just seeing it now."

Already turned back to his video game and determinedly trying to murder Keyhole, 8 Ball said, "Maybe the nebula's controlling you."

Pryonica said flatly, "You think a bunch of stars is making me clap."

"Eh. Like astrology or something."

Hectorgon said, "Could be a time loop thing."

"Could be," Amorphous Shape said thoughtfully.

Pyronica threw up her hands, which made the distant nebula's colors shift slightly. "If it's not weird butterfly effects or faster-than-light light, it's time loops. I hate this place. All it'd take is a hard sneeze to knock the whole dimension down."

She'd been saying things to such effect for the past few months. Consequently, nobody really paid much attention to the latest round of griping about the Nightmare Realm's poor maintenance, until she said, "I'm bailing on the Quadrangle. Soon as I can find a decent rock in some other dimension. Who else is coming?"

8 Ball glanced down at Pyronica from the floor with their gaming setup. "Hold on, are you serious?" He quickly had to look away as Zanthar took advantage of the distraction to attack.

"Yeah, I'm serious. I don't wanna break up the gang, but I'm sick of this dump."

Huddled on a nearby wall like an unemployed gargoyle, Paci-Fire said solemnly, "I will stay, Mother. The Quadrangle of Qonfusion is the only home I have ever known."

"Probably one of my worst life decisions," Pyronica muttered. "The Quadrangle isn't our home, it was Bill's. We're just... just..."

Ducking in from between two columns that seemed to lead to a purple-shadowed nighttime meadow, Teeth said, "Eternal couch-surfers."

"Ha! Yeah, that. Hey, where you been the past week?"

"Took a wrong turn to the bathroom. I ended up in that pocket dimension Bill grounded the electrical wiring into."

"Again?"

"I never know how many times to cross that one infinitely looping hallway!"

Pyronica gestured at Teeth. "See, this place is a complete mess. We'd be better off moving to any other dimension. And you'd like living in a real dimension if you gave it a shot, Paci!"

"No." Paci-Fire crossed his arms. "I do not want to."

"At least think about it. Wouldn't you like to live somewhere that has moons? Instead of going on a road trip to another dimension every time you want to drive a civilization to extinction?"

Keyhole muttered, "I hate those stupid road trips. They're always a zillion light years long and we never do anything fun."

"Hey!" Pyronica pointed at Keyhole. "Watch it! My kid's a lunarcide prodigy, he gets to go on as many moon-destroying trips as he wants!"

Keyhole cringed. "Right, right, sorry." 8 Ball muttered something disparaging about Keyhole's intellect, right before blowing him up for the second time.

Paci-Fire asked, "And say we were to move to a dimension with more moons. What would we do when the authorities follow us home after another successful slaughter?" A side-effect of growing up in the Henchmaniacs was that Paci-Fire regarded The Authorities as a nebulous bogeyman that was personally out to get him and all his family and friends. "Are we to lock the door and cower from them like—like cowards? Or constantly flee from one dimension to the next? No, Mother. I do not wish to live like a pariah in the dark corners of—" his lower mouth sneered around his pacifier, "civilized dimensions. There is nowhere safer for us than the Nightmare Realm."

"Sweetie, you don't have to be afraid of the authorities in other dimensions—"

"Mother! I know no fear." Paci-Fire's eyes flared a bright, dangerous red.

Pyronica playfully tugged one of his horn. "We can find a dimension as primitive as 46'\ without any interstellar cops. Like—which dimension were you from, Teeth, it doesn't even have any organized space authorities, does it?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much every world in my galaxy was still ground bound when Bill recruited me." Teeth stepped on a column, slid off, and shuffled around it, trying to remember which side doubled as a walkway to the kitchen. "I don't really mind staying here, though. I mean yeah, we don't have a roof, or consistent walls, and the wiring's a mess. But the rent's really reasonable for a place this size in this part of the Nightmare Realm."

Hectorgon processed that. "Hold on." He lay on a wall and slid up it until he was mouth level with Teeth. "You've been paying rent?"

Teeth paused mid-column. "Wh—yeah? What's that supposed to mean?"

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing, elbowed Paci-Fire, and hissed, "I thought Bill was joking about charging Teeth rent!"

Paci-Fire murmured, "Bill Cipher was always a most droll prankster."

"Who are you paying it to?" Hectorgon asked.

"I mean—I was paying it to Bill. But I dunno who took that over, so I guess, kinda... no one?"

With a mildly offended tone, Hectorgon lied, "You were supposed to give it to me now."

"Oh." Teeth shifted awkwardly. "Uh... sorry, Hect, no one told me. I don't think I've got enough on hand to cover all the..."

"It's fine, everything's been topsy-turvy since... the last few months. Just give me what you have and pay back the rest as soon as you can, okay?"

"Sure, sure, no problem. Thanks, man."

Pyronica bit her lip to keep from laughing. "All right, so Teeth is stupid enough to stay here."

"Hey!"

"But I don't see why the rest of us should be." She looked up at the trio playing games below her, then tried to remember which stupid paradox staircase led to that level. She hesitantly headed up one that looked promising. "Moving out would be worth it just to be somewhere with consistent physics!"

"I am contented with the inconsistent physics," Paci-Fire said.

"It took you fifty years longer than most kids to learn how to walk," Pyronica said. "I know you're my little genius! It's this dimension that's holding you down!" 

"Boo," Paci-Fire said sulkily.

"Paci, you don't even like the Quadrangle. Nobody does."

Amorphous Shape let out a chorus of sharp gasps. They slid around a corner and reappeared sliding from the underside of the staircase to the top, laying zigzag atop the steps to glare at Pyronica. "Excuse us."

"I'll step on you, Morph," Pyronica threatened. Amorphous Shape grudgingly slid over for her to pass. "Fine, Bill's stupid 2D groupies like the Quadrangle. But the rest of us don't."

"What's wrong with it?" Morph demanded.

"What's—?!" Pyronica gestured upward at the floor below them. "You don't see the problem with this?!"

"It's supposed to be like that. It's a shortcut." 

"It's a—!" Pyronica covered her face and suppressed a scream. "It's giving me vertigo!"

"It doesn't give us vertigo," Morph said defensively. They partially peeled off the steps to look at Hectorgon. "Does it give you vertigo?"

"No, I'm fine."

"What about you, Kryptos?"

There was no answer.

"Krypt?" Morph reluctantly peeled off the stairs entirely and hovered in the air to try to get a better view.

"He probably got sucked into The Void," Keyhole muttered, "it was vibrating this morning."

8 Ball sighed. "Why do we even have that Void?"

"Man, I dunno."

Pyronica ascended to the bottom of the stairs, sat on the arm of the gamers' couch, and said, "The point is—none of us need this place. I got by fine before joining Bill, most of you guys did too, and we can get by just fine now without squatting in his weird architecture project."

She leaned behind Keyhole and 8 Ball to poke Zanthar's arm. "Big Z, you still have worshippers in your home dimension, right? Aren't you still getting offerings?"

Zanthar shrugged noncommittally.

"They've still got legends of you, you can whip them back into shape in no time. Keyhole, you've got family—"

Without looking away from the screen, where he was losing hideously, Keyhole muttered, "I'm not moving back in with my mom."

"I'm not talking about your mom, stupid, what about your sisters?" 

Keyhole winced, though it was hard to tell whether it was from Pyronica's question or from getting killed for the third and final time. "I don't know... Bill and I were talking about them once, and I realized they're as bad as Mom was. Bill said probably the only reason they didn't treat me as bad is because they never got the opportunity—"

"Who cares what Bill said," Pyronica snapped. "Bill's dead! We don't have to listen to him anymore!"

"Hear hear," 8 Ball muttered; but he couldn't throw in anything else, lest Zanthar blow him up and win the match.

Pyronica said, "Face it: the only reason the rest of us didn't leave the Nightmare Realm millennia ago is because Bill couldn't leave."

Morph drifted through the kitchen—reaching around Teeth to grab a drink out of the fridge as they passed—and unfolded questioningly around a corner. "There you are."

Kryptos was in the rec room, lounging on Bill's stupid tacky optical illusion throne with the fabric of reality upholstery, staring out a window (or skylight, depending on your point of perspective). He grunted at Morph.

Morph said, "Bill's gonna be furious you're using his throne."

"Whatever. Z's already spilled time punch on the armrest." Kryptos pointed at the patch of reality on the armrest that was out of chronological synch with the rest of the throne.

"He's not gonna be furious," Pyronica said, shouting through the doorway that inexplicably connected to the rec room. "He's not gonna be anything because he's dead. He died. D-E-A-D."

"He's not." And suddenly Morph were in Pyronica's face, all of their polygons and lines and piercing slitted eyes circling her head like angry moons. Keyhole leaned toward 8 Ball to see the screen around them, and 8 Ball elbowed him back over. Morph said, "He can't be. If Bill was dead, the Nightmare Realm would be falling apart even faster—"

"So let's bail while we can—"

"—but it's not," they said. "If anything, its degradation is slowing down. That would be impossible if he were dead, he's instrumental to holding the Nightmare Realm together—"

"Unless he lied about that, and he was actually making everything worse," Pyronica said.

"Bill's not a liar! We have the data to prove it, we've been measuring the degradation for billennia—"

"I'm sick of your stupid measurements! It was your 'measurements' that said 46'\ was perfect to take over! Was that stupid barrier part of your measurements?!"

"That barrier was extremely localized, there's no way we could have detected—"

"The portal was right in the middle of it! How did you idiots miss it?!"

8 Ball groaned as Zanthar whittled away the last of his HP. Zanthar let out a gentle hum like the sound of an apocalyptic vacuum cleaner as the game declared him the winner.

8 Ball tossed his controller at the TV. The TV squealed in fear. "If Bill is alive, that's just another reason to get out of the Nightmare Realm! Leave before he gets back! He can play king in this dump by himself."

Paci-Fire said, "Surely, you do not mean that. Were Bill still around..."

"No! No, I do mean it! The only reason we've stayed so long is because everyone's too starstruck or too scared to ditch him! Not anymore! If his flat-brained cultists wanna wait for him, fine! But why do we all gotta stay?"

"Hey!" Hectorgon rushed in from the kitchen to snarl at 8 Ball. "Who're you calling flat, cue tip—?"

Kryptos tuned out the argument downstairs/next door as 8 Ball and Hectorgon started brawling. Who were they kidding? Nobody was leaving. Maybe 8 Ball, he'd tried to split four or five times before crawling back, but Kryptos didn't care about him anyway. Bill had always been right about him: he was too selfish to care about the rest of the gang but too stupid to make it on his own. They'd taken in losers like that before and it had never been a big loss when they left. But no one else would leave. Where would they go?

Where could they go?

Kryptos didn't care about the outerplanar Henchmaniacs' reasons for joining Bill; but the shapes were here because Bill had promised to make them a new home. He was the only one in all of reality who could do it. Kryptos was as desperate to hear from Bill as Morph and Hect were. They'd held fast to Bill's promise for a trillion years—so how could they let go of whatever thin thread of that hope remained? Who would they be if they lost it?

But in his heart, Kryptos didn't really believe Bill was out there. He'd been gone too long. And Kryptos couldn't imagine anything less catastrophic than Bill's destruction could have reversed Weirdmageddon.

Yet he was still here, and still waiting, because he didn't know what else to do. He'd stay in the Quadrangle until the whole realm finally fell apart, just in case Bill casually floated back in one day. He'd do anything they could think of to find him and bring him back.

And then Kryptos got a call from Earth.

He sighed heavily.

Calls from Earth weren't unusual. Perks of having helped found the Fishmasons: Kryptos was occasionally summoned by the Fishermen high-ranked enough to be told their organization really did know an interdimensional alien who was their de facto secret leader and presided over their most important rituals. Assuming "de facto secret leader" meant "living equivalent of a beloved sports team mascot," and "presided over" meant "got free invitations to," and "most important rituals" meant "most fun parties." But the humans liked to pretend that their little group was a lot more important and cloak-and-dagger than the social club it really was; and all the wink-wink-nudge-nudge pretending-Kryptos-was-in-charge, while silly, was also kind of flattering. You didn't get many chances to be the star of the show when you lived around a supernova like Bill.

So, Kryptos got calls from Earth from time to time—at least a handful a year—typically from a middle-aged man in a business suit trying to pretend he wasn't giddy about being the guy who'd gotten permission to pull out the candles and contact The Alien.

Kryptos was not in the mood to talk to humans. Humans were why they were in this mess. Humanity could go jump in a lake.

But it wasn't every human's fault that a handful had somehow taken out Bill. And maybe they were calling for a party. Maybe it would cheer him up.

So he sighed again, half heartedly shouted, "Guys—guys, shut up a second, I'm getting a call," and opened up a window to Earth.

His vision was filled with a brown-skinned golden-haired haunted-eyed human who, at the sight of Kryptos, gave him a relieved, face-splitting smile. "H—"

Kryptos hung up.

To reiterate: he took calls from middle-aged men in business suits. That was a naked woman crouched on the floor like an animal.

"Who was it?" Hectorgon asked.

"No one. Some woo-woo witchy type who probably dug up a leaked Fishmason ritual online."

Hectorgon laughed. "I bet it thought it could ask a 'demon' for lottery numbers."

"Sorry, sister, but that's Bill's schtick," Kryptos said. "My number is unlisted for a reason."

Kryptos wondered about Bill's human pals. Well—"pals" was a bit of a stretch—devotees and students. How often did he get calls? And now they couldn't reach him.

Stinks for them. Must be awful, reaching out to someone in another dimension for help and getting nothing back.

####

An ethereal, sourceless voice whispered in Bill's ear, "The all-knowing dream demon you're trying to reach is currently unavailable for visions and prophecies. If this is an emergency, wake up and call your nearest Masonic lodge. Otherwise, please leave your prayers or petitions after the beep." Beep.

Bill stared, jaw dropped, at the empty patch of air where Kryptos had been projecting just a moment ago. After several seconds of mute outrage, Bill said, "Kr... Kryptos. You... I swear, if you don't get back here this SECOND—"

The sheer force of his anger woke him up. His eyes fluttered open to the world of color and humidity and pattering water. He grabbed every towel he could reach, wadded them up, and screamed into them. "KRYPTOS YOU SON OF A— I KNOW YOU NEVER CHECK YOUR VOICEMAIL! AND WERE YOU ON MY THRONE, WERE YOU SITTING ON MY SPECIAL THRONE—!"

He shrieked until his lungs were empty.

####

At sixty minutes exactly, Ford knocked and opened the bathroom door. Bill stood scowling behind it.

Dryly, Ford asked, "Have a pleasant shower?"

Wet hair hanging in tangles, face flushed red, eyes even redder, Bill snapped, "Yeah. Refreshing."

####

"Mabel?"

Mabel glanced down from the stepladder at Bill, then pointedly looked away and continued taping Summerween decorations to the hallway wallpaper. "What."

"Mabel," Bill tried again, a touch more pleading. "O great Shooting Star. My hero. My one and only friend in this hostile universe. Last person who hasn't utterly forsaken me." He leaned on the wall, the back of his hand pressed to his forehead. "The sole illumination in the dark night of my accursed postmortem existence—"

Mabel grudgingly looked at Bill again. "What do you want?"

"Listen: I know I upset you at the mall, and I still need to make it up to you—I do, I do, I just haven't had a chance yet—and you're still a little mad at me, okay—buuut... can you help me make a costume." He pressed his hands together. "Please. I'll owe you one. I'll be in your debt. Just let me dress up for Summerween."

Mabel frowned at him. She frowned a little more. She said, frowning, "You're so lucky I love costumes."

####

(Next week: Summerween part 2!! Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed I'd love to hear from y'all what you think! I've been waiting to get to the Henchmaniacs for a long time. Mainly in the hopes y'all will yell at me for putting Bill through heck again.)

[peeweekey]

i visited idiot street and everyone knew your name!

part i, part ii, part iii

synopsis: the three times you friendzoned Alhaitham, and the one he made damn sure you didn't.

tags: alhaitham/reader ; school setting ; valentine's day special ; reader likes sewing ; miscommunication

Valentine’s day comes rolling around the next year, and you are sadly not present to witness Alhaitham lengthen his trail of broken hearts. A shame, really. This year, you were looking forward to bringing popcorn for the occasion—just to see him squirm.

You’ve been cooped up in the homeroom lab for the better part of the week, sewing and snipping away at one of the costumes for the school’s fair. Unlike last year, you don’t have your seniors to help you pin fabrics right or to assist in hand stitching plastic beads, as the newly appointed tailor's club head you have a lot more duties to take on.

It’s exhausting, you feel the deep creases underneath your eye—dreading to head to the bathroom and accidentally look into the mirror to face your own haggard appearance—and the dull ache in your hands and back is blocking any sense you could have.

The club room is otherwise quiet if not for the lo-fi beat playing from your phone’s speaker and the rhythmic snips of scissors gliding over fabric. You focus all your brain power on the task—fabric is not cheap and you don’t have enough mora in your wallet if you lose focus and mess up—and remain blissfully unaware of any potential distraction.

To be honest, it hadn’t even registered in your head that you weren’t alone in the room anymore, until the gentlest tap on your shoulder has you snapping your focus away from the brocade.

The sight of just who has you unconsciously gaping your mouth like a blubbering fish in shock—Alhaitham.

He stares at you blankly, his gaze is so intense it’s a little unnerving, you freeze up before him, and probably make yourself look like an idiot in the process.

Suddenly, the state of your appearance becomes a presiding worry. Having skipped lunch in favor of patterning tulle perfectly on the dummy mannequin. Your uniform is crumpled, creased with the lack of motion, stray threads and fabric fibers cover you head to toe similar to lint. It’s almost humiliating to be seen so disheveled by Alhaitham—when he himself looks like the epitome of put-together flawlessness.

“Haitham,” you start, smoothing out the fabric laid out on the table, it’s soft and smooth under your fingertips. “Need something?”

He spares a glance to whatever you’re fidgeting with behind you then to your face, which in turn makes you fist the work-in-progress fabric tighter in your hand.

Alhaitham seems to search for something in your expression, his gaze feels like it’s poking and prodding in your soul. Your hands itch to cover up whatever’s he’s fixated on, but you settle on the second best option; staring back just as hard and ten times more intensely.

“The second button of my shirt,” he says, Alhaitham points at his stark white button up, right where a button lay missing. You arch a brow at that, he’s most definitely only here to ask you to mend his shirt. No other reason.

And you are definitely not disappointed right now too.

Swallowing hard, your eyes drift to his face. “Do you need a replacement button?”

A crease forms between his brows. “No.”

Well.

“O-kay,” that stumps you, “What about it then?” you shoot him a puzzled look, folding your arms tightly across your chest.

That makes him pause. “I wanted to check if you wanted it.”

“…your button?”

“Yes, that’s why I came over here.”

He must be kidding. The two of you are standing in the homeroom lab, there’s a surplus of small white buttons, you’d rather pick from there than have him ruin a perfectly good shirt.

“Uh no thanks,” you scratch at the back of your neck, extremely confused. “I have a lot more buttons in the drawer, there’s no need to take one off your back.”

Once you said that and saw the expression on his face, you knew immediately that it was the wrong choice—even if it wasn’t a test question. Alhaitham does not pout, but that’s something he would say. If you were asked, the way his lips twitch downward slightly is pouting.

“I understand,” he says shortly and starts to turn back and reach for the door. You cannot hide your bewildered expression, pinching your brows in confusion.

“Wait—hold it right there,” you call, stepping a step or two following him. You, not wanting your conversation to end on such an unusually awkward note. “What’s up with you?”

“It’s nothing,” he says and you practically hear the sulky edge to his voice—something you swore he left back in middle school—still, he turns back to face you. “If you don’t want it, I won’t give it to you.”

Sighing, you step even closer to close some of the distance, holding your palm out impatiently to him. “Come over here, grumpy. I’ll take the button.”

He eases up slightly. “Don’t force yourself.”

Why you ought to wring this man by the neck. You place your free hand to rest on your waist. “You’re not forcing me, now hand it over.”

Alhaitham stands his ground, but eventually cracks, offering a compromise. “...I’ll leave it on the table.”

“Okay,” your eyes flutter shut in exhaustion and slight irritation—confusion more than anything. “See you, Haitham.”

He bids you goodbye, calling your name softly.

You hear the door slide open, then shut.

When you open your eyes, a singular translucent white button sits on your working table—along with a box of fine confectioners chocolate.

What a loser, you think. Though your smile betrays that thought.

You skip back to your work and suddenly, you aren’t so exhausted anymore.

[ros3ybabe]

Daily Check-in: April 24, 2024 🎀

Wednesday started out so rough, I had a really bad stress breakdown from the pressure I was putting on myself for the exam I have today (Thursday), but luckily my dad was able to calm me down over the phone and my boyfriend motivated me and encouraged me. I don't feel as stressed out anymore, I know that I know the material and I'll do great! (it's a chemistry exam)

🩷 What I Accomplished:

studied chemistry for a good bit

completed 3 chemistry homework assignments

scheduled a make-up quiz for my psyc class

did the Total Body Pilates video from Blogilates

did the 11 minute Wake Up Yoga from Yoga with Adriene

did my morning skincare and journaling

actually, just did my entire morning routine and felt great about it

shipped off shorts I sold on depop

went to chemistry lecture to review for the exam

went to my virtual appointment with a registered dietitian and set some goals for the next 2 weeks

decided to join a step challenge with my health insurance company to win points (they have some cool things in their points shop, plus extra steps during the day is good for my health!)

washed my laundry

made a brain dump list for the remainder of the week

💞 Good Things That Happened:

I really like the dietitian I met with and have another appointment with her in 2 weeks

I really enjoyed using my new 40oz Simple Modern insulated tumbler cup

didn't let my stress breakdown make me go home, very proud of myself for sticking to my plans

went to sleep early

sold another item on depop!

I felt very reassured that I know the content that is going to be on my upcoming exam

the guy who makes sushi at my campus food court made sushi for me and held it until I went to get it so no one would buy it, i could've cried it was so nice of him

I drank coffee on campus and it didn't hurt my stomach for once!

💔 What Could've Gone Better:

need to put less pressure on myself

had some issues with food after my dietitian appointment (sometimes thinking too much about food can be triggering for me, tbh, but my goals are nutrient based which is helpful!!)

started crying before I went to bed because I was feeling oddly emotional (I think I'm starting my period soon)

had to turn down a work shift because I had too much school stuff and that appointment (I need the money so bad tho)

did not drink near enough water

need to be more patient and gentle with myself

also need to really figure out what's going on with my priorities, I keep struggling to do the things I say I'm going to do which is difficult for me to deal with sometimes

need to remember progress over perfection, 50% is always better then doing 0% of something

💗 Stuff For Thursday

clean my room

listen to a podcast episode

maybe do some more laundry

make a grocery list

clean my bathroom

therapy today over video call

reschedule a morning appointment

chemistry exam tonight

try to ship off the shirt I sold on depop

do some more planning and organizing for my life

that's all for now! Thursdays gonna be good. My exam is gonna go great! I have confidence in myself, and my knowledge and I know I've got this!

til next time lovelies 🩷

💕 Song of The Day: Baddie by IVE

Gotta remind myself of this sometimes <3

[jamdoughnutmagician]

New Ink

Tattoo Artists!Eddie x Reader (Fluff)

Getting your first tattoo should be a nervy experience, but having a cute tattoo artist to hold your hand through it, then surely things aren't all bad? (sorry I suck at summaries)

Also, let it be known that the authour doesn't have any tattoos, nor does she know anything about what it's like to get a tattoo.

*actually update, the author now does have a tattoo 😛*

Word count:1,680

Masterlist Eddie Munson Masterlist

You pushed yourself through the door of the tattoo parlour, and began to make your way towards the front counter where a boy with hazel brown eyes, a shaggy mess of brown hair and a sleeve of various different colourful tattoos greeted you.

"Hi there, I’m Steve and welcome to Hellfire Tattoo Parlour, what can I help you with today?" The boy smiles brightly.

"Um, well, I'd been considering getting a tattoo for a while, and I was wondering if maybe you have any available slots?" You ask, slightly nervously.

"Is this your first time getting a tattoo?" He nods, looking up at you

"Is it that obvious?" You chuckle.

The boy flips through his register book for a moment, before turning to look back up at you. 

"Well, first of all I would have to book you in for a consultation with one of our artists, you know, to talk about what you want and what not, and since it’s your first time getting a tattoo we’ll be able to talk you through what goes on.” he explains.

You nod, as you listen to what Steve has to tell you.

“We’ve got a space for a consultation in a week's time? How does 11:30 sound to you?”

“That sounds great, thank you!” you smile.

“Perfect! I’ll just schedule you in here.” Steve nods, turning to write down your name and contact details in his appointment book. “Let me also just say, that if you have any picture references, or pictures you want to bring in to help us get a feel for what sort of design you would like, then that would be helpful.” 

“Oh okay! Thanks!” 

“Alright then, that’s you all booked in for a consultation next week! We’ll see you then.” Steve tells you with a friendly smile

You thank him once more before leaving the tattoo parlour with a pep in your step, happy that you’d finally bit the bullet and made the first steps to actually getting the tattoo.

“Hey Harrington, who was that girl?” Eddie says as he casually strolls up to the front counter. “She was kinda cute, don’t ‘ya think?”

“That was a new client, she’s booked in for a consultation next week, with you no less, so if you could keep it in your pants until after everythings all sorted that would be great, Munson.” 

A heated flush crept up from Eddie’s chest and bloomed over his cheeks in a scarlet blush. Busted.

He swallowed down his embarrassment and promised Steve to be on his best behaviour next week. 

Sure enough your appointment rolled around and you found yourself sitting on the small couch with your artist, Eddie. He was tall, dark, and far too handsome for his own good. His hair is tied back in a loose, messy bun that rests at the nape of his neck, and his intricate gathering of smaller tattoos that make up one larger sleeve piece sprawl from underneath the sleeve of his Metallica t-shirt. However it’s not that draws you into him. It’s when you look past his septum pierced, freckled nose, that his big chocolate brown eyes draw you in. The way they sparkle with a honeyed glow under the studio lights of the tattoo parlour.

“So what sort of tattoo did you have in mind?”

“Well, you know Lord of The Rings?” you start cautiously. 

Eddie nodded, it was one of his favourite books, and when the films had come out, they too had become fast and firm favourites of his.

“I really wanted Arwen’s evenstar.” You explain. “And I was thinking of having it by here” you continue running your hand against the side of your ribs.

“So, Harrington was telling me that this is your first tattoo?”

You nod as he continues to speak.

“Well let me just tell you that the ribs can be a particularly sensitive place for a tattoo, I should know. I’ve got a sword right here" he says pointing to the right side of his torso "..And that hurt like a bitch." he chuckles. 

“Well I was kind of hoping to have in a discreet place, besides I’m a tough girl, I can handle a little pain.” you tell him confidently.

“Well it sounds like you know what you want, how about you give me some time to put together a design for you, and you can come back later on to see if you like it or if there’s anything we can tweak and then we can go from there?” he proposes.

“I like the sound of that!” 

“Great! If you swing back at around 2:00, then I should have a sketch for you to review.”

“Okay! Thank you so much!” you say standing up and offering your hand up for him to shake. “2:00 it is.”

He gladly takes your hand, giving it a friendly shake.

“I’ll see you then." And with that he bids you goodbye, and watches as you make your way out of the shop.

He waits until you're completely out of sight before huffing out a breath.

"She's so cute. I'm fucked." he sighs.

"Yes. Yes you are." Steve laughs, clapping a hand on Eddie's back. “Now shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

Eddie is just putting the finishing touches on his sketches of your tattoo design when you come back into the shop.

He welcomes you to sit on the couch in the studio so he can show you his work.

"So here's the design I had sketched out, let me know what you think of it." 

"It's perfect!" You beam brightly. 

"Really? Because I did have a few other sketches done if you wanted to see?" He offers.

"No, no, this one's perfect! It's exactly as I had imagined in my head!" You tell him.

"Well, thank you, I'm kind of a Tolkien fan myself, and those films are very dear to me, so I should know what the Evenstar looks like."

Not only was he cute, but you had a shared interest, and that just made him all the cuter in your eyes.

"I've got no other clients for today, if you're up for it I could do it for you now?" 

You nod excitedly, eager to have your very first tattoo.

"Thank you! That sounds great!" You tell him with a smile.

"Awesome! I'll just get everything I need set up and I'll come get you in a bit, okay?"

Eddie has you lie down on the padded table in his tattoo studio, the leather of the dark cushions squeaking as you adjust yourself to be comfortable.

“Can you just roll your shirt up for me, please” he asks with a smile as he snaps on a pair of disposable gloves.

You roll up the hem of your shirt to expose your ribs on the side where you want your tattoo.

“..and your um-your bra too please..” he stutters out, fighting against the blush rising to his cheeks.

Way to keep it professional, Munson.

You pull the band of your bra out of the way, allowing him to lay down a tracing outline of his design on your skin.

“If you need to take a break anytime, just let me know alright, this is gonna suck for a short while, but it’ll look so good in the end I promise. You’re in very safe hands.”

The tattoo machine whirs into life, as he reaches for the gun and begins to trace the stencilled outline on your ribs.

It hurts. It feels like a thousand tiny knives stabbing you repeatedly, but you’d put on a brave front after being very bold about your high pain tolerance.

“You’re doing really well, y’know. If I’m being honest I cried like a wimp when I got my first tattoo” he jokes about himself as he catches you grimacing when his needle runs over a particularly sensitive spot.

You take a few shallow breaths as he continues with his work, pausing every once and a while to wipe your skin and to give you a small break.

He continues his work once more, adding the finishing touches to his design until it’s complete.

“Alright, that’s you all inked up! There’s a mirror over there for you to go check it out.” he tells you, peeling off his gloves. 

You get up off the table and make your way over to the full length mirror to see your new tattoo in all its glory.

“Oh I love it!! It’s so good!! You did such a good job on it! Thank you so much!!” you praise him brightly.

“Well thank you, it’s nice to know my art is appreciated so highly.” he smiles back at you. “Now let’s get you sorted out and wrapped up.”

Eddie wrapped up your tattoo in a thin layer of plastic wrap and talked you through the proper after-care etiquette for looking after your tattoo.

You hand him over the money to pay for your tattoo, with a smile.

“Thank you so much, again. If I ever decide I want another tattoo I’ll definitely be coming back here and asking for you.”

“Well it’s always good to see off another pleased customer, I’d be more than happy to tattoo you again if you want, tough girl.” he chuckles, throwing an adorably cheeky, boy-ish grin your way.

“How about I give you my number, and maybe we can discuss my next tattoo over drinks? Say.. maybe this Friday at 7.00?” you offer up hopefully, desperately wishing that you hadn’t read this wrong. “There’s a great bar in town that does a great Old fashioned.”

He flushes with a pink blush as you grab a sharpie from the pen pot on the desk and write your number on his other forearm that isn’t covered by a sleeve of ink.

“Sure. Friday. 7pm.” he nods “It’s a date, tough girl.”

You leave Hellfire tattoo parlour with some new ink, and a pep in your step at having secured a date with the cute tattoo artist.

@penguinsandpotterheads @itsfreakingbats @xxhellfirebunnyxx @munsonology @ali-r3n

[sleepyfan-blog]

Clinic Day

Author’s Note: This is the next installment of Cedric's story - watch him struggle to integrate into the Husbandry AU. First. Previous. Next

Tagged: @the-pure-angel @egrets-not-regrets @kit-williams

Warnings: misunderstandings

Summary: Cedric works in the Astartes run health care clinic in the town he’s found himself living in, on ancient Terra. 

In the handful of weeks that Cedric has spent on Ancient Terra, most of it has been spent in one of the eight Astartes bases in the large - for the time period's - city. As an apothecary in training, most of his days were spent working alongside older Apothecaries, learning whatever they were willing to teach him... And there was almost always a squad of Imperial Fists near wherever Cedric was working, for reasons that the young Black Templar hadn't questioned. They were the closest thing  he had to direct superiors and though they weren't Black Templars, his chapter had been founded by one of the Fists' First Captains, and their presence helped immensely.

He was curious as to why he hadn't seen any other Black Templars in the area. He'd seen Ultramarines - and several different of their successor chapters - as well as Imperial Fists - he'd spoke briefly with the Fist who'd been made Chapter Master (a stern and no-nonsense older brother who went by the name Mirros)... He'd seen plenty of Blood Angels - and members of their successor chapters (Including the perpetually unlucky Lamenters - poor, poor bastards), Salamanders, the occasional White Scar or Iron Hand... Cedric had patched up more than one pack of Space Wolves, or pod of Charcarodoons... He'd seen at least two or three of every first founded Loyalist chapter, as well as some of their most numerous successor chapters. But where were his fellow Black Templars? It was a question that had been starting to bother him rather persistently, though the young Apothecary wasn't exactly sure how to ask the question, nor to whom he should ask.

"Oi! Apothecary, are you going to continue to stare off into space, or are you going to help me?" A loud, irritated voice growled out in High Gothic, snapping Cedric out of his internal musings. 

Cedric dipped his head a little and responded to the growly Marine with a slightly apologetic "What have you come in for?" He was one of a half-dozen Astartes Apothecaries who were working at this medical clinic. It was available for both baseline human use as well as for any Astartes in need of help. Cedric was currently in medical scrubs - as the resources needed to make him a new suit of power armor were incredibly difficult to come by on Ancient Terra, and he had yet to gain the trust of the older brothers and cousins to earn any pieces of armor that might be handed down to hi-

Wait a fucking minute!

Cedric stared silently as he had finally registered the fact that the Marine in front of him, holding a small human child hostage was a fucking World Eater. 

The World Eater was a huge fucker too. Covered in jagged spikes and horns, likely fused to his armor. There were symbols of chaos carved into his pauldrons and cuirass. Cedric's eyes darted around the examination room - there was fuck-all he could use as an effective weapon against a Khornate Chaos Marine, especially with no fucking armor or real weapons of his own, but without armor, Cedric should be much faster than this demon-empowered, traitor. How the Fuck had he even gotten this far into the clinic? Or had the Chaos Marine used the miserable and sniffling human child as leverage against the Ultramarine who was manning the front desk, keeping the schedules and appointments in order? Oh. Oh fuck the chaotic traitor is talking. What is he saying? Cedric should probably be paying attention to the fucker.

"-nd that's when the sickness started. His parents say that it's just a common cold, but he's gotten those before. He's not been this sick for more than a couple of days. I'm worried that he's gotten something more serious. Look him over... Pease. He's my bonded and... I want to be sure that he lives as long as possible. Baseline humans live for such short periods of time..." The World Eater huffed, holding the tiny human close to his chest, surprisingly making sure not to spear the poor boy on his spikes. 

What... What Chaos-fueled trickery was this? If Cedric's ears weren't deceiving him, this Traitor was genuinely concerned about the human child in his arms. And given the utter devastation his legion in particular was notorious for on formerly peaceful imperial worlds - the vicious bloodshed as they drowned whole systems in tides of blood for their false god, this felt like some sort of sick and twisted cosmic joke. Cedric counted to ten in his head as he took in a deep breath and let it out before responding through clenched teeth, aiming to keep his voice calm "When did his more serious symptoms manifest? What is the child's name? I'm not sure I caught it. Does he understand Gothic, or should I get an interpreter so he can participate in his healthcare? I am... Learning the local languages, but I have only been on Ancient Terra for... I believe the term is a month and a half."

"My name is Andrew, doctor. I do understand these words, a bit. But I speak-" The child explained, before breaking off into one of the local languages, speaking faster than Cedric could parse through, especially when trying very hard not to descend into a furious whirlwind of fists and holy wrath when faced by a Chaotic Traitor. "- much better, sir."

"Well, the first thing I need to do is give you a full examination, to check you over. Then, I'm going to use this needle to draw some -" Would the word blood push the Khornate Fucker into a frenzy? Cedric did not know and had no desire to risk the child's safety "-vital fluids, for some tests. Those tests will take about an hour, and hopefully we'll be able to figure out what's going on."

"Will the needle hurt?" Andrew asked, huge brown eyes wet with tears, fearful.

"It will hurt, but only a little, like pinching your finger." Cedric answered truthfully. He was pretty sure that the sight of fresh blood would send the Khornate Fucker into a frenzy. He'd rather avoid that if at all possible so he asks, internally gagging on how polite he has to be to a filthy traitor. His teeth were still clenched as he requests "Please set Andrew down... Older Cousin. He will need privacy as I check him over and draw a sample of his vital fluids. Please wait outside the room, ideally in the waiting room-" His eyes flicked over the other's armor, trying to figure out if the other had some sort of rank to refer to him as "... Sergeant." God-emperor forgive him, but he is trying to get this child to safety. He is going to hit the safety alarm soon, too.

Benji clearly did not like his suggestion, and looked down at the tiny human in his arms "... Are you sure that I can't stay with him? Even if I set him down on the exam table and promise not to interfere with you checking him over?"

Were he not a Treacherous Chaotic Bastard, such a compromise would be fine. But Cedric wanted him out of the room. Out of the clinic, and ideally back to whatever demon-infested pit he had crawled out of. He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. Until he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth "Check-ups are done with the most amount of privacy possible. Unless Andrew asks you to stay, I am asking you to leave, per the local laws we're to abide by."

"... Fine. But if you hurt my bonded, there is nothing that will stop me from getting vengeance. If there is so much as a hair out of place... Your comeuppance will be brutal. your pleas for mercy will -" The Khornate Bastard began to threaten.

Cedric closed his eyes for a moment, taking in another deep breath, trying to shove the fury at the insult that he would be the one to harm the child of the two of them threatened to crack his composure as he interrupted the posturing Traitor "The only harm done to him will be a small prick of the needle, which is necessary for the tests that need to be run. Apart from that, I have taken oaths not to harm patients unless absolutely necessary, and on Ancient Terra, I have yet to need to give a patient the Emperor's Final Mercy, and I doubt that this patient will need such. Leave. Please."

"... Fine. I'll wait in the holding room. But -" Benji breaks off into one of the local languages, clearly telling the young baseline human something. Cedric wished he knew what the fucker was saying, but the older marine was speaking far too rapidly for him to begin to guess. Once he finished giving instructions to the child he continued "I am one shout of his away and I will break your spine if you hurt him more than absolutely necessary. Understood?"

Cedric swallowed down the challenging words that were on the tip of his tongue. Now was not the time to get into a brawl with a Chaotic Traitor. Not when he was so close to separating the two of them and being able to check to see if the child was willingly with this fucker (and thus Chaos Tainted, or at least blind to the dangers) or if he was being held hostage. "You need not threaten me, sergeant. I am not the threat to this child."

"Good." With that, the Khornate bastard finally, finally left the room, closing the door behind him with a loud bang. Cedric counted to ten ins his head before raising the room's internal shielding and kneeling down, so as to be as close to the child's level as possible. He gently held the young boy's hands as gently as he could "Listen to me. You understand, yes?"

Andrew nodded, a confused expression on his face "Yes. I understand."

"Okay, so I activated a shield that means that he can't hear us talking, so please speak truthfully. Did he kidnap you? Is he holding you against your will?" Cedric asked, doing his best to keep his voice calm and soothing "My older brothers and I can help you, if that's true. Or if he's threatening your family, so that you behave."

Andrew looked startled and confused. He shook his head "No! No, nothing like that. Benji's safe, I promise! He's very nice to me an' my family! I know he looks really mean and scary,, but he really is nice. He growls 'cause he cares."

Poor child. So young, and already tainted or at least blinded by Chaos. But it was his duty to tend to anyone who walked into the clinic, no matter their allegiance, so long as they didn't try to attack anyone inside the clinic. "Alright. If that answer changes, please come see me. My name is Cedric, and I'll help you as best I can. Now, let's see what illness is making you all sneezy and feverish, hmm?"

"Okay!" Andrew responded, smiling adorably up at him.

Cedric couldn't help but return the smile as he narrated what he was going to do next during his exam of the young human - patiently answering the questions he had, and letting him look over the instruments he was using in order to complete the check-up, as he'd been instructed to. Pediatric care was not something he'd been taught before he'd come to Ancient Terra. 

~

The next several patients were adult humans. Two had work-related injuries that he helped to set initially, before giving them the paperwork they needed in order to start the process, suggesting that they speak with one of the medically-inclined Ultramarines at the front desk in case they needed help filling out the paperwork, or were confused about certain aspects of that process as it wasn't something that Cedric himself really understood. The other three adults had bad sunburns from a recent trip to the beach and an improper application of sunscreen schedule. he prescribed them burn ointments and sent them on their way.

He had just finished the write-up on the last patient he'd seen and had signaled to the front desk people that he was ready for another patient when a flirty voice called out "Oh my, well hello doctor. Aren't you a handsome, big man."

Cedric froze for a moment before spinning on his heel, shifting into a combat stance on instinct, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a fucking Emperor's Child leering up at him, his armor painted the bright and gaudy purple. The Chaos bastard's green stretched far too widely across his face and Cedric felt unclean at the way that the other was leering at him.

There was nothing visibly wrong with this... This affront to the god-emperor other than being a Chaotic Traitor, from what Cedric could see. He did not have a human with him. H could see something dripping from the other's claws, and given his last encounter with Slaaneshi-scum had ended with the death of one of his squad-mates, Cedric felt that it was entirely prudent for him to slam shoulder-first into the Emperor's Child, knocking the other off of his feet. He then pinned the pathetic excuse for a marine with one foot planted on the other's back, his gloved hands reaching for the nearest empty jar and a roll of tape. "Stay down, you Slaaneshi bastard! I don't know what nefarious fuckery has brought you here, but I will not have your poisoned touch corrupt the innocent souls here."

"Excuse me?! I came here because my -" The Emperor's Child spluttered.

Cedric shoved a stress ball in the bastard's lying mouth. It would do little to keep him quiet for more than a moment or two, but the silence was blessed "I don't care what lies you told the others to get in here, but know this, Slaaneshi whore, I will not let you corrupt the people here. I know damn well the literal poison that drips from your clawed hands, and the devastation it can bring. If you truly mean no harm, then stop struggling!" 

Surprisingly enough, the Chaos bastard did, in fact, stop trying to squirm out from where Cedric had him pinned. Not that the young Black Templar trusted his apparent compliance as he finished taping empty jars to both of the Slaaneshi bastard's still-dripping hands. He called over the vox unit that he'd been given "We need a full biohazard clean up. There's Slaaneshi poison dripped all over the floor and God Emperor knows how much he's dripped all over the fucking city. I don't think that it's a contact poison, but if it finds it's way into an open orifice or wound we're going to have problems. I've got the fucker who's secreting it contained for now, but we're going to need somewhere better to keep him... Unless we can banish him back to The Eye?"

One of the Salamander Apothecaries who was working next to Cedric's assigned exam room came sprinting out, a confused looking elderly human and their Dark Angel companion peering through the door behind him. The Dark Angel immediately picked up the human and shuffled deeper into the exam room- smart. 

"Cedric... Young one, you wanna explain why you've got an unresisting Marine in a headlock and jars taped to his hands? I know he's a Chaos Marine, but we've told you that things are... Different here on Ancient Terra. The Chaos Marines don't feel the pull of their false gods nearly as keenly here as they do where we are from. What do you mean by poison?"

"The substance that he is secreting out of his claws, it's one of the six most potent Slaaneshi poisons. If I am not mistaken, it's the Poison of Vainglory." Cedric explained, still keeping the Chaos Marine in place. He was trying not to think of why this particular fucker wasn't resisting the choke-hold, because Slaaneshi. He gives a quick run-down on what happens when someone is afflicted with the poison of Vainglory, voice cracking a little as he tries not to think of how one of his squad mates had nearly been corrupted beyond the Emperor's Light because of it. He finished with a miserable "As far as I know, there are no known antidotes or cures to any of the poisons. Allegedly there are certain kinds of witchery that can slow down the onset of symptoms... But once the vines begin to manifest, the afflicted being is beyond the Emperor's Light and is damned to be consumed upon death by the ruinous powers as their body twists into a horrible plant-homunculus that seeks to infect as many as possible with the poison. Which is why I taped jars to his hands - they are leaking the poison and while the poison can be cleansed in holy fire, I figured that the less of it is around to be cleansed, the better."

"Did you... Perhaps... Ask if he could stop dripping poison everywhere?" The Salamander asked, his voice gentle.

"... No? Why would he seek to do anything other than inflict his patron's wretched curse upon the innocent, and upon those of us who are loyal to the Emperor?" Cedric asked, blinking in confusion at the older apothecary. This was a Chaos Space Marine after all. Misery, cruelty and suffering was what they tried to spread to everyone they could get their corrupted hands on. Everyone knew that.

"That's not... I came here looking for help not to be judged by a Big Baby Boy! You are very mouthy for a Son of Dorn, aren't you?" The Slaaneshi Scum spluttered in his arms. 

Cedric tightened his grip, and put more of his weight on the older Marine "Still your tongue, traitor!"

"What help were you seeking?" The Salamander asked, looking genuinely concerned. Soft hearted bastard was going to get all of them killed. "Cedric, put him down. I know it goes against your training as a Black Templar to release a Chaos Marine you've gotten your hands on, but as we've told you earlier, things are very different here. I'll take over handling him. "

Cedric hesitated, torn between the clear and present danger that the Emperor's Child posed, and obeying a direct order from a superior who clearly had more experience in handling Chaos Marines in this context. "Sir?" 

"My claws just started dripping this poison this morning and couldn't get it to sto-how in the fuck did you get a Black Templar in the city? I'm surprised he hasn't murdered half the humans already for heretical beliefs!" The Slaaneshi Fucker sputtered, his eyes going wide - all six of them. 

"He's an Apothecary. And he's very recently appeared on Ancient Terra, and until you spooked the hell out of him, he's been adjusting fairly well." The Salamander responded, before looking directly at Cedric. "Put the Emperor's child down. Right now. I want you to go to Chapter Master Mirros and tell him what you just told me about Slaaneshi poison. That's not something I've heard of before, and will definitely be of interest to him. You've done very well. Come on now, lad. Ptu down the heretic. If he tries anything funny, I do have my flamer handy and you said that fire works to counter the poison?"

Cedric nodded, and glowered again at the Slaaneshi traitor "Yes sir, fire works very well against Slaaneshi poisons. And that which creates them." With that he lowered the Emperor's Child into the salamander's hands, before stalking off to go find Chapter Master Mirros. 

[ice-block]

Idk if anyone is interested but I thought I’d put it out there because the other day I was talking w my therapist and she said when people have a negative experience with something they’re WAY more likely to tell everyone they know and when they have a good or neutral experience they don’t think much of it SO I’d like to put something positive out there for anyone who might be in the position I was in.

So anyway here’s my experience getting my first pap smear, as someone with an INSANE amount of anxiety about it:

I try to keep some less than pleasant personal stuff off this blog but I’ve got a decently sized medical phobia, general mistrust of gynecology after reading too many horror stories, and some weirdness about gender/sexuality/body (???) I don’t entirely understand myself. I also understand that maintaining personal health is important even if it’s scary so when my doctor told me it was time to make an appointment with a gynecologist, I did it, then spent the next 3 weeks having nightmares, anxiety attacks, and experiencing a general sense of impending doom as the appointment approached.

Things my therapist and I talked about before hand included:

1.) save your stress for the future, if it goes good, great! If it goes poorly, you’re allowed to be stressed then . Don’t make yourself suffer unless you need to.

2.) know what accommodations you want and be prepared to ask for them confidently and clearly. I wanted the smallest speculum, a warning BEFORE any and all touching, and to be able to stop at any moment.

The appointment eventually did arrive and while I was still a ball of nerves I got myself there and obediently went through the steps of registering as a patient and remaining sane in the waiting room, I was called to the back (if you have a support person you want to bring with you you can but I went alone) and chatted with the nurse about health history etc, this pretty much resembled your standard doctors appointment, they take your heart rate, BP, etc. the nurse wrapped up and told me the doctor would be in in a minute, I should undress from the waist down, and showed me a cloth (which was basically a really big napkin) I could cover my lap with. I definitely went pale at this and if my high blood pressure didn’t tip her off she definitely knew I was internally freaking out. She offered to have the doctor come in first if that would make me more comfortable and I declined.

I was left alone to undress, it feels really weird to take off your pants in an office with fluorescent lighting, after a minute the doctor knocked then came in (there’s also a curtain in front of the door so nobody walking past can just see you pants-less) she was a very kind woman who asked me some questions about it being my first time, at this point I was prepared to say my demands but I was very shocked when she beat me to it! She outright offered the smallest speculum and said “I’m going to show you the tools, we’ll talk through the procedure, and we’ll decide if a Pap smear is something we want to do today” which made me instantly feel so much better. My other surprise was how SMALL the smallest speculum was! It was about the size of my pointer finger. If it had been larger I honestly don’t know if I could have done the procedure but once I realized it was tiny I knew it’d be ok. (Also side note: it feels really weird to talk with someone while pants-less and holding a big napkin over your crotch)

I was instructed to lay on the exam table, which was really low to the ground when I got on it then raised up like a dentists chair, the little foot holds popped out from underneath it and I was instructed to put my feet in the holds and scoot all the way to the edge, I kept looking at the doctor through this and was told that during the exam I would have to look up at the ceiling. She warned me before even the slightest touch (“I’m going to put my hand on your thigh now”) asked if I was ready, when I said yes she inserted the speculum, which felt weird but not painful, it didn’t even feel painful when it opened. Just strange. Then the doctor took a cell scraping which felt REALLY weird for a part of the body not used to that sensation at all. It felt scratchy and then for a brief second their was a bit of pain (I’d rate like a 3 out of 10) and I thought “if this lasts any longer I can’t do this” but it was really only a split second and the worst moment was also the end. The speculum was quickly removed making the Pap smear a total of like 30 seconds max. Then the doctor told me she would check my uterus and ovaries and (still maintaining consent and giving warning) inserted a finger and pressed with her other hand hard on my stomach, this didn’t hurt either and the pressure/rubbing on my stomach made it so I wasn’t thinking about her other hand at all! Then I was allowed to sit up again, close my legs, the doctor asked if I had any questions and I was out of there!

Anyway hopefully this can help someone out there I tried to include all the details I had wanted while doing frantic research before hand, if you’re in the same boat, you can do this!

[iwritesickfic]

Surprise, part 2

(part 1 here!)

It's a difficult night. Very difficult. Theo can't seem to get to any consistent sleep, which means Seamus can't sleep either. Sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning his throat is too sore to speak again, though his delirious mind doesn't quite understand, so for the brief time he is asleep, he's trying to talk. Whether they're dreams or nightmares Seamus can't tell, just that Theo murmurs in an endless string, only quieting when Seamus strokes his hair and hushes him.

He falls asleep sitting up, Theo between his legs, curled against his chest, and sleeps so deeply he wakes up in exactly the same position when his alarm sounds at 8 the next morning.

The first thing he registers is the scalding, shivering body on his chest, chapped lips moving wordlessly. He tries not to wake him as he reaches for his phone to turn off the alarm, but Theo jolts awake with a shaky breath.

“Shh, shh,” Seamus says, almost automatically, and Theo makes a hoarse sound before coughing weakly. “Don't talk, baby.”

Theo pushes himself up, wincing as he swallows. He opens his mouth again, as if to speak, before closing it. He starts to look around, like he's missing something.

“What?” Seamus asks, and Theo points at the phone in his hand. “Here,” he says, handing Theo his phone from where he left it on the bedside table.

His hands are trembling as he does whatever he needs to do, and Seamus kisses him as he gets out of bed, stretching. He's so stiff from sleeping in such an odd position, and more than a little sweaty. His neck cracks as he reaches his arms up. He desperately needs a shower before Theo’s doctors come over. Theo probably needs one too, but Seamus doubts he has the energy for it.

A robotic voice half startles him - “what the fuck is going on?” Seamus turns around to see Theo with his phone held out to him, open to text-to-speech.

“What do you mean?” He asks back, rolling his stiff shoulders.

Theo looks down at his phone, fingers shaking as he types, before the stilted female voice starts again. “I have a million missed calls from Emma and Z.”

He doesn't look angry, just exhausted. Seamus sighs and sits on the edge of the bed.

“I told Emma last night I thought they should cancel the shows until next week,” he pauses, looking at Theo’s face for any sign of anger or frustration but finding none. “I know it's not my choice but I really, really think you should consider it. I made a couple doctor appointments this morning too, I think you might just need your tonsils out.” He cups Theo’s cheek, his skin burning beneath his palm. He looks completely miserable, totally sapped of energy.

He looks down at his phone, typing for a while before pressing play again.

“I want that so bad but they're never going to let me. I'll have to cancel the rest of tour if I get my tonsils out. also can you please please please make me some tea? my throat hurts like a bitch”

Seamus leans in and kisses him gently, and despite how drained he is Theo kisses him back, resting his forehead on Seamus's as they pull apart. His body follows Seamus's as he pulls away, as if tugged by a magnet.

The only thing Seamus can feel is his heart aching in his chest. It's tight and sore. Part of it is because selfishly, he's missed this so much. To share this tenderness again after so long apart is enough to make him cry. And the other half, of course, is the heart wrenching pain of knowing how sick he is. It's so clear, the way he's so desperate to be close to him. Altogether, it’s almost debilitating. He doesn't want to do anything other than hold him and rest his lips on his temple and stop his shivering. He wants to give Theo exactly what he wants, whatever he wants. But there's too much to be done.

“Everything is going to work out exactly like it should,” he finally whispers. “We’re gonna do what the doctor says and they’ll have to listen, and I'll be with you no matter what.” He forces himself to pull away and stand, Theo’s hand still holding his. “And yes, obviously. What flavor do you want?”

Theo offers him a weak smile before typing again.

“throat coat,” the robotic voice says and Seamus nods, almost laughing.

“Yeah, that'd make sense wouldn't it? Alright, well, I'll be right back, ok?” he says, and Theo nods. He gives him one last kiss on the forehead before going into the closet to throw clothes on. He grabs two of everything from his side of the wardrobe and gives half of it to Theo before heading downstairs.

As he's making his way down, he finally puts his glasses on and takes a look at his phone. He’ll need to cancel everything he has in Ireland for the near future, or convert as much as he can to video meetings. His mind is racing with the logistics of how he's going to make staying in the States work, when he gets a call from Zeke. He picks up within a single ring.

“Hello?” he says as he rounds the corner at the bottom of the stairs, walking into the dark living room.

“Hey, morning. How's it going?” Zeke asks, and Seamus scrubs his hand over his face as he flips the lights on in the kitchen. He puts the phone on speaker as he starts the familiar routine of making tea.

“It's going,” he says, voice clipped. He's still not quite over the anger from last night.

“Look, I'm sorry. It's a very…a very delicate situation. And to be honest, I thought you knew.”

Seamus flicks the kettle on and grabs two of their biggest mugs.

“Of course I didn't know. If I’d known a month ago it never would've gotten this bad. And I wouldn't have been in Dublin jerking my fucking dick,” he says, though it lacks any real bite.

“This isn't your fault,” Zeke says, and Seamus sighs. He leans against the countertop.

“I…” He trails off, then picks up the phone as he heads to the pantry. “I just should've known. I should've been able to tell,” he says, looking through their meticulously organized boxes of tea before plucking out two tea bags and grabbing the bottle of honey. Zeke sighs now, his voice muffled over the phone.

“There’s no way you could've known. Did he say why…” Zeke trails off.

“Because he knew I'd react like I'm reacting. But I'm reacting fine! I'm completely justified.” He keeps rambling before he can stop himself, “His voice could be ruined. He could've fallen off stage and broken his neck or gone septic or ended up in the ER. And honestly I’m not even mad about the what ifs. He's suffering, night after night, for what? For money in the pockets of assholes who don't care if he lives or dies?”

“You know it's more complicated than that, Seamus. C’mon.”

“No, Z. It's not. We can reschedule the dates. I know you have the contingencies reserved already. What are they for if not this? How much sicker does he have to get? Because he’ll get there, and you’ll have to do all this anyway. And it won't be optional.” His hand shakes as he pours the hot water. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down. “And I know there are people's jobs. Of course I know that, but it's not like we’d leave them high and dry. I wouldn't let that happen at least. And people will be upset but I think they'd be more upset if he fainted in the middle of their precious fucking show.”

“No, I know. Trust me, I’m with you. The promoter and the label are resistant because they'll have to manage a lot of fallout, but I really don't see it affecting the bottom line that much,” Zeke finally says, his voice tired.

“Exactly! Thank you. I mean if it really is an issue of fucking money, I have money. Christ.” He's stirring in the honey now, and forces himself to unclench his jaw.

“It's gonna come down to what the doctors say. Keep me updated, I'm in meetings today trying to figure out what's going on, I'll let you know if we need anything,” Zeke says.

“Ok, thanks. I'll talk to you later,” he says, grabbing a wedge of lemon from the fridge.

“Later,” Zeke says before the line goes dead. Seamus lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his eyes.

–

By the time the doctors have come and gone, Theo's mug’s been refilled four times. He's sitting up in bed now, his damp hair tied in a ragged bun, wearing a hoodie of Seamus's. He looks even more miserable than he did when they first woke up, if that's possible.

The doctor was pretty quickly able to diagnose him with tonsillitis, but what Seamus didn't expect was an abscess. And in turn, Theo needing surgery. Urgently. They’ll need to leave for the hospital in a few hours and likely spend the night, and there's certainly no way he’ll be on stage any time soon.

It's frightening hearing about how severe things really are. The doctor said that only a day or two more without intervention the abscess would've burst and sent him septic. He tries not to think about what would've happened if he didn't come.

Seamus feels terrible for him. He knows the guilt of canceling a show, the weight of letting all those people down, is crushing. And he knows what thoughts must be running through his head - what if he never sings again? What if the surgery goes wrong and his voice is fucked forever? How long will it be before he’s better?

He doesn't bring any of it up, just lets Theo rest against him as they watch reality TV and refills his tea and kisses his forehead. He's so looking forward to the day where his body isn't so nerve-wrackingly hot, but that's not likely to be anytime soon either. Even after they take everything out, he’ll probably have a fever for another five days at least, the doctor said.

“It's normal for it to get steadily worse over the week post surgery, then a huge improvement,” the doctor had said. He'd said a lot of things, and Seamus had tried to write it all down, but he definitely missed most of it.

He's never seen Theo like this. So listless and drained and sick. And silent. Granted, that speaks more to his physical state than mental, but still. Theo always has something to say.

–

Theo is fairly sure this is the worst day of his life. One of the worst, at least. Physically, it's agony. He hurts all over, a throbbing, hot pain in every muscle and joint and bone. He's freezing, he can't get warm, but he's dripping so much sweat that his hair is wet and his shirt is stuck to him. And his throat. His fucking throat. Never, ever has it hurt this bad. Without the oxys or whatever the production medics were giving him every four hours it's unbearable. He dreads swallowing. It's so bad that he finds himself focusing all his energy on trying not to swallow, his tongue feeling heavy and awkward in his mouth as he wills himself to keep still.

Mentally? It's nearly as bad. In a few hours there will be scalpel dangerously close to his vocal chords. 70 thousand people will find out, or have already found out, there won't be a show tonight. Or tomorrow. Or the day after. There’ll be tabloid stories about him in rehab or arrested or some other insane explanation for why he’ll need so much time off.

But right now, he's curled in Seamus's lap, and they're watching something, and all he can really think about is how badly he hurts. And then every so often Seamus will give him a blessedly cool kiss or touch and he’ll be overwhelmed with gratitude. I love you I love you I love you. If he could speak, that's all he'd say.

He came so close so many times in the last month. So close to calling Seamus and begging him to fly to wherever he was and hold him and rescue him from his own personal living hell. One particularly bad night was a rain show in Arizona, and he'd been so sick that day that every time he came off stage they'd take his temperature. He wasn't sure what number he wanted to see after a while. It was pouring the whole night, his clothes soaked while he shook with chills.

At the hotel that night he took a very ill advised hot shower, then laid on the cold tile floor and stared at his phone. If Seamus called now, he told himself, Theo would tell him everything. “How are you, love?” he'd ask in his heavenly voice, and Theo would tell him. “I need you, I'm so sick, I need you.”

Then he'd dream about him. He'd dream of his cool lips and hands, melting through the heat of his fever. But he'd always wake up just as sick. And just as alone. And if he was lucky he'd have a day off to sleep in the sweat soaked sheets of his hotel bed. If he was less lucky, he'd have to be up and performing by 7 that night.

He's beyond grateful now, even though the weight of about a hundred thousand people's disappointments are pressing on his shoulders. They'd probably bought plane tickets, hotel rooms, taken off work, all for a show that he wouldn't be having. The rest of the tour is probably moot, his throat is fucked beyond repair. It'll take months for him to recover.

On the other hand, even a week of dedicated rest sounds unimaginably good right now.

He's drifting in and out of sleep, nestled between Seamus's legs, leaning back on his chest. He'd never move from this spot if he could. But he’ll have to. Eventually.

–

Seamus feels like he's had a thousand cups of coffee as he sits by the side of Theo’s hospital bed. He hasn't, of course. He's barely had water since Theo went into surgery. His nerves feel frayed and his anxiety is in overdrive.

Theo's still asleep from the anesthesia, his body looking so pale against the stark white sheets. His hair sticks out like a sore thumb, vibrant red auburn on the pillowcase.

He's going to be fine, Seamus repeats to himself. The surgery has gone off without a hitch, he's just fine. But Seamus won't really believe it until Theo wakes up.

Nurses have been in and out, most doing a double take at him and their clipboards before talking to Seamus. They all know who he is, and Seamus is just grateful for privacy laws. That doesn't stop random nurses from all over the hospital from coming and peeking their heads in though.

A nurse is adjusting his IV, making idle chit chat with Seamus, when Theo makes a soft sound, his eyes fluttering. Seamus’s throat tightens, and he can't grab Theo’s pale, hot hand fast enough.

His brows are immediately furrowed in pain, and he whimpers softly when Seamus strokes his hair.

“Hey, love,” he whispers, and Theo swallows hard, wincing.

“Hey,” he chokes out, and his hand with the IV tries to fly to his throat before the nurse catches it. “Fuck,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You're ok, you're ok,” Seamus murmurs, running his thumb back and forth over the back of Theo’s hand.

“You want some water, honey?” the nurse asks, and Theo turns his head to look at her.

“S’over?” He mumbles, and the nurse smiles as she finishes securing the IV.

“Yup. Quick as a blink. All done,” she says. “Water?”

Theo nods, and she leaves. He looks back at Seamus.

“That was it?” he asks, and Seamus nods, smoothing some hair off his forehead. He's still so feverish, it makes Seamus's heart clench in worry even though realistically it's no threat anymore.

“You don't have to talk if it hurts. I won't be offended,” he tries to joke, and a smile just barely tugs at Theo’s lips.

“I love you,” he whispers back, and Seamus has to fight to swallow the lump in his throat. He lifts Theo’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. Still unnervingly warm. He makes a soft, contented sound and just stares at him, eyes half lidded. “So beautiful.”

That makes Seamus laugh. His hair hasn't been washed in days, and he's in his spare, thick rimmed glasses.

“Thank you, Teddy,” he says, and strokes his hair back out of his face. There are only a few strands out of place, but it gives him something to do. It gives him an excuse to touch him.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he whispers, looking totally lovestruck. Seamus laughs again, but before he can reply the nurse is back with the water, and Theo gives her a smile as he takes the cup in his shaking hand. “Isn't he just so pretty?” he asks the nurse, and Seamus feels his cheeks heat. She chuckles.

“Definitely. Like a model.” She's making notes on her clipboard.

Theo’s smile widens slightly.

“Mm. I know,” he whispers. “And he's mine.”

“Drink your water,” Seamus says, feeling the heat of a blush on his cheeks. The nurse shoots him a smirk before leaving again. Before Seamus can say anything else, his phone starts to ring. Zeke.

“Hey,” he says, his hand still in Theo’s.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing much. He just woke up. It went well, he should be discharged in a few hours.”

“Awesome, that's a relief. I hate to bother you guys with this but they want some kind of social media post. He can't, um…?” Zeke trails off, and Seamus is glad he seems to understand how stupid the request is. Theo is giving him a look as if to ask who it is and Seamus rolls his eyes in return.

“No, but I'll talk with him and post something. How's everything going over there?”

“It's…ok. It's fine.” There's some muffled conversation in the background, then he can tell Zeke is talking to someone across the room. “Fine! Fine!” he says, before getting closer to the receiver, “Are you there?”

“Yup.”

“They- We all think it'd be good to include a photo. Of him. In the bed.” Zeke’s words are clipped and forced. Seamus sighs.

“Ok, so…” He takes another deep breath. Theo's still staring at him, looking half asleep and half infatuated. “No. We’re not doing that.”

He can almost picture Zeke throwing his head back as he groans.

“Come here,” Theo says in his barely-there voice, and Seamus squeezes his hand.

“It…It gives credibility. It gives sympathy,” Zeke says, clearly parroting back what he was told.

“No, I know. But no one is owed a picture of him like that.”

“Just ask, ok? Just ask him,” Zeke concedes. Theo tugs on his hand.

“Ok, ok. I have to go.”

“Ok, just send us the statement. Soon. Ish. Soon as you can.”

“Ok. Bye.” He hangs up before Zeke even replies.

“Come here,” Theo says again, and Seamus brings his limp fingers to his lips.

“There's no room. When we get home,” he says, and Theo’s big brown eyes soften. Silently begging. “I know. There's no room. And I feel like it's probably against the rules.”

Theo snorts softly.

“There's no rules. I'm famous,” he says, and Seamus laughs again. He's glad he's at least feeling well enough to make jokes. “Just-” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard and wincing, “Just unplug some shit. I don't care.” His voice is growing more wavering and desperate.

“Soon. I promise. How are you feeling?”

Theo shifts in bed.

“Not very good,” he says after a long silence, almost whispering. “It's like… It hurts. Less, but more at the same time.”

Seamus nods like it makes sense, even though he's not sure what he means.

“And I think I might still have a fever,” he mumbles, and Seamus bites his lip. It's glaringly obvious. He lays his palm on Theo’s forehead, even though he already knows. He hums.

“Yeah. Definitely.” It's not quite as bad as it was this morning, but still probably around 102 if Seamus had to guess. “They…” He trails off, reconsidering whether he wants to tell him. “They said it could be a few days before it breaks.”

Theo's mouth tightens.

“Days?” he finally asks. Seamus's heart breaks for the thousandth time. He just nods, and Theo screws his eyes shut. “No. No, I can't…”

“It's gonna be fine. We’ll just lay around and drink tea for a few days. I'll let you wear all my clothes, you can pick what we have for dinner-” Theo shakes his head. “No, it’ll be ok. It will.”

[goingknowherewastaken]

Oh my god I gotta vent because this is absolute horse shit if I can quote Spock

So the spark notes on the background of this situation:

Took in a stray, unfixed, male cat at the start of the month. Took him to the vet on the 16th they found a microchip BUT the phone number attached to it is disconnected. So not only could they not reach the owner, but they wouldn't do any sort of exam because I'm not the owner. I was advised to do one of two things. One was to drop him off at the county shelter, they would make a found pet listing, hold him for 10 days, then we could request to be first in line for adoption and they'd do all sorts of stuff for us assuming no one claimed him. The other option was we make the listing ourselves and then keep taking care of him for the 10 days. Due to the shelter being over run and not knowing how he'd handle the shelter we opted to keep him in our home.

I made the listing and started the waiting game. 10 days passed and the listing never showed up. I finally called the shelter and got a girl who didn't really know what she was doing and I left the call more confused over what was going on and what I should do. I gave it 2 days and called again on Thursday of this past week. I also made a new listing and waited for it to post. For the call I finally got a helpful person and told me a different timespan from what the first girl said on how long it takes listings to post. But she found my listing, listened to my situation, and helped. She went ahead to try to contact the owner again and if that didn't work then she'd push the listing and gave me her number if it didn't post by the next morning.

Well it posted, but the listing is not my listing. The photo they used is from a prior listing unrelated to mine and some for the info was wrong. However she had made a comment to imply that he'd been in the system for them before so I think he's been turned in there before. But hey it's posted and the 10 days have officially started. However we'll have him in our home for a whole month in a few days so whatever I guess

Not the bullshit situation because there's more

Woke up today to find he had an accident on the floor consisting of bloody diarrhea. Seemed okay otherwise but while I was at work my fiance texted me to say the cat threw up several times within 30min - the first of which included a roundworm. So now we know he has worms (didn't have any signs before), but the fucked up situation is that we're not sure where or if he can be treated right now. Tried the ER vet and all they said was to call my registered vet which was I guess the nice way of saying fuck off. But that leads us back to the vet I went to which didn't want to do any exam because we weren't the owner so why the fuck would they now?

The best I think they'd do is to let me schedule a pending appointment after the 10 days but that's prolonging the time this cat has to suffer worms for.

I just don't know what to fucking do about this situation.

[densi-mber]

Rushing Home with their Treasures

“Ooh, what about this?” Deeks asked, holding up a tiny green and red elf costume.

“I don’t know,” Kensi said, rubbing the fabric between her fingers. “It’s cute, but also kind of ugly.” She rested her hand over her stomach, absentmindedly rubbing a few times. “Those dresses are really cute, though,” she added.

Deeks followed her gaze to the smallest imaginable velvet dress with a poofy skirt.

“That is adorable,” he agreed. “We could get it.”

“But then we’re going to end up with three possible sets of everything to cover all the possible girl/boy scenarios. Besides, we’re supposed to be getting gifts for family and friends, not the twins.”

They’d taken advantage of a afternoon when neither of them had any appointments or work to knock out some of their holiday shopping. The giant display of baby paraphernalia had sent them on a half hour detour.

“Ok, where do you want to head first?”

“Well, I thought since Rosa’s gift is probably going to be at least partially custom-made, we should probably get that taken care of before it gets too busy,” Kensi suggested.

“Sounds like a plan.” He saw Kensi give the baby clothes another look before finally turning in the direction of the jewelry department.

“How can I help you today?” the assistant at the jewelry counter asked as they approached. “We have some lovely pieces on sale today and all earrings in this display are 50% off.”

“Thank you, but we’re actually looking for a pendant for our daughter,” Deeks explained. “This is what we had in mind.”

An hour later, they walked away from the counter with pamphlets, paperwork, and the promise of their personally designed necklace in a week’s time. In the end, they’d settled on a design a series of interlocking hearts that incorporated each of their birthstones, with space to include the twins’ once they were born.

To some, it might sound slightly cheesy, but Rosa valued anything that linked her to her found family. From the pictures spaced throughout the house, to Deeks and Kensi’s names on her school forms. The necklace just happened to be a very purposeful and more extravagant addition.

“I think she’s going to love it,” Kensi said, examining the example pictures they’d been given. They strolled past a couple food vendors on their way out and she inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. “Mm, cinnamon rolls.”

She gave Deeks a sly look, and he chuckled, veering off towards the Cinnabon. “C’mon, we can’t let you and the Pastry Babies starve. Especially when there’s literal pastry to be had.”

Kensi looped her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“So, where to next?” Deeks asked once they both had cinnamon rolls the size of his head in hand.

Peeling off a strip of glaze-covered dough, Kensi slowly at it while she considered his question. “That boutique Anna likes is across the mall, we’re getting Rountree and Fatima’s gifts at the Christmas market, so maybe your mom’s?”

“Sure. Though we are definitely not getting items 2, 3, or 7 from her wish list.”

“Oh, you mean the lingerie, dirty truth or dare game, and aphrodisiac gift basket?” Kensi said, licking icing off her finger. “Yeah, I’m thinking we need to pass those on to Arkady.”

“Ew,” Deeks commented, giving a full-body shudder. “Ok, you want to meet up in the accessories? I’m gonna grab some coffee to wash down the sugar and hopefully burn the thought of aphrodisiacs, my mom, and Arkady from my mind.”

Snorting, Kensi leaned in for a kiss. “See you in a few.”

Deeks joined the line for one of the many coffee shops sprinkled around the mall’s main floor. When Kensi was out of sight, he ducked out of line, making a beeline for the baby department. It only took a few minutes to locate the racks of Christmas outfits they’d looked at earlier.

He grabbed the tiny green dress, smiling as he headed for the register.

***

A/N: So much fluff this densimber! And yes, I’m still manifesting twins all day, every day.