#had absolutely terrible cramps so I decided I needed some time on the kitchen floor while I waited for the paracetamol to kick in

[melit0n]

How this morning went

[multifandom-worlds]

Hey honey! Can I request reader x Bucky with some period comfort? Mine are always horrendous and I’m sick the whole time. 😭

The Pains of Being a Woman

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: well you know, period sex, self-conscousness and talk of inadequacy.

Authors Note: Well, this defitely took a turn I was not expecting when I first saw your request as you are well aware. I hope this is enough... comfort for you! Written from Bucky's POV

Every month, like clockwork, my fiance ends up curled up in bed, miserable and sick due to her period. Those seven days are absolute hell for her; she’s unable to work, can barely keep food down, and can handle moving from the bed to the bathroom. Every month is terrible, but she seemed to have a worse time than usual this time. I will never understand her pain, but I know someone who could - actually, a few someones. 

“Natasha! Wanda! I need your help; where are you?” 

I walk around the compound, trying to find the only two other women I like despite having several women around at a time. I found them in the kitchen, interestingly enough, discussing my wife. “You two, I need help. She’s worse today than in several months, and I don’t know how to help. She’s currently napping in bed with the heating pad, but I want to do more. What can I do?” 

“Do what you do best. Make her cum.” Natasha said very matter-of-factly. “Orgasms help with cramping, and the dopamine rush will help, even for a few moments. Plus, she doesn’t like to admit it, but her period leaves her feeling incredibly undesirable to you; this is a way you can prove too that you are still attracted to her.”

I thought about it, trying to work out the logistics of how it would work before deciding on a warm shower. It’s not like we’ve never done it in the shower before; I know the best way to make it work.  “Thank you, Nat; I appreciate the advice,” I say before quickly dashing upstairs to start the water before waking her up gently. 

Kissing her cheek gently, I whisper in her ear, loud enough to wake her up but soft enough not to startle her. “Hey, babydoll, get up. I have a shower going for you; it’ll help, trust me.” She groans in response, sliding deeper under the mountain of covers she has piled on her body. A soft laugh escapes my lips as I slide my arms underneath to retrieve her from her cocoon of warmth and comfort. 

She groans but doesn’t put up a fight to get out of my grasp. I place her on the bathroom floor's cold tile before grabbing two towels. She looks at me curiously. Before she even had to ask, I already knew what she was curious about. “I thought I would join you if that’s okay by you.” 

“Are you sure? I don’t…I don’t wear tampons when I’m home. Are you sure you want to join me? Plus. I’m so bloated; why would you want to look at me, let alone touch me?” She questions, nervously looking down. I walk back over to her, hooking my finger under her chin and forcing her to look up at me. 

“Babydoll, I have been with you for years; your period has never made me disgusted or uncomfortable. It’s a fact of life,” I smile, carefully slipping my hands under her shirt and pulling it over her head. She removes the rest of her clothes before stepping into the shower, sighing contently as the warm water rains down on her.

I watch her momentarily, admiring her perfect body, when she notices I haven’t joined her like I mentioned I would. “You’re not joining me, Bucky? It’s because I’m bloated, isn't it? God, why am I so stupid? Why did I honestly believe someone like you, looking like all sorts of sculpted from marble, would want someone like me.” 

“Babydoll,” I say calmly before slipping from my clothes. “Whatever your brain is saying to you is wrong. You are not stupid; I was admiring all your fucking perfect curves, and that's why I was not getting in.” I place my hands on her hips as I step into the shower behind her, slipping one hand around her hips, the other encasing her shoulders, pulling her body tight to mine. 

She squeaks slightly, feeling my lips brush against her neck, her hands gripping onto my thighs. “W-what are you doing, Bucky…did you forget I was on my period…?” She asks hesitantly, melting into my chest the way she always does. 

The hand that rests on her hips trails down her pelvis before gently brushing against her clit while I subtly grind against her perfect ass. “What do you think I’m doing babydoll? Can I not fuck my woman in the shower?” I punctuate my question by slipping my finger along her folds, making her squirm in my arms.

“But..?” She begins to protest, but I quickly relocate my hand from her shoulders to gently gripping her neck. “But nothing, doll.” Repositioning us so her hands were on the wall before her, I wrapped a hand around her thigh, lifting her leg. “I want to make my girl feel something other than pain.”

“But I’m not toned like I usually am; how could you even get hard when looking at me?”

How had I never realized how little she felt about herself? How had I gone years without realizing it? I carefully arrange myself, slowly grinding against her ass, rock-hard cock brushing against her folds, begging for entrance. “There is never a time I am with you that I am not imagining the feeling of you around me, sheathed entirely inside you, doll; you are the most perfect woman I have ever seen.”

She moans softly, grinding her hips against me, whimpering slightly. “Please, Bucky…please fuck me. I need to feel you stretch me out. I need some sort of release, please!”

That was all the consent I needed before aligning with her entrance and pushing into her. The gasp that left her mouth was erotic and almost broke the little control I had left. Slowly pushing inside her, I peppered her shoulder and neck with kisses until I was ultimately inside her, relishing in the tight warmth of her perfect cunt. A few moments passed, enough for her to get accustomed to me; she gave me the all-clear to start moving. 

“Bucky… fuck fuck fuck, please don’t stop. I’m so close, so painfully close.” She whined, her voice strained and filled with a deep need. Who was I to deny her what she craved? I speed up, rubbing quicker circles on her clit, pulling that well-deserved climax out of her. 

I groaned in her ear, craving the delicious drag her cunt offered as I slowly picked up speed, gripping her thigh, no doubt leaving bruises on her delicate flesh, but I didn’t care; I was going to make my woman cum one way or another. I rub gentle circles around her clit, earning increasingly more desperate moans to tumble from her lips. She places her hands on the shower walls, keeping herself upright and balanced.

“I won’t let you fall, doll,” I whispered in her ear, increasing my pace and slowly pulling her climax from her body. She whimpers and moans, her walls clenching around me deliciously. “Gods, you are so perfect,” I whisper again, gently sucking the sweet spot below her ear. It was taking all my self-control not to finish right now. I slowed but increased the power behind each thrust, rough and strong. 

Her walls spasm as a blissed-out cry falls from her lips as the coil in her belly snaps, opening the floodgates. Slowing down my thrusts, I help her ride out her high, hugging her tight to my body as I release her leg from my punishing grip, rubbing soothingly along her thigh and kissing her shoulder.

“You took me so well, doll. You never cease to amaze me with how well you can take me; I am in awe of you.” I mumble against her skin, running my hands up her belly, resting there while she comes down from her high. “I love you, doll, on and off your period. Now let's get you something to eat, then we can lay in bed for the rest of the day.”

[mortyvongola2-0]

Period Pains

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x Reader

Genre: Drabble, fluff

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: afab!reader, period/menstruation symptoms, fluff

A/N: I'm in a Kakashi brain rot right now if you couldn't tell. This was originally made for my OC, in a wonderful chat with my lovelies, but I decided it wouldn't be too difficult to turn into a reader insert~

Read it on AO3

There it was, that familiar feeling in your lower abdomen. The beginning of cramps that you knew would be plaguing you for the next few days, perhaps a week. It was late this time, probably due to stress from your latest mission. You pressed your chapped lips together with a frown.

The cramps were the absolute worst, even with painkillers there would be some days where you were down for the count, not to mention the intestinal discomfort that accompanied them. You wouldn’t be able to be too far from a bathroom for the first few days. A whine of annoyance left your throat. Periods are the worst.

“What’s wrong?”

You glanced at the silver-haired man on the couch next to you and immediately all you wanted was to whine and be coddled by him. You held yourself back though, figuring you could save it for when your sensitivity was at its worst. “My period is coming.”

“Oh, I see,” he set his book down on his lap before running a hand through your undone hair. The both of you had already changed into your sleep clothes.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Hold me, rub my cramps away, buy me chocolate- oo no wait cookies. “No, I’m okay for now.”

“You sure? Do you have everything you need?”

“Hm,” You pressed your head further into his hand. “I think so?”

“That sounds more like a question than an answer.”

“I’ll be fine.” He let out a thoughtful hum and brought an arm around your shoulders to pull you into his side. Kakashi kept his arm draped over you and you leaned closely into him as he picked his book back up. “This definitely doesn’t hurt though.”

You were right, the next morning you woke up with painful cramps and an intense need to use the restroom.  Most of that day went relatively alright, your cramps bothered you, but you were still able to do most things, and the second day went by in much the same manner. But the third day was terrible, the absolute worst.

Kakashi had woken you up gently to press a goodbye kiss to your forehead as he headed to work and usually, you loved it, but that morning you were agitated that he had woken you up. So, instead of telling him to be safe, like you usually did, all you managed was an irate goodbye. You went back to sleep for a few more hours after that, then when you finally got out of bed you stubbed your toe on the nightstand that you swore hadn’t always been in that exact spot because you never would’ve stubbed your toe otherwise. Your cramps were killing you, they had you constantly hunched and if you weren’t standing you were curled up in a ball on your bed.

Specifically on his side, because you missed him.

There were so many foods that you were craving but you had none of them and you knew going to the store to get any would be too taxing. You really really wanted something sweet, those cookies you’d thought about the other day, but none magically appeared before you, which also irritated you. You couldn’t focus on anything, nothing was helping. As another wave of intense cramping hit you, you couldn’t help but think about how miserable you were.

Pain-killers weren’t working, your food cravings were going unfulfilled, and you’d even run out of your favorite bubble bath so you couldn’t even try that to relax! You felt so sensitive and there was no one paying attention to you! By the time your boyfriend came home, you were squatting on the kitchen floor sobbing as you tried to open a jar of pickles.

You heard his chuckle- when did he get home? - and glared up at him from your place on the tile. “Don’t laugh,” you pouted, your voice more of a whine than the agitated grunt you had been going for. You sniffled as he squat down beside you, you heard the shuffle of a grocery bag as he set one down beside him. “It’s not funny.”

“No, no, you’re right,” he responded, you could see the upward turn of his lips even under his mask. “It’s definitely not funny.”

Annoyed, you shoved the unopened jar against his chest and he took it, his eyes still wrinkled with mirth. Your agitation grew. The sixth Hokage lowered his mask and gave you that chauvinistic smile that you loved. A huff left you and you pointed and told him, “It won’t open.”

“Well, if a shinobi as strong as you can’t open it, then this can’t be an ordinary pickle jar.”

Another sniffle. “It’s not.”

“I know,” he chuckled again and brought a finger to your eyes to wipe at your frustrated tears.

He looked away from you and down at the jar. The silver-haired man made a show of inspecting it before opening it with one quick twist. You wanted to cry all over again.

Kakashi set the now opened jar down before sliding over and wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug, he couldn’t help the laughs that escaped him every few seconds as he tried his best to console you. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not, I’m not. Honest.”

Despite you agitation with him you melted into his embrace. His warmth comforting and even those patronizing chuckles caused a weight to lift from your chest. “I loosened it for you,” you insisted.

He hummed in affirmation and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Absolutely.”

After a few more seconds you felt a bit better but you still didn’t want him to let you go. You didn’t even care about the stupid pickles and their evil jar anymore. “Can we go to bed early tonight?”

“Of course, but how about we eat these cookies first?”

You peaked down at the bag he held up. They were your favorite cookies, from your favorite bakery, the one across from the bookshop. That time, you did start to cry again. “You love me so much,” you cried.

“Hm, maybe a little,” he teased.

Both of you ate the cookies, you ate the majority, and laid down to go to bed. You felt much better after complaining to him about every minor thing that had gotten on your nerves that day, and soon as his warm hand pressed against your lower abdomen when you spooned, your cramps lessened to an annoying ache. You fell asleep feeling much better and exceedingly loved.

tagged list: @therantingfangirl @justmyownreality @hashira-mal

Thanks for reading~

[leia-imogen]

aaron & the family he's found all by himself; vol. 2 // vol. 1

( ft. short jokes, a belated birthday shopping trip, & an ultra-chaotic winter break )

( for @criswisstuff & anyone who enjoyed the first one <3 )

savannah, who is 5'9, is constantly teasing aaron and cleo for being short. katelyn's good at 5'6, and also a bit impossible to tease bcs she's the actual best, so she gets to escape this

cleo ( 5'2 ) is perfectly delighted to have someone shorter than her for once in her life, even by only 2 inches

aaron: guys, just try and see this from my point of view

sav: [ collapses ]

katelyn: [ crouches down ]

cleo: [ sits cross-legged on floor ]

aaron: dude you're literally 2 inches taller than me

cleo: 2 and a quarter

sav is so smug about this but in a good-natured way, in that she and cleo call aaron "kid" or "kiddo" or "pipsqueak" and he doesn't mind bcs they always say it w such a huge smile and he likes to respond to sav with "how's the weather up there, tall-ass?"

and katelyn thinks it's ridiculously adorable how tiny aaron is and obviously she uses him as an armrest all the time

katelyn, petting aaron's hair: guys guys omg he's like an angsty mini blond kitten and i would kill for him <3

sav, popping up between them: mini-yard :))

before i get super distracted, i just wanna mention that aaron met sav and cleo towards the end of november, so they missed the twin's birthday

but sav still insists that she must take him shopping bcs sure his fashion sense is fine but there's always room for improvement, isn't there, aaron??

he relents, so long as she and cleo and katelyn ( who already gave him a birthday present?? why's she doing this??? ) don't spend too much money

sav drags him all around south carolina to the best thrift stores she can find and cleo and katelyn are amazed that she can get such fantastic deals on the supermodel clothes she wears

fr she's literally a fashion design major ( + minoring in business management ) and she shows up to class in skilfully done drugstore makeup and an absolutely killer outfit for like 15 bucks

she grew up poor, and she's still poor now, even if she ( thankfully ) managed to scrape a cheerleading scholarship

sav, flicking through a rack of dresses labelled $4 apiece: RIP to little miss rich bitch reynolds but i'm different ;)

no hate to allison she's awesome but she grew up in the lap of luxury surrounded by designer brands so she knows NOTHING about thrifting and rationing money in general

oh and sav and allison have kind of a frenemies thing going on bcs they're both fighting for the top spot of their fashion design course

they spend the whole day shopping and aaron ends up with a highly upgraded wardrobe that contains a lot of cute pastel stuff and sav's promise to do his makeup

aaron insists on paying for dinner at the really nice pizza place a short drive from campus even tho they all protest

and andrew knows he's found new friends, but has no idea that it's the vixens and he's dating one of them. nicky does tho, but he's sworn to secrecy

nicky thinks his new clothes are adorable and is stunned when aaron tells him the total cost

"oh my GOD that girl sounds like a genius."

"yeah, her name's sav. you guys,, would get along, i think."

okay now for the winter break part!!

i think that you can get permission to stay at dorms if you're an international student or something??

anyways since sav's super upset bcs her father straight-up told her not to come home bcs he has a new girlfriend ( god i hate sav's father )

katelyn would stay with her, but her dad can finally have her home in new york for christmas and she really doesn't want to miss it

cleo, the only one with a properly functional family, is going back to her big family house and loving parents and grandma and aunt and siblings and cousins. love that for her.

so aaron and sav are stuck at psu for 2 weeks and aaron's surprisingly cool with this. and sav's excited bcs for the first time since her mom died, she can spend her christmas with someone she actually wants around instead of her shitty-ass father and his constant stream of bitchy girlfriends

they spend a lot of time together, stealing food from the athlete's dining hall to make their own weird combos, which usually ends with aaron making something Cool and Interesting and sav gagging and spitting out whatever strange concoction she had previously insisted would taste good

i literally can't bring myself to give a shit about the twinyards' deal bcs andrew literally became best friends with renee?? and hooks up with guys at eden’s??? idk what's going on there but it's like andrew is trying to control aaron's life while he can do whatever he wants??? and honestly wtf????

also let me just make it clear that i ADORE andrew so so much he's one of my favourite comfort characters ever but i'm not gonna make excuses for his shitty behaviour. i fully believe he heals and puts away his pride to apologise to aaron, nicky, and kevin for his treatment of them

that's definitely not to say that aaron's internalised homophobia isn't eww, but with so many important people in his life gay, he makes a huge effort to get over it

so andrew just thinks that aaron is spending a lot of time in the library or out with nicky or something

and when aaron tells sav about this deal, she's kinda horrified, but it's pretty clear to her that aaron so desperately wants to fix his relationship with his brother, and she's not in any place to discourage him, is she?

the only thing she can do is hope that he won't come out all the worse for it

and stare at the boy curled up on the other end of the pale pink sofa cleo's parents had gotten, wonder just how much shit he'd been put through, and decide she was going to be his best friend

aaron's face has gone entirely impassive. sav nudges his fluffy-socked foot with her own, then reaches out to smooth the crease between his eyebrows. "careful, you'll wrinkle your pretty little face."

aaron is very caught off guard by this, and very promptly flushes bright red, which contrasts with the pale teal hoodie he stole from katelyn

"okay, enough talk about depressing crap. wanna go make christmas cookies now?"

"yeah."

so they make christmas cookies. well, it was supposed to be christmas cookies, but it turns into double chocolate fudge cookies somewhere along the line. neither of them knows how

them baking together is the definition of chaos. they're still blasting songs, and sav is singing along terribly

"yOu'Re A mEaN oNe, Mr. GrInCh," while poking aaron's cheek as he tries to mix something. he throws a handful of flour at her. "yOu ReAlLy ArE A hEel."

anyways obviously sav retaliates and that ends in a flour fight. it only stops when aaron deadass cracks an egg on sav's head and she smears chocolate into his hair

she also tries to make him sing along to baby, it's cold outside

"i'Ve GoT tO Go `wAAyyy~" she holds a spatula up to his face

"go away."

they video call katelyn, who takes one look at the mess in the cramped dorm kitchen and sighs so loudly and dramatically that her dad pops in and asks if everything's okay

aaron freezes up at the sight of him and sav quickly turns off the camera, bcs they both want to make good impressions on him, and being covered in various cookie ingredients just won't cut it, ya know?

the cookies turn out delicious and sav sends all their group chat various photos of the process, most of which consist of selfies with her making goofy faces while aaron is simultaneously baking and flipping off the camera

plus a several videos of sav enthusiastically dancing and mouthing the lyrics of, as follows, all i want for christmas is you, let it snow, and santa claus is coming to town and aggressively pointing a spatula at aaron

"c'mon aari, just sing! please??? please???? please you can do it i believe in you!!"

finally he just. gives up. "okay, you know what? fine, i'll sing to ONE and then you will STOP bothering me you insolent dumbass."

sav beams. santa baby starts playing. aaron is very clearly going through five stages of grief in 0.5 seconds

"go on," sav says sweetly as she slides in next to a pouting aaron, "i'll sing with you."

sav slings an arm around his shoulder and sways with him, so it's just her doing that and him grumpily mumbling the lyrics

and when the cookies are cooling down, they start cleaning the kitchen up. aaron rubs some spilled egg yolk into sav's hair but it goes pretty okay otherwise, since they're just listening to more christmas songs and chatting about light stuff, like aaron's biochem course, sav's fashion course, and their dumb classmates

aaron mostly listens tho, and learns that sav kind of hates allison reynolds for giving up her inheritance when she would do ANYTHING for even the tiniest fraction of that money

but she still thinks allison's gorgeous bcs c'mon

and that sav's dream is to one day open her own boutique!!

aaron spends most of the actual christmas day with the monsters at eden's bcs nicky and andrew wanted to

he spent a lot of the time texting on their group chat

doessavvyisgay: so u just go to a nightclub every week??

unaliveme: i mean yeah, i literally worked here for a while. we needed money and nicky was already working 2 jobs night and day

actualblessing: babe ur backstory is so tragic

unaliveme: i'm a fox for a reason ig

cleo.magda: Yes but-

doessavvyisgay renamed this conversation "aaron miniyard support group"

unaliveme: oh ffs

unaliveme: sav subject change go

doessavvyisgay: i'm at the clothes store what should i get?

actualblessing: something pretty :)

doessavvyisgay: sorry, i can't buy the cashier

cleo.magda: Wow.

doessavvyisgay: I DID GET HER NUMBER THO

unaliveme: lmaooo what's her name?

doessavvyisgay: uh

unaliveme: savannah istg u don't even know her name??

actualblessing: s a v

actualblessing: damn u really do be turning on the Charm tho

actualblessing: respect i didn't even talk to aaron till i asked him for notes bcs he has rly pretty notes and also a rly pretty face

actualblessing: and even then i was like :0

unaliveme: IT WAS CUTE I PROMISE

doessavvyisgay: u 2 = the only valid heterosexual couple

actualblessing: rt

unaliveme: oh shit i'm getting super drunk

cleo.magda: Aaron, you drink? That's not legal, get out of there right now. Kids these days-

unaliveme: cleo u have literally seen me get drunk af,, the first time we met,,, and anyways this is how my family bonds ✌🏻

doessavvyisgay: that's. so damn weird kiddo but go off ig

actualblessing: no go find better things to bond about other than alcohol and weird sweaty dancing

cleo.magda: Yeah, go watch some Christmas movies!

unaliveme: nicky makes us watch die hard every year

doessavvyisgay: see u in hell, kiddo ;)

cleo.magda: I meant things like The Polar Express and Home Alone.

actualblessing: merry christmas ya filthy animals!!

doessavvyisgay: merry xmas y'all i'm gonna go to that christmas party bcs i'm super bored

unaliveme: merry christmas mothers and fuckers

cleo.magda: Merry Christmas, you guys!

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

family meeting

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Sorry it took so long, I’ve been sporting a pretty bad migraine for the past couple of days. Let me know what you think! 

Summary: Can you do one where Richie has a daughter and Eddie meets her for the first time and she put up a fight to make Eddie think she’s doesn’t like him

Richie’s sudden departure flabbergasted you, more so because he didn’t give you any warning or explanation why, only that it was a friend emergency and that the only option was for him to go. The way his voice cracked down the line when you called him in a panic solidified the fact that something bad occurred. With a promise that you would take care of yourself and a final I love you, he disconnected the call, leaving you in disarray.

After two days he contacted you again, this time to inform you that he was on his way back home, and that he had a certain type of friend with him that he wanted you to meet.

You’ve been aware for a long time that your father is gay, not thanks to Richie himself, but thanks to the fact that you’re not an idiot, the context clues painting a clear enough picture that it’s obvious without him having to utter the actual words. Richie remained quiet at all times about this fact, and so you did as well. Richie refrained from bringing any girlfriend home with him, though you heard about his conquest from gossip tabloids anyway. The overabundance of ‘my girlfriend’ and ‘your mom’ jokes obviously an effort to hide his true self, even from his daughter.

A sneaked glance every once in a while led you to believe that Richie knows you know his secret, but any conversation you attempt to begin about it gets shut down faster than a blink, and so despite hating it, you started to accept that your father may never be ready to reveal every single thing of his being, always locking away that part he feels is most revolting.

That’s why it’s such a surprise that Richie reveals he’s bringing a friend along, for you perceived that the empathizes on the word friend means that said ‘friend’, is perhaps more than Richie would prefer you to understand.

A hushed conversation draws your attention, peering outside your bedroom window to spy on the first person your dad allowed you to meet. You don’t dare to draw up the curtain, to avoid getting spotted, so your view is limited, but you watch as Richie opens the door of the passengers seat, like a real gentleman he never bothered being to previous lovers.

He pauses for two seconds, then bends down to presumably say something, his hand egging the person out like a cat that gets shuffled away, until his hand is slapped and Richie retracts it with a laugh.

Richie’s laugh is loud enough to be picked up on from the second floor, holding his hands up in surrender and making way so that his friend has room to get up himself. The first thing that is noticeable, even with your obstructed vision, is that the man is sporting a scowl, so terribly annoyed and done with Richie’s shit that he is at the point that he apparently doesn’t energize enough to cover up. You can relate, since you are no exception to your dad’s ability to drive people crazy.

Luckily or unlucky depending on your point of view, such a feature is inheritable, and by god do you use it to your advantage.  

Richie slides his arm across the lower back of the man, pulling him close enough that they’re taunt against each other. The man pretends to wriggle away, but as soon as Richie loosens his grip he grabs his arm and places it neatly back where it belongs.

The angry frown lines vanish, replaced by a thoughtful look that captivates Richie, and the emotion behind the stare tells you exactly one thing, your dad and the man are absolutely smitten with one another.

Your feet tick loudly on the wooden boards on the floor as you bolster down the stairs in anticipation of your dad coming home.  

The door opens and before Richie has the opportunity to greet you, you tug him into an embrace, your hands fisting the fabric of his shirt in an iron grip.

‘Hello pancake, I missed you.’ Richie says, hugging you back equally as fierce.

‘I missed you too’, you admit softly, not yet stepping out of the way and making room for his friend to come in, simply because your sole focus is on your father.

‘Don’t you ever do something like that again old man’, you threaten with a steel voice, ‘or I will shorten your curfew, don’t you try me.’

Richie chuckles, shaking his head solemnly, and lifting one hand in an oath motion, ‘I wholeheartedly swear I will never commit such a hanus crime ever again.’  He promises, a British accent coating his words in his intended way.

‘Holy shit your voices have gotten better.’

‘Told you Eds.’ Richie declares proudly as he turns to face his friend, the both of you stepping aside so his friend can walk in.

The man standing in the hallway beside your father had to be the most uncomfortable person you had ever seen. He shuffles from one leg to the other, filled with a nervous energy and no way to get rid of it.  

‘Hey, my name’s Eddie’, he says lumbersome, one of his hand tucked stiffly in his back pocket, the other doing a vague motion of a halfway wave.

You cock an eyebrow up, tilting your head slightly sideways to absorb the smaller man, watching as he looks to Richie for guidance. He’s a lot smaller than your dad is, with him barely reaching his shoulders, but from their interaction outside, you determine that he’s a fire cracker who has no problem pointing out things as they are. You like him already. You must be somehow intimidating though, he’s barely able to hold eye contact with you for over two seconds, and the figure of speech of someone shaking in their boots is no longer only figuratively.

You try hard to keep your smirk hidden at the prank that is forming in your mind, a little messing with someone has never seemed so appealing. Besides, if this man plans to date Richie, he needs to know what he’s getting himself into.

‘Hi’, you draw out, imitating the movement from the man to taunt him a little.

‘Look at you, you look just like your dad’, Eddie tries to strike up a normal conversation, pulling out all the cliches. You vaguely wonder if he spend his time reading through a parenting book on the way here.

‘I resemble a forty year old, single comedian guy? Thanks for the flattery.’ Eddie fake smile slides of his face, producing a gawky chuckle to hide the unease that’s very clearly present.

‘Okay now that’s just cruel Y/N, I am so much more than that. Try handsome, successful and courageous.’

‘Courageous? Dad, eating a rotting hot dog is not courageous but plain stupid.’

The two of you stare off, provoking the other to add another comment, but then Richie knacks the tension by lolling his tongue out, a laughable face resulting in you laughing.

‘Now that I’ve reestablished my roll as funniest in this family, this is Eddie. Eddie Spaghetti is an old friend from Derry.’

He points to Eddie, then slangs his arm around his shoulders, tapping a melody into his shoulder blade and throwing a grand smile his way.

Eddie swirls around to face him, his eyebrows drawing in close and his mouth opening in protest. ‘Don’t fucking call me that dickwad.’

A dark red color spreads across his entire face, peeking a glimpse of you from the corner of his eyes, gauging your reaction. You summon all the willpower you posses to stave off the hearty laugh bubbling up right beneath the surface, maintaining an perfectly poker face.

‘Nice’, you eventually say as it becomes clear that Eddie is flabbergasted at the way he said that right in front of you.

Richie eyes twinkle in amusement, catching up to what your intentions are. ‘I’m craving food, you want some too Eds?’

‘I-I guess I could eat’, Eddie stammers nervously, shutting his mouth with an audible click to stop the anxious word stream threatening to let loose.

‘I’ll get some food, Y/N can show you around okay?’

Richie begins his journey to the kitchen, and Eddie, only now realizing that would mean he’s left alone with you, attempts to grab Richie’s sleeve. He misses by an inch, and he dejectedly drops It back down and whips his clammy hands on his jeans.  

You smile slightly devious, the fact that Eddie throws his all in getting you to like him is pretty entertaining.

‘So childhood friends huh?’ You inquire, leaving the task of getting to know the house up to Richie. You doubt Eddie would appreciate you showing him around the house while interrogation him, at least if Richie leads him around they have an opportunity to create new memories.  

‘Yeah’, Eddie response, not elaborating further on the topic.

‘You guys weren’t very close then, he never once mentioned you, and you guys didn’t keep in touch in either?’

‘No we were best friends as kids’, Eddie defends tempestuous, though he bites his tongue and urges to hit himself over the head because of his stupid admission. He comes up blank with explanations why they forgot about each other, and there was no way in hell that he elucidates the Pennywise situation.

Thinking back to old days during which Richie and him rode their bikes in a race, or running to the edge of town to locate the beginning or end of a rainbow in hopes of finding a pot of gold triggers a protective side in him, and Eddie sets his heart out to convince you how much he appreciates all those short moments that meant nothing to them back then.

‘Richie bought me a slushie once, than after we finished it he proceeded to turn us around on a UFO ‘till we both threw up. Before we left that day he got another one anyway. The heaten deprived of self-preservation even then.’

You give him a pass and decide to forgo the subject, smiling with crinkled eyes, the first genuine one you grant him since he arrived, because that does remind you a lot of your dad.

Eddie perks up, his back straightening and allowing his hands that cramped up by his side to relax in retaliation.

‘On to the real though questions, what do you do for a living? Are you planning to sleepover a lot? Are you accepting of all his quirks.’ You fire off rapidly, acting like a parent interrogating the first partner they bring home, which may or may not be payback to the time where Richie humiliated you in front of your classmates at prom.

Eddie blanches, reforming his scattered brain and considering what questions to answer first. You add one more for the hell of it; ‘How did my dad and you reconnect?’

It’s confusing, the duality between angst and pensiveness that strikes Eddie’s face, making you wonder what the story behind all of this is.

‘Y/N, get your ass over here and help me please’, Richie calls out from the kitchen, so out of nowhere it spooks you.

You sneak a peek at Eddie, then the door frame, and wondering if you said something wrong and if you should leave Eddie alone in this state. Another yell of your name decides for you, darting out of the room and hurrying beside Richie, halfway done with peeling an orange.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ You snort, unimpressed with the obvious attempt to appear healthier than he really is.

Richie gazes up in surprise as if he didn’t call to you, but then he shrugs. ‘Eds obsessed with these, so I’m giving it a go.

‘An orange? It’s a fruit dad and not even an exotic one. Lying isn’t a good feature, I know you zeal for it as well.‘

‘Okay little miss, hid the attitude and help your old man. I aided you in changing diapers and stuff, now it’s your turn to step up.’ A squirt of orange juice trickles from the side of the tabletop, staining your dad’s shirt and leaving a spot you’re sure is not going to wash out.

Refusing to acknowledge his stupid claims, you were a baby for god sakes, you snatch another orange and strip it from it’s shell, demonstrating to your dad how it’s done without massacring the fruit.

‘Thanks, I knew there was a reason I had you. Also lay of Eds a bit, the lasted for ages and you’re scary if you set your mind to it.’, Richie expresses his gratitude by planting a kiss on your your temple leaving residue of the orange he apparently wielded with his mouth behind.

You wipe at it with the bottom of your sleeve excessively, removing as much as you can.

‘Like you don’t find it funny to mess with him.’

‘Fair,’ Richie admits’, you coming?’ He asks right before he leaves the room, holding the door open and clutching the orange and a few napkins in the remaining hand.

‘I’m going to grab my own fruit and I’ll be right there. Oh and dad?’ Richie nods, listening intently to you.

‘I love you no mater what. There’s nothing you can say, do,’ you pause to let the words really sink in, ‘or be that change that. My love for you in unwavering.’

His eyes turn wet, and he stares far off-ish taking in your words, sniffling and then swallowing past the lump in his throat.

‘Thank you’, he remarks, letting the door pound shut as he shuffles Eddie’s way.

Smiling to yourself, you pause and count to five in your head, persuading yourself that you should not snoop on your dad and his potential boyfriend, but the curiosity wins over. You stagger to the door, unlatching it from the lock, and generating a peep whole that allows you to eavesdrop.

‘Really Richie? What about a plate or something to eat this on? All the juice is going to spill on the floor and it will be disgusting and dirty and you’ll have to clean it up.

‘Relax Eds, it’s no big deal. Just be careful and I’m sure you can avoid sloshing.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Eddie challenges, ‘so you didn’t obtain that speck be peeling it?’

Richie must be debating if it’s worth it to lie or not, and concludes that lying to Eddie is never a good idea. He sighs exaggerated and stomps his feet like a petulant child.

‘Fine your majesty Spagheds, you’re lucky I love you.’

‘Don’t fucking call me that Rich.’

Instead of moving away from the door, you freeze, the words your dad uttered repeating themselves in your head. Never in a million years did you think the day was going to go like this, with your dad proclaiming adoration to a guy he forgot to hint at to you, but you’re weirdly okay with it.

Richie laughed more now then ever with someone other than you, and if Eddie pitched in Richie’s happiness, you accept him already.

The entryway unrolls, you jumping away in the nick of time before hitting you full in the face. You stare up at Richie sheepishly, twinkling at him with innocent eyes.

‘Snooping much, buttercup?’

‘I learned from the best.’

You walk back with him to the living room Eddie sits in and watch as your father hands over the plate. He’s leaning against the backrest and showing sings of tranquility, but when he notices you his posture goes rigid, nervously balling his hands up by his sights.

You snicker, deciding to put the poor man out of his misery and finally welcome him into your home.

‘Do you hate his stupid nicknames as much as I do?’ You ask him, finding common ground to strike up a conversation.

‘Yeah they’re the worst.’ Eddie admits, decomposing at the turn of events.

‘Eum I’m seated right here. Is this how it’s always gonna be? You two ganging up on me?’ Richie whines.

Peering Eddie’s way, the both of you nod excitedly.

‘Yeah it is.’

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Girl Who Cried Wolf

Another requested fic! Anon asked “Anne loves her fun/carefree/’gremlin’ reputation - but what happens when people just stop taking her seriously?” I feel like this is awfully accurate for a April Fools Post... I’m not sure what happened with this one, but I hope it has a coherent plot, my brain feels like scrambled eggs right now. Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors my brain feels like - well - scrambled eggs right now.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas (now featuring random asks). If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Random Asks

Trigger Warnings: Blood, vomit, hospitals, stomach sicknesses

“AGH! Help me!” Anne called, clutching her stomach in pain. “I’m - I’m -”

Kat was immediately at Anne’s side, holding the prone girl in her arms. “Annie, Annie what’s wrong!” she cried, clearly in distress by Anne’s pain.

Anne wailed and rolled into a ball. The other queens circled her, all of them silent and terrified of whatever was hurting Anne. “You have to help me,” Anne gasped, grabbing Kat’s hand.

“I will Annie!” Kat promised her cousin, pulling her closer.

Mumbling, Anne motioned for Kat to come closer. When she was close enough, Anne whispered, “My stomach.”

Frantically moving her attention down to Anne’s stomach, Kat bit her lip. Anne had her hands covering her stomach, making it impossible for Kat to see what was wrong. Leaning forward, she noticed a tinge of red around Anne’s hand. Gasping, Kat lifted Anne’s hands to see the wound.

Squeaking in surprise, Kat jerked back when Anne threw her hands forward and splashed blood all over Kat. The blood went everywhere and Anne started laughing at Kat’s shocked face. Sitting up, Anne wiped her bloody hands on her shirt, perfectly fine. “Oh, you should’ve seen your face,” she continued to laugh.

Kat’s head was down as she tried to hide tears in her eyes. “Annie?”

“What the hell was that, Anne?” Aragon demanded from behind the girl.

“Paint!” Anne held up her red hands. “Totally worth it too.”

Frowning, Jane disappointingly shook her head. “That was uncalled for, Anne.”

“Whaddya mean?” Anne smirked, standing up and going to the kitchen sink to wash off the paint.

“You scared Kat half to death,” Anna accused, kneeling down next to her best friend.

Anne didn’t quite grasp why they were all so upset. To her it was just a prank, not a big deal. “You guys aren’t actually mad, are you?” Anne gestured about incredulously.

“Yes, Anne.” The beheaded queen could almost swear Cathy looked disgusted with her. “I would think you of all people would know not to go too far, especially with blood.”

There was a moment of silence before Anne realized what she had done. “Oh, KitKat, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to -”

“It’s fine Anne,” the girl mumbled, still staring at the floor.

Part of Anne wanted to continue and try to apologize to her cousin, but the unimpressed glares of all the other queens kept her from it. “Alright. I’ll um, I’ll be in my room.” Bolting away from the scene, Anne ran up to her room in the attic. Shutting the door, she flopped onto her bed. God, had she ruined another good thing? Would the others ever forgive her? Sure, they had forgiven her in the past, but what if she’d pushed it too far?

Unable to find the courage to reconcile with them, Anne stayed in her room for the rest of the night and the following day. She snuck down at midnight to eat some dinner (frozen cookie dough is fine, right?) before returning to her room silently. That’s the way it continued for the next few days, none of the queens willing to talk to Anne after her poorly planned prank.

It seemed to be working pretty well until Anne woke up with a serious pain in her stomach. There was a churning that made her feel absolutely terrible and nauseous. She knew period and gas cramps, but this was neither. She felt like irons were stabbing into her stomach at every movement. Laying in bed, Anne stared at the ceiling, trying to distract herself. But the pain was so overwhelming that there was no way to even fathom thinking of anything else.

Debating her options, Anne decided it was best to go and get help. Even if the other queens were mad at her, they had always been caring, sometimes overly so. Stumbling down the stairs, Anne had a hand on the railing and another clutching her stomach. “Anne?” Jane called, seeing the pale girl. Then her eyes fell upon the hand covering Anne’s stomach, and her expression dropped. “Really? Again so soon? Didn’t you learn your lesson last time.”

Aragon looked up from her newspaper and glared at Anne. “No, it’s for real this time,” Anne grunted.

“Sure, like it was real last time,” Aragon spit and turned back to her paper.

Shocked, Anne stopped on her way down the stairs. They didn’t believe her? Why wouldn’t they believe her? Couldn’t they see she was in pain? “What?” Anne groaned out.

Neither Jane nor Aragon were convinced, and they refused to pay Anne any attention. Feeling someone pass her on the stairs, Anne turned and made eye contact with Cathy. “Cathy, you’ll help me, right?”

Raising an eyebrow, Cathy glanced down at Anne’s hand cautiously. “And get what, fake vomit all over me? I think I’ll pass, Anne.”

Reaching a hand out, the beheaded queen tried to stop Cathy before she joined the other two queens downstairs. Apparently, Anne was out of luck, and she was ignored by her fellow queens. Grunting, Anne turned around and made her way back up the stairs. If they wouldn’t help her, she would help herself. Starting with some rest. Anne was feeling very, very tired.

So very tired, now that she thought about it. Barely making it to her room, Anne fumbled with the doorknob. She pushed her body weight against the door and collapsed on the ground. Slowly, everything around her started to fade to black as the world spun and spun and spun. The last thing she heard was her door clicking closed behind her.

Downstairs, Kat had just come out of the bathroom and was surprised to see the disgruntled faces of all the other queens. Anna was laying on the couch, mindlessly flipping through television channels, but Aragon, Jane, and Cathy kept sharing annoyed faces with each other. “What’s wrong?” Kat asked, making her way over to the kitchen table.

“Nothing to worry about, dear,” Jane covered up, pretending as if she had been smiling.

Unconvinced, Kat turned to Cathy. “What’s wrong?” she asked again.

“Anne came down asking for help while holding her stomach,” Cathy deadpanned.

Kat bit her lip and anxiously scuffed her foot on the ground. “We should check up on her.”

“And risk what happened last time?” Aragon scoffed. “No way.”

Anna called from over on the couch, “It’s not worth it liebling. She’ll realize sooner or later that her pranks aren’t funny.”

Still, Kat couldn’t help but worry that maybe, just maybe her cousin wasn’t lying this time. Even if she was constantly the target of Anne’s pranks, Kat knew it was because she was the easiest to trick. But her conscience wouldn’t let her rest until she knew Anne was safe, even if it meant getting pranked again. Kat ignored the calls of the other queens as she made her way up to Anne’s room.

Knocking on the door, Kat received no response. Of course she knew this was the start to every horror movie, and she was the ditzy cheerleader about to get murdered, but Kat pushed open Anne’s door anyway. Yelping when she almost tripped over something, Kat screamed for help when she saw what it was.

Unconscious on the floor was Anne, bloody vomit dribbling out of her mouth. Kat dropped down next to her, checking to see if Anne was breathing. A nagging in the back of her mind that sounded vaguely like the other queens told her it was an elaborate prank, but Kat’s own mind didn’t agree. Anne looked terribly pale and sick, her skin sweaty and her body shivering.

Anna burst through the door first, expecting to find more blood on Kat, but was instead surprised to see Anne actually sick. “I’ll call an ambulance,” Anna mumbled out, embarrassed that she had allowed Anne’s pain to be dismissed.

The last three queens came up together, standing at the door in guilty shock. “What did we do?” Jane asked quietly, her eyes wide as saucers. 

“Anne will be okay,” Aragon assured her, putting a hand on her back. She held out her other arm and pulled Cathy into her hug, the final queen unable to speak as she watched Kat huddle with her cousin. 

Rushing back into the room with a phone in her hand, Anna nodded at the others. “Ambulance is outside. They’re gonna take care of her.”

The ride to the hospital was grueling for Kat who had to watch her cousin fade in and out of consciousness. Anne seemed to have no coherent sense of what was happening, her fever running high and her mind delirious. As soon as they reached the hospital, Anne was carted off to some doctor while Kat met up with the other queens who had driven behind the ambulance. “Do you have any idea what’s wrong with her?” Jane asked as soon as Kat was within earshot.

Shrugging, Kat crossed her arms around her chest. “They said it was probably a stomach illness. Something she ate.”

The queens all shared knowing looks. “Of course if she’s left alone to eat, Anne’s going to choose something that’ll get her sick,” Aragon rolled her eyes, covering up the panic she felt when thinking about Anne’s safety.

In one big huddle, they sat together in the waiting area, hoping to get any news on Anne soon. It didn’t take long, and one of the white-jacket doctors came out. “Family of Anne Boleyn?”

“That’s us!” Cathy claimed, sticking her hand in the air.

The doctor frowned but made his way over to them. “You’re all related to her?” he asked in disbelief.

“I’m her cousin,” Kat explained.

“But we’re all her family,” Anna insisted.

The doctor shrugged but didn’t push any further. “Well she’s right down the hall if you want to visit her. One at a time,” he made sure they were clear. “She’ll be fine. Just a really bad cause of the stomach flu it seems. Miss Boleyn will be released within the next couple days.” Almost in unison, all the queens let out a sigh of relief. Anne was okay.

Anne was going to be okay.

Silently, it was agreed upon that Kat would be the one to visit Anne first. She followed the doctor to Anne’s room and thanked him when he left her alone with her cousin. “Hey Anne,” Kat greeted quietly from the doorway. “Can I come in?”

Anne was still a little bit woozy, but she nodded, wanting Kat with her. “Yeah, you can come in. Although I hear the chairs are really uncomfortable.”

Standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, Kat fiddled with her hands. “I’m sorry we didn’t believe you,” she blurted out. “You needed help and we didn’t help you.”

Chuckling humorlessly, Anne did her best to ease her cousin’s worries. “It’s fine. It’s my fault you didn’t believe me, and it’s my fault I got sick. Besides, you found me and called for help.”

Still unsure, Kat took a step closer to Anne’s bed. “I was so worried. I almost didn’t check on you because I thought it was another prank -”

“I don’t blame you,” Anne sighed. She patted her bed, urging Kat to sit with her. The younger girl complied, sitting at Anne’s feet. “I pulled a really insensitive prank, and I took it too far. Believe it or not, but I get it. If I were you, I wouldn’t take me seriously either. So don’t even think about blaming yourself for any of this.”

There was hesitation on Kat’s face, but she nodded. “If I don’t blame myself, then you have to promise me one thing.”

“Sure, Kat.”

“You can’t blame yourself either.” Kat grabbed Anne’s hand and pleaded with her. “It’s no one’s fault but that stupid virus.”

Laughing, Anne agreed. “Things must really suck for us then, huh KitKat?”

“Yeah, we do have a pretty bad history with luck.” The two cousins shared a grin. “But are you going to pull another prank like that?”

Mulling it over, Anne let out a noncommittal noise. “I can’t make promises for future Anne,” she offered cheekily.

“Fair, fair,” Kat put her hands up in surrender.

The two cousins shared a look and smiled softly, just glad they could be in each others’ company. “It’s no one’s fault,” Anne repeated, squeezing Kat’s hand. “And that goes for you too!” She shouted, peeking around Kat. “I know you’re listening.”

Shamefully, the other four queens revealed themselves in the doorway after their failed attempt at spying. “We’re glad you’re okay Anne,” Jane smiled, worry draining from her features.

“I’m glad I’m okay too.” And they all laughed together.

-----------------------------

@annabanana2401

@boleynhowards

[notapaladin]

you just gotta let it go

Teocatl sickfic, because Acatl deserves to have someone watch over him when he’s ill and it’s highly cathartic for me. Acatl is, unfortunately, a grumpy patient. Also on AO3!

-

The second day of an illness was the worst.

Granted, the first day had been no garden of roses either. Acatl had gone home at the end of his long working day (two vigils, several hours’ worth of investigations into a nasty murder near the markets, endless accounts to square away) to a hastily-put-together dinner and the comfort of his own mat, but he’d barely lain down for an hour before his guts had begun to cramp and the first swelling of nausea had begun to travel up his throat. He’d thought—hoped—that it would pass. He’d always had a reasonably strong constitution, after all. Perhaps it was merely the heat.

And then he’d started vomiting. Poison had been his first thought, and he’d wiped his mouth and tried to stagger to the door only to faint after a single step. Praise the gods for Ichtaca; the man had heard him groaning as he passed and had leapt into action, sending runners for a healing priest before he could even think about protesting. Not that he’d been doing much thinking by then, honestly—whatever he’d eaten had come back for revenge, and he’d been far too busy trying not to completely disgrace himself. He’d still been retching when the priest of Patecatl had arrived.

At least it wasn’t poison, he’d thought bitterly when he’d gotten the diagnosis. But the sort of illness you got from food that had gone off was downright humiliating, and to make matters worse the only cure was rest and plain meals. Plain. No chili. No other spices. Barely even any salt. If he’d been able to contemplate food without feeling nauseous again, he would have been miserable; as it was, he was waking only to drink water and drag himself to the chamber pot.

Because apparently, even when whatever had been in his guts was now quite comprehensively out of them, it had left its mark behind. He was exhausted. Even his experience with the plague hadn’t left him feeling quite this flattened; each limb felt like the Great Temple had come down on top of it, and he could barely rouse himself from his mat. When he spoke, he slurred his words like a base drunkard.

And of course he was forced to speak, because he had visitors.

He was awoken shortly after dawn by the arrival of not one but two priests of Patecatl. Their cloaks marked them as part of the upper echelons of their temple’s hierarchy, and so he managed not to actually snap at them when they entered. It felt like an achievement just to speak coherently. “Thank you, but I’m feeling much better—“

The older one gave him a stare so full of judgement that he shut his mouth with a pang; it reminded him too much of Ceyaxochitl. “We have to monitor your condition, Acatl-tzin. You are our High Priest for the Dead.”

Right. I don’t stop being High Priest for the Dead, no matter how sick I am. He made a face, but grudgingly sat up a little straighter. Or how much I’d rather be left alone.

At least submitting himself to a full examination didn’t require him to do much except be manhandled, and the healing priests were coolly professional and not inclined to make small talk. It still tired him out, and when the younger priest—Cuetzpalli, apparently—began casting a spell to strengthen his stomach, he actually found himself dozing off. The cut-grass smell of Patecatl’s magic was remarkably soothing when you were more than semi-conscious for it.

“Acatl-tzin?”

He blinked awake. Cuetzpalli had stopped chanting and was eyeing him with mild concern as he offered a hand to help him sit up again. He ignored it; he was not so far gone that he couldn’t manage that, even if the motion made his muscles ache. “My apologies. What’s the verdict?”

Cuetzpalli didn’t seem fazed by his curtness. No doubt he’d seen much worse, though he was barely a few years older than Teomitl; healing priests saw people at their very lowest, after all, and an irritated High Priest probably wasn’t even worth noting. “No poison nor magic that we can detect. Your dinner seems to have simply...disagreed with you. You’ll feel...ah, reasonably terrible for a week or so, but you are in no danger.” His face twisted in singularly unhelpful sympathy.

Acatl’s fists clenched in his lap. A week? Duality, I cannot afford to be laid low for that long! Horrible visions of his temple in disarray and the boundaries crumbling like old paper flickered through his mind, and he fought a grimace. No. It would be fine. He would return to his duties tomorrow, suffer through bland food until his guts settled, and everything would be fine. “Hrm.”

“You’ll be alright, young man.” The older priest—Necalli—didn’t smile, but his eyes softened slightly as he looked him over. “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

He couldn’t make any promises, but he was spared from having to lie; their visit apparently being over, Cuetzpalli was packing up their supplies. Soon they had both left, bowing very politely, and he’d collapsed on his mat again. Some vague twinge in his belly suggested he should attempt food, but even fetching one of the bland flatbreads Ichtaca had left for him seemed like a monumental effort. No, he would just lay here for now until he felt...well, not better, but at least more alert.

He slept. He woke, found the ache in his stomach had progressed to actual pangs of hunger, and choked down a few mouthfuls of dry flatbread and a cup of water before his gorge rose in protest. Right. No more food for me. He slept again. Time ceased to have meaning. There was only the sunlight moving across his floor, the humid air laying on his skin like a blanket. He lay like a lizard on his back, gently baking in the heat.

And then the entry curtain jingled. “Acatl?”

Oh, gods. Mihmatini’s voice. Groaning, he heaved himself upright, muscles protesting. “Ngghhh…” At some point he’d closed his eyes, and it seemed to take real effort to keep them open. Duality, he hoped it was only an ill-chosen meal, and not something more serious.

She sounded concerned. He was sick of concern. “We brought soup.”

...We…? The thoughts floating through his head were slow to arrange themselves into a semblance of order, but finally he realized that she wasn’t alone and managed to wedge his eyes open. There was Mihmatini, brow furrowed, holding a clay jug in both hands. And beside her, face twisted in worry, was Teomitl. “...Oh.” He felt vaguely nauseous again.

She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, or even to rise; he watched, still feeling three steps behind reality, as she set the jug down on his table and went looking for spoons. “I really can’t believe I had to hear from Ichtaca that you were ill, Acatl, really—do you know how worried I’ve been? Food poisoning is nothing to dismiss!”

“It’s passed.” It had. Mostly. He had decided against making any sudden movements.

“Nobody gets over food poisoning that fast.” That was Teomitl, leaning in the doorway and frowning down at him. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

He frowned back, even as some part of his heart felt unaccountably warmed; Teomitl’s concern might be touching, but by the Duality it wasn’t as though he’d tried to get sick. “...I take care of myself just fine.”

Teomitl turned his face away, glowering at the wall as though it had insulted his honor. Acatl knew by the face he made that he was probably chewing on the inside of his lip plug again; he wondered, not for the first time, if Teomitl had ever realized he only did that when he was agitated. He hoped he didn’t; it was oddly endearing, and he’d miss the sight. “What did the healing priests say?”

He grimaced at the reminder. “Very plain fare. And sleep.”

Mihmatini uncovered the jug, and the odor of plain, hot, and—suddenly most important for his stomach, which growled loudly enough that he blushed—salty turkey broth met his nostrils. “Do you think you could keep this down?”

For his sister, he’d try. Slowly, he nodded. “...Thank you.”

He hadn’t expected them to linger, but—evidently realizing that he absolutely wouldn’t be able to finish all of the soup by himself—they took their own seats at his table. It was pleasant not to eat alone in his own house for once. Teomitl was uncharacteristically quiet and kept glancing at Acatl out of the corner of his eye; before he thought of commenting on it, Mihmatini spoke up. “How is it?”

He looked down at his bowl and realized with a start that he’d nearly finished it. Each lift of the spoon to his mouth had been like trying to move a boulder, but he’d clearly been hungrier than he thought. “...It’s good. Did you make it?”

Mihmatini snorted, shaking her head. “From the palace kitchens. I’m not this good a cook.”

Teomitl huffed, “You’re a wonderful cook.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “And you are a shameless flatterer.”

“I am being perfectly truthful—tell her, Acatl!”

Acatl blinked. He’d briefly felt himself in danger of falling asleep in his soup bowl, and it took him a moment to reapply himself to the conversation. True, Mihmatini was a skilled cook—but it was equally true that no priest of Patecatl would prescribe her food for him. It had entirely too much flavor, and the way she made soup would put meat back on the bones of a corpse. “...He’s right. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I’m in no state to appreciate it at the moment.”

She looked supremely unimpressed. He could actually see the moment she swallowed a sharp retort and picked up her spoon again. “I can see that. You look awful.”

He felt awful. Eating had helped briefly, but as soon as it settled in his stomach he had to battle another spike of nausea. If he stopped leaning on the table, he had a feeling he’d fall over. “Thanks.”

Mihmatini sighed, pushing her now-empty bowl away. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get back to the Duality House.”

“Guardian lessons?”

She made a face. Acatl couldn’t blame her; she hadn’t told him much of what her unexpected ascension to Guardianship had entailed, but what little she’d let slip suggested it was unpleasant. If nothing else, she was having to learn in weeks what took most women years. He did not envy her. “Guardian lessons.”

Teomitl reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, and for a moment Acatl was concerned. Had they had a fight at some point? But then she smiled, warm as always. “You’d better. Remember what we were talking about earlier.”

Teomitl swallowed hard and nodded. “Mm.”

And then she rose gracefully, favoring Acatl with that same narrow-eyed assessing look. “And as for you, you’d better take it easy. Ichtaca told us you collapsed a few times last night.”

It wasn’t like he’d made a habit out of it. Besides, the floor had been comfortable even with last night’s nagging, irrational concern that he might fail to wake up. He glared back at her. “I’m much stronger now. I’ve no intention of fainting on anyone.”

“Don’t worry.” Teomitl smiled, and the brief flash of radiant warmth made Acatl’s face heat. “I won’t let you.”

She sniffed, unswayed. “Hm. I’ll be back later to check on you.”

And then Mihmatini left, and they were alone. Acatl found, suddenly, that he couldn’t quite manage to look Teomitl in the face. The gods knew Teomitl had seen him injured before—had taken care of him, even, and Acatl knew he’d never forget confident hands bandaging his wounds or strong arms helping him to safety—but injuries were one thing. It was entirely different to be ill and run-down in front of Teomitl, who valued strength so highly, when he could barely muster the energy to stand. In a moment. In a moment I’ll get up and clear the table. I don’t need a—a nursemaid, Tlaloc’s lightning strike me. He just needed to brace himself and move slowly.

Teomitl beat him to it. He was already on his feet and clearing away the remnants of their meal when Acatl set a hand on the table to heave himself up; when he caught sight of the movement, he glared down at him. “Stay still. I’ll handle it.”

He could force himself to his feet; he’d worked in worse conditions and through much greater pain. But somehow, it didn’t really seem worth it to argue. So he stayed where he was and prayed for patience. “...So you’re to keep me company, then?”

Teomitl turned to look over his shoulder at him, eyes dark and serious. “Someone should.”

He took a slow breath. Even through his exhaustion, the reminder of his state stung bitterly. Gods, isn’t it bad enough that I’m ill? Must I have witnesses? “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

“I know you aren’t.” And then Teomitl smiled, teasingly innocent, and Acatl’s heart skipped a beat even as he continued, “But isn’t it the job of the student to tend to his master’s needs?”

His eyes narrowed. Irritation was starting to revitalize him; in some small part of his mind, he suspected this was Teomitl’s plan. “...And you aren’t my student anymore.” He hasn’t been since...the courtyard? No, before that. It just took me too long to see it. He is my friend, my brother-in-law, and one day he’ll be my Revered Speaker. But he’s not my student, and he shouldn’t have to take care of me even if he was.

Teomitl sat down by him, within arm’s reach but not touching. Acatl found himself glad for that; he wasn’t sure if he was alert enough not to give in to any...urges he might have. His former student’s shoulders looked appealingly solid. “I know that, too. But...let me anyway?” He paused, looking him over with soft eyes. “Please?”

Oh, no. Not the please. It struck him harder than a physical blow, and he had to look away. Duality preserve him, he’d thought those feelings would fade; it was a terrible time to be proven wrong. I should be stronger than this. “...I won’t…” He blinked, suddenly almost too tired to make his tongue work. The soup had only been a temporary boost after all. “’M sorry. I won’t be a very good host.”

“...That’s alright.” Teomitl was smiling at him again, and he couldn’t bear it. “Rest, Acatl. I’ll be here when you wake.”

He couldn’t let that pass without comment, no matter how much that same small, treacherous part of him was warmed by the thought of companionship. “...Your own duties…”

Now Teomitl did reach over, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. It warmed him to his bones. “Over for the day. Lay down.”

He couldn’t do anything but obey. Even the simple act of sitting up and eating had wrung him out like a damp rag; he could have passed out on a bed of obsidian shards. His thin mat was a miracle in comparison, and he managed to keep his eyes open just long enough to watch as Teomitl settled down on his haunches and swept him with a slow, considering look. The thought that slid through his mind like a snake—gods, you could kiss me if you wanted—still wasn’t a match for the tides of sleep pulling him under.

When he opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Teomitl’s back. It was, he thought idly, a very nice back; he’d shed his cloak for the sake of the heat, and so Acatl had an excellent view of the line of his waist and the curve of his spine. There were no scars upon it, for he would never be one to willingly turn his back on a foe. The knowledge lifted his heart with a kind of soft pride. My fearless man. You who will lead Tenochtitlan to glory. I cannot wait to see what kind of Emperor you’ll make.

Then Teomitl stretched, back arching, and the affection curling gently through him sparked into something hotter and darker. Gods, he’d almost forgotten. He could go days now without thinking about the warmth of Teomitl’s voice or the strength of his hands, but here he was being reminded—viscerally—that they couldn’t be ignored forever.

He must have made a noise, because Teomitl turned to look at him. “Acatl? Ah, you’re awake. What do you need?”

His mouth had gone dry at some point. Swallowing didn’t help. “...Water.” If nothing else, it would be cold. He could use the cold.

Teomitl rose to fetch water, and he busied himself with trying to sit up. It took a few attempts as his heavy limbs fought his control, but by the time Teomitl returned he’d managed the disgustingly difficult task of rolling over. Teomitl’s hand between his shoulderblades steadied him as he heaved himself up the rest of the way, and for a long moment he drank in silence.  

It wasn’t until Teomitl took his hand away and sat down next to him that he found words. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

Teomitl jerked away, glaring at him; for all that he’d only spoken the truth, Acatl still felt himself flush. “Did you think I would leave you alone?!”

“It must be late.” It was. The afternoon sun had turned dim and gold, sinking into Teomitl’s skin and hair. Sunset couldn’t be far behind, and he would be well enough to properly offer blood to the gods again. There was no need for Teomitl to watch over him like a mother jaguar with cubs. But he wants to, whispered his mind, and he took another sip of water to cool the heat of his skin.

“I don’t care.” Duality, and he growled like a jaguar, too. Though he huffily turned his face away, Acatl saw his hand twitch; it was all the warning he got before it came down to rest atop his own free one. “You stayed with me when I was ill, and that was contagious. Do you think I wouldn’t do the same for you?”

He couldn’t think. Teomitl’s hand was on his, calloused and warm, and he was fairly sure all sensation in his body had been rerouted to that single point of contact. He was surprised he hadn’t dropped the cup, and managed to set it down before he could. “I—uh.” He was unconscious, deep in his delirium. I didn’t think he’d remember. Gods, I was so afraid he’d never even wake. But he did...and…

It seemed to take an eternity for him to dredge up a full sentence from the mire of his thoughts. “You don’t...have to…”

Teomitl might as well have been making a royal proclamation; his voice held nothing but certainty. “Yes. I do.”

“...Oh.” It seemed to be all he could say. There was more locked behind his teeth—you are the best of men, I don’t deserve you, you’re a reckless fool sometimes but that’s alright because you still hold my whole heart safe in your hands—but he didn’t dare open his mouth and let it fly out. If he started down that road, he’d never stop.

For a long while, Teomitl was silent. Though he sat as still as a statue, the fingers covering Acatl’s own twitched as though he wanted to curl them around his hand. Finally, still without looking at him, he spoke. “When I heard you had been taken ill...gods, Acatl, I was terrified.”

Storm Lord’s lightning blast him. He couldn’t even attempt a reassuring smile, for Teomitl’s words struck him to the core. Still, he mustered up the energy somewhere to make an effort. “I’ve felt worse than this and lived. You needn’t have worried.”

Teomitl swiveled around to glare at him, eyes hot and suspiciously bright. “Don’t say that! Don’t you know how important you are to me?”

“Ngkh.” He knew he was blushing again, but he couldn’t have torn his eyes from Teomitl’s face if his life had depended on it. “I…” I am High Priest for the Dead. His teacher. His friend. That’s all he means. “But—“

“No buts.” Teomitl shook his head, squeezing his hand tightly. “You have to take care of yourself, Acatl. Understand? I don’t...I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. I can’t lose you.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, and for a dizzying moment he thought he was going to faint again. “You won’t.” He knew as he said it that it was an empty promise, but it was true. Even if I die tomorrow. Even if I die right now, he’ll never lose me.

He inhaled. I have to tell him. “Last night...I thought I was going to die.” It had been a fleeting thought somewhere between the second time he’d collapsed and the dozenth time he’d vomited, but it had stuck with him until he’d simply been too tired to fear it anymore. There was only one thing he would have regretted, after all. Now Teomitl was staring at him in horror, but he made himself press on. “And I thought of you. I thought—if I died here, I would never get to tell you I—“ But courage failed him, and he swallowed with a dry click.

Teomitl was still staring at him. “...Acatl?”

He squeezed his eyes shut. It was a coward’s move, but then he had always been one, hadn’t he? “I love you. I wanted to be sure you knew.”

He heard a slow, deep breath. A shaky whisper of “Acatl,” more shock than outrage.

And then Teomitl kissed him.

His mind went entirely blank. There was only the soft pressure of warm lips on his, slow and careful and gods, so gentle. He had no idea what he was doing, but Teomitl clearly did; he tilted his head just so, parted his lips just a fraction, and Acatl was lost. Gods, he thought dizzily, I love you so much. Teomitl slid strong arms around his waist, and for a moment he thought that hold was the only thing keeping him upright. He wondered if it was possible to swoon just from a single kiss.

When Teomitl pulled away, his eyes were shining. “I can hardly believe...Duality, Acatl.” He gave a little shake of his head, as though to express the utter impossibility of their situation. “I was half convincing myself to give up.”

Acatl blinked at him as the words rearranged themselves into something that made sense. “You...what?!”

Now it was Teomitl’s turn to blush. “I have wanted you for—gods, for years. I knew it was hopeless, but when I thought I would lose you…”

Things clicked slowly into place in Acatl’s mind. Years, he said. Years. “...Does Mihmatini know?” He remembered her hard-eyed stare, the way Teomitl had looked almost nervous. He wouldn’t be the cause of strife between them, no matter how much Teomitl made his heart race.

Teomitl sighed, dropping his gaze. He was still flushed, but Acatl judged it more embarrassment than guilt. “She does.”

“Then...what she mentioned, about you two having spoken earlier…”

“She...suggested I consider the possibility of mentioning my feelings.” Knowing Mihmatini, suggested was probably far too polite a word. But Teomitl quirked up a smile, then, and added, “But I wasn’t expecting you to beat me to it.”

He swallowed. “I had to let you know. You have to know—you’ll never lose me. Ever. I love you too much for that.”

For a moment, Teomitl simply stared at him—face flushed, lips slightly parted, eyes heated—and Acatl knew he was going to be kissed again. Knew it and welcomed it, lingering illness be damned. He would figure out a way to be kissed by Teomitl if he were dead.

And then he grinned teasingly and murmured, “Then you’d best focus your energies on getting well again, hadn’t you?” and Acatl had to stifle an urge to groan.

[quicksilversquared]

How to Fake A Marriage Outtakes: Ch 2

So this was a deleted chapter from HTFAM that I discarded in favor of a bit of a time skip and then decided to keep and turn into an outtake. It's set after Adrien and Marinette decide to move in together for the remainder of their time in London.

(AO3) (FF.net)

One of the funniest things about Adrien and Marinette, all of Marinette's team members agreed, was that the two of them were not anywhere as smooth as they thought they were. The two of them hadn't even remotely tried to hide how friendly they were with each other during Marinette's first year, and everyone had seen how their relationship had gradually progressed from a simple close friendship into something more.

And everyone had seen how suddenly, they were working to keep a little distance between them, like they were trying to pretend that they were back to just normal friend status- but when they thought no one was paying attention, they gravitated right back towards each other with little touches and fond looks. It didn't take a genius to figure out that they were dating but for some strange reason, had decided to keep it secret from the world- or, rather, as secret as it could be when speculation about their love life was being published in the tabloids every other month.

None of them asked why. It had become a kind of source of amusement for the group of them, watching as Adrien and Marinette scrambled to act innocent whenever there were other people around. But everyone could see how Marinette lit up at the mention of Adrien and how she was always happy to go home and spend time with him, and how protective Adrien was of Marinette and how eager to please her he was.

Even if they weren't actually living with each other, the two of them acted like newlyweds and not all of the acting in the world could hide it.

Abbey Bernard's lips twitched in amusement as she thought about her most recent visit to Adrien and Marinette. She had mostly wanted to swing by to tease Marinette about the most recent slew of tabloid coverage about her and Adrien- their spa visit hadn't gone unnoticed, and wasn't that the cutest thing ever? Abbey wished that she could find a guy that would treat her as well as Adrien treated Marinette- and Marinette hadn't been over in her apartment. Instead, to the surprise of absolutely no one, she was hanging over at Adrien's apartment across the hall.

And- wasn't it the funniest thing?- it rather looked as though Marinette lived over in Adrien's apartment. Her things were scattered all over, her work ID tossed casually in a bowl on a table near the door next to the apartment keys and Adrien's school ID and bus pass and two sweaters of hers over the back of the couch. The last time that Abbey had seen the inside of Marinette's apartment, it had looked curiously bare.

"Hey, Abbey!" a voice called, and Abbey internally groaned, re-focusing on her work. She had a whole pile of paperwork that she had to get done- most of it having to do with fabric orders- and any interruptions would drag it out that much longer before she could finish and return to actually designing. "I had a question for you!"

"If it's about the editing on the latest photoshoot, I don't have a clue, ask Shannon," Abbey said automatically, and then she glanced up and saw Marinette hanging over her cubicle call. "Oh! Marinette! Hey, what's up?"

"I had a non-work question, but first- uh, could you keep something a secret?" Marinette cringed as soon as the words came out. "That sounds weird, I'm sorry, I mean-"

"If this is about you and Adrien dating, everyone here already knows- or, well, they all suspect, at least," Abbey said, cutting her off and making Marinette's eyes fly wide in surprise. She just internally shook her head. Had Marinette really thought that no one had noticed? Good lord. Well, maybe now they could stop the acting, now that they knew that their secret was out. "You two aren't subtle with the flirting, you know."

I- but-" Marinette spluttered, looking incredibly flustered. "We haven't flirted here-"

"You two never stop flirting." Abbey grinned, shaking her head. Even as sickly sweet as Adrien and Marinette could get at times, it was still cute. "But I'm guessing you didn't just come over to update me on your relationship status after-" she checked her calendar- "what, almost ten months of dating?"

Marinette spluttered even more, looking completely taken off guard. Abbey just waited patiently, knowing that it shouldn't take too long for her to recover. Thankfully Marinette managed to recover, though her cheeks were still a bit pink. Abbey watched as she straightened her shoulders, visibly composing herself before speaking again. "I, uh- well, I was wondering if you were still looking for a new apartment to move to."

Abbey made a face at the question, remembering her latest attempts to get out of her (rather terrible) apartment. It wasn't that the space was a mess or anything- it was just cramped beyond belief, was freezing all the time because it was always in the shade, and it wasn't in a great location, considering where she worked. The only opening that she had been able to find at a slightly better location had gotten snatched up before she could get it, which was actually worse than not being able to find anything at all. "Yeah. I gotta re-sign my lease by the end of the week, though, if I can't find anything. And I haven't been able to find anything. Why?"

"I'm planning on moving," Marinette told her, and Abbey's eyes went wide and hopeful. Marinette was moving? Oh, but that would mean that one of the lovely prefurnished apartments in the Rosalie workers' preferred building would be open! "Into Adrien's apartment, so mine will be open."

"But your lease isn't up until- what, the fall? Isn't that what you said last year?" Abbey's mind raced, trying to figure out how she could make sure that her lease would line up with Marinette's apartment opening. If she went for a month-to-month, maybe-

"I've been cleared to sublease," Marinette said before Abbey could think about it too much, and she immediately perked up. "And subleasers get approached first when the main leaser's contract is up and they aren't renewing."

Abbey was grinning. "Oh, I officially love you," she told Marinette. "Not as much as Adrien does, probably, but- oh my god. I've been trying to get into that building for forever. My current lease is up at the end of the month, but I can extend for a week at a time if needed. When can I move in? And will I need to sanitize every flat surface?" she added impishly, her grin turning wicked.

Marinette snorted. "No, we've kept that to Adrien's apartment- I mean!" she corrected quickly, catching herself just a few seconds too late. Abbey snickered in amusement. "No! We're- we've- that's- I mean to say that that's not a concern and also I'm cleaning before I move out anyway, so there!"

Abbey howled with laughter, cackling at Marinette's red face. It took her a minute to calm down and wipe the tears from her eyes. "Right, right. So, anyway- when will I be able to move in?"

Marinette stepped into the cubicle so one of the senior designers could get by, pushing a rack of clothing. Abbey waved to them sheepishly as they gave her a look. Clearly everyone in their section of the floor had hear her laughter. "We can probably manage at the end of the month. I just have to get a few more things out-"

"-aka you've been living with Adrien for a while, then," Abbey filled in, grinning.

"-and then clean and get the inspection done before you move in. It shouldn't take long. Adrien and I can clean this weekend." She giggled. "I'm sure he'll love that I'm volunteering him."

Abbey grinned at her, excitement starting to properly brew in her chest. "That's so great! I'll have to talk to my landlord, then, and tell him that I'll be moving after all. And then I'll start packing, and maybe move some boxes over? Would I be able to store a few small things in Adrien's apartment until the inspection is done? I mean, I can definitely wait, but if I could just move a few things per day so the final push isn't so hard..."

"I'll ask," Marinette promised. "And then I'll text you tonight to let you know. We could probably store some stuff under the couch or maybe in the hall closet. And I'll try to get the apartment cleaned up soon so I can get the inspection done."

"Wanna go over the details at lunch since we're technically supposed to be working right now?" Abbey suggested. She glanced down at her pile of paperwork a bit ruefully. "I want to know everything about the contract, of course, but I'm also supposed to be reviewing a bunch of paperwork right now."

"Of course!"

  "You really don't have a ton left in here," Adrien commented as they surveyed Marinette's apartment that evening. "I mean, I think a lot of your clothes are over at my apartment anyway, and your blankets and pillows and towels, too, and- I mean, I think your apartment is basically just a sewing room at this point, and it's only even that much because we haven't moved the sewing machine back yet."

Marinette nodded a little sheepishly. "Sewing room and extra kitchen, really. And extra room so that Nino and Alya don't realize that we're living together when they visit."

"I'm so glad that Alya won the competition," Adrien said as he and Marinette headed back to the bedroom to see what she had left there. "Not just because I'm proud of her, of course, but she'll be preparing for her trip and then gone for a good chunk of the year, and all of Nino's trips will be to see her. We'll just have to figure out how to keep them from coming over after Alya gets back in- what, January?"

"I just figured that we would make a lot of trips to Paris under the guise of getting most of our stuff back home before the end of the school year," Marinette offered. She checked the first drawer, then reached in to pull out a pile of socks and underwear that she then promptly deposited in Adrien's arms. "And if I find any jobs to apply for, then I would go back for tours or interviews. Hopefully that would be enough visits for them."

"Hopefully," Adrien agreed. He had to think that their trips to Paris would be enough. Nino would be wanting to save money for his trips to see Alya, so if they just resolved to visit Paris several times a semester- which was more than what they had been doing- then maybe they could get away with living in the same apartment. They could maybe schedule more Skype calls as well, so that they could talk... well, not face-to-face, exactly, but as close to face-to-face as they could. "It's funny- like, I want to see Alya and Nino in person, of course, yet I don't want them to visit. That sounds so bad."

Marinette laughed.

It didn't take long for them to clear out the bedroom, even with Marinette's rather extensive wardrobe, though it took longer to puzzle out where they could store things in Adrien's apartment. The rest of the apartment took a similarly short time to clear out, even the living room. Marinette had apparently spent a couple evenings cleaning up and packing away the scraps and leftover fabric into bags before she went back to Paris, so it was no big hassle to move all of the sewing things back to their normal spot in Adrien's apartment.

By the end of the evening, Marinette's apartment was sitting empty and was ready to be cleaned- especially the living room, which had bits of fabric fibers everywhere thanks to all of the cut fabric from the commissions, and the bathroom which, despite their best efforts at the time, had some of the screen-printing chemical residue still smeared on the floor and in the tub.

"That wasn't that bad," Adrien commented as Marinette locked her apartment for the night and they headed back across the hall to their apartment. "But it's going to be harder to move out of our apartment once we're done in London," he added, making a bit of a face. "We'll have tons of stuff to carry back and we'll be cleaning and still living there at the same time."

Marinette made a face. "Oh, don't think about that now," she said. She kicked off her shoes at the door and tossed her keys on the table while Adrien locked the door. "I know we'll have to bring stuff back gradually, like most of our summer things going back to Paris at the end of summer and most of our fall things going back at Christmas, but it's still going to be so much."

Adrien couldn't help but laugh. "Funny, you say that we shouldn't think about it, and then you start talking about what we should do to get ready to go back."

Marinette just stuck out her tongue.

The next evening, they started the cleaning. Adrien attacked the bedroom and the living room with a vacuum while Marinette took on the bathroom. It wasn't fun work, especially when Adrien had to pause in his vacuuming to unwind a ribbon that had gotten overlooked and sucked into the vacuum and was very much stuck, but since Marinette had kept the apartment in such good condition for so long, it didn't need a deep cleaning. The kitchen just needed a quick wipe-up, a thorough scrub of the fridge, and a check to make sure none of the cooking things or silverware had migrated across the hall before it could get crossed off of the list of things to do, and the hall closet just needed a quick dust.

"Marinette, can you come help me move the couch so I can clean behind it?" Adrien called, flipping the vacuum off for a moment. "After those are done, the bedroom, the hallway, and the living room will all be finished."

Marinette came trotting out, wiping her hands on a towel. She was grinning. "Really? That's great!"

"And then I'll finish up the closet and work on the kitchen," Adrien told her as they moved the couch and the armchair away from the wall. He flipped the vacuum back on and quickly cleaned the newly exposed carpet. "It helps that most of the apartment hasn't really been used much for a while. There's not a bunch of grit and grime built up. Everything is just a quick clean, really."

"Says the guy who isn't cleaning the bathroom," Marinette said. She waited until the vacuum was off again and in the corner before grabbing her end of the couch so they could move it back up against the wall. "I've gotten most everything off, but there's a few stubborn spots, and I need to clean out the drain."

"Fun, fun."

"Not even remotely. I'm almost tempted to transform into Ladybug so I can have super-strength for the scrubbing. It might go a little faster that way."

Adrien couldn't help the snicker that slipped out. It was just a funny mental image, thinking about Ladybug super-cleaning a bathtub. "Somehow I don't think Tikki would be happy about that."

Marinette's lips twitched upwards in a small smile. "No, probably not."

Despite Marinette's grumbling, it didn't take long at all to get the rest of the cleaning done. Marinette went over the entire apartment again, making sure that that the windows were fully closed, nothing had been left out on the balcony, the adjustable dimmer light over the table was fully off, and all of the chairs were pushed into the table straight. Once that was done, Marinette joined Adrien at the door.

"I thought it would feel weird to be pretty much officially moved out of here, but it doesn't, not at all," Marinette told Adrien. "It feels more like well, at last."

"Well, you haven't exactly been living there for a while," Adrien pointed out, holding the door so Marinette could leave. "It'll probably be weird to move out of our apartment next year, though." He paused when Marinette didn't leave the apartment, eyes still scanning the room. His voice softened. "Marinette?"

She startled, as though she hadn't realized that she had checked out for a moment, and then reached over and took his hand, smiling up at him as she did. "I'm fine. I'm just really tired from all of the cleaning today and I just zoned out for a second."

He scanned her expression. She looked exhausted, almost like she was going to fall asleep standing up. Hopefully she could make it through the shower before falling asleep. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Let's go home."

[meisteralready]

Today. I’ve been having a bad day.

Everything was off. I didn’t know I had to work and discovered just an hour and change before so. I wasn’t prepared.

I hadn’t slept well, having a horrible nightmare of some beast- a weird wolf-like insect (I know) - that broke into my bedroom and was trying to literally eat my foot.

I woke up at 4am, shaking, deep heart palpations, terrified. It was so visceral and real. I got up to use the bathroom and I couldn’t figure out where it was. My feet started cramping up and I felt dry and hollow, hot and lightheaded - it felt like a panic attack.

I quickly checked my blood sugar. It was 60. Dangerously low for a diabetic. I stumbled into my kitchen and slammed orange juice. I ate a chicken leg, cashews, random chips. The hunger was ferocious because I was crashing.

This was more dangerous than a bad dream.

Slowly, I rebounded. 72.

5 minutes later, 85.

10 minutes.

Got to about 100.

Finally.

I sat back on the bed gingerly. I was scared to go back to sleep. Afraid I’d crash out again. And I was terrified to possibly return to that nightmare.

Eventually, I drift back to sleep at 6 or so, thinking -thank bejesus!- that I am off today. Wake up later to use the bathroom. And because my circadian rhythm is supremely and unrecognizably out of whack, I have no idea the current time. I check my phone.

At that same exact moment, an email chimes in. It’s my trainer/coordinator, reminding us to be ready, promptly and memorized, for the meeting at 9am.

My phone says it’s 7:45.

I think that this is the first I knew of any of this. Until, I check my email and, nope! I knew of all of this.

I just never put it in my calendar. And if it’s not in there, it doesn’t even exit in my world. But in the real world, I have to be prepped and ready for a in-depth case at in about an hour and some change.

I jolt awake.

For the second time this morning.

A worse nightmare.

This will not be the day I was expecting.

Slam a shower, more food, iced coffee from my refrigerator and it’s 9:30. I zoom into the meeting and it’s ON.

In the meeting, though, I am confused. I am not connecting the dots. Dates and times tumble. Simple things that I have replicated, quite literally, thousands of times, become unwieldy; cumbersome. I look like a complete amateur.

Plus, I am being awkward. Awkward in passes of conversation. Even awkward in the way I am holding my body in front my laptop’s camera. A sudden alien on this earth.

I feel I am short with people. I am not following the case. I’m so very lost. I am asked a fairly direct answer and just…

Nothing comes. And because this is a goddamn zoom meeting, all eyes are literally on me. Just then, my downstairs neighbor is loudly playing some movie - crashes, incoherent rambles and screams. I mute myself for a second and, out of view of the camera, stomp the floor with three large thuds.

I click my mic back on. The volume downstairs deadens, then GOES UP.

In the mock exercise for the event, I just flat-out fail. I mess up facts and am noticeably not memorized. It’s easily seen and my tension is palpable.

Mercifully, the training ends. I am terribly embarrassed.

After a brief de-brief with my higher ups, I explain I’m off at bit, but I will be fine - studied, memorized and 100% coherent - on the day. No worries. It’s next week. Okay, Monday, but next week.

Leave Meeting.

I hear the downstairs door slam close. I guess it was a shit movie. It is finally, relatively, quiet. And I am just kinda frozen-in-place. The laptop shows an empty zoom prompt, but nothing is moving. Not on-screen, in the room, nothing. I just take in the screen, the hum of the nearby refrigerator, and the absolute stillness of me at the table in my living room.

I feel a sadness welling. I feel the urge - a growing need - to cry. It was a bad, bad morning, yet this feeling is now overwhelming me, startles me.

Why now?

I decide food is the answer and will fix something.

I am about to push away and stand up from the computer, from the table. I notice on my iCal the date. February 19th.

It’s February 19th.

12 years ago, today, roughly to this exact time in the morning, I had to make the choice to take my Mom off life support.

Surrounded by her world, and her being mine, she slipped away within minutes. It was an immediate emptiness I have never felt again or since. Dry and hollow.

How could I forget? How could I forget this day? A moment that never leaves the back of my eyes and perhaps defines every day that came after it. The decision in that day that simultaneously affirms and will forever haunts me.

How could I have forgotten this day?

I guess that is what time is supposed to do. Let your psyche trick itself into the monotony of days, of the work that years lay upon you.

But I had never not remembered this day.

I sat back down. And I just cried. Wept, actually.

I miss her so. Mom. I’d do anything to see her at this stage in our lives. She should have been retired and me, with a teenager. I would like to compare parental notes, battle scars.

I wish-upon-wish that she could just sit with Evangeline for a conversation, some iced tea (though Eve hates it), see them split their beloved jellybeans. To hear them laugh with the same easy little hiccup and drawl they both share.

Outside, it started shifting a little snow - some call it “spitting” - just gentle flakes, unhurried, making their way down from their journey way up.

Then, the sun broke through, gleamed over the top of the building next door, and directly into my face.

The snow still fell. Though now, with this little sun, it glistened in its’ little cascades.

I felt my shoulders release and fall. Relief just rushed over me.

Warm.

I had forgotten about the day.

But I had remembered Mom.

[talllankyandawkward]

Misunderstandings

BUCKY X READER

Warnings: Language, mentions of period.

Being an Avenger was not easy. Being a girl in and of itself is not easy. Put those two together and once a month it became pure hell. The good news is, they never schedule a mission unless absolutely necessary during that week. Thank god Maria Hill talked some sense into Fury. I mean what the hell would happen if you lost your temper and caused an explosion? Or even broke down crying during the mission?

You didn’t deal with many cramps when Aunt Flo came to visit. You just had bad mood swings. It wasn’t your fault. Blame your damn hormones. You, Nat, and Wanda had a code you would whisper to each other in the halls. Usually it was in a different language each time but it translated to the same thing, ‘The crimson wave has hit.’ Usually it all hit you around the same time, but this time yours was early.

“Малиновая волна ударила. Жесткий.” You say to Natasha and Wanda in Russian as you flop onto the couch.

“Oh, shit. I didn’t think you’d start for another few days,” Natasha said sympathetically.

“What won’t start for a few more days?” your boyfriend asked as he walked into the room.

“Nothing Bucky. Don’t worry about it.” You tell him a bit more snippy than you intended. You winced internally at it.

“Okay, I know when I am not wanted.” Bucky answered sadly as he exited the living room and went back down the hallway.

“Черт побери. Почему я должен это испортить?” You mumble to yourself, slipping back into Russian, as you drop your head into your hands.

“(Y/n). Listen to me. It’s okay. You did not fuck everything up. Just tell him what’s going on,” Wanda tells you.

“Yeah? And put more things to worry about in his mind? I don’t think so. He has enough to worry about without me telling him I am bleeding profusely from my uterus and have the temper of the Red Queen right now,” You tell her quickly.

“(Y/n) He has made a lot of progress, I think he can handle it.” Natasha tells you insistently.

“And what if he can’t? I don’t want to be the cause of another setback for him. I can’t do that to him. I know we have only been dating for a few weeks but I do like him y’all. I really like him,” you tell them, tears starting to form in your eyes. “See! I am a mess right now. I can’t put that on him. Not yet.”

“It’s okay. We get it. Just think about it. He will also begin to worry if you keep snipping at him,” Natasha told you.

“I know… I just need to think about this.” You tell them as you lay down on the sofa. Your legs are facing the two girls.

“Honey, I hate to tell you this... But you bled through,” Natasha said sadly.

“Oh fucking hell! It’s only been an hour.” You say as you get up and march angrily to your room. You decided to take a shower. You didn’t care if you had training later. You wanted this blood gone.

You emerged about 20 minutes later. You got your shit situated and put on a pair of black leggings. This way no one would see the blood if you bled through again. You threw your hair in a bun and put on a sports bra and went to the training room. You could practice your powers some in here, but not fully. You could control water, but you were still learning. Today you were to train in hand to hand combat.

You entered the room and saw Bucky stretching on the mat waiting for you. You felt terrible for what happened earlier.

“Hey, I’m sorry for snapping at you. I was just frustrated with something,” you say as you walk closer to the mat and sit down and start stretching with him.

“It’s okay doll. We all say things we don’t mean. Don’t worry about it.” He says with a charming smile. You smile brightly back at him. “So, shall we get started. You were already late. Don’t want Steve to come in here and see you just lounging around.”

You laughed at Bucky’s tease. You nodded and stood up. You took your stance and he did as well. You both sparred for a good hour. You ended up on the mat most of the time. Hand to hand combat was not your strong suit, hence why Steve decided to get you to train more with it.

“I think that’s good for today doll,” Bucky said helping you up. He pulled you close to him. He leaned his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. You closed your eyes. Just when you two were about to meet in the middle, when Tony Stark decided to interrupt you.

“Hey love birds. No PDA,” Tony shouted at you from the door. You whipped your head around to face him and was glaring at him.

“Why are you even down here Tony? What the fuck could you possibly want?” You yell at him. Tony takes a step back and puts his hands up defensively.

“It is my building and I wanted the metal man beside you.” Tony replied harshly. You walked out of the room, glaring at Tony the entire way. When you passed, him you made your way back up to your room leaving a very confused Bucky and Tony Stark.

“What was that about?” Tony asked Bucky.

“I have absolutely no idea,” Bucky said confused. You were usually a very composed person, and a very calming presence. Today you just seemed off. First you snip at him, then blow up at Tony.

You make it up to your room and flop on the bed. Just as you lay down your stomach gives a huge grumble. Great, you just sit down and now you are hungry. You push yourself up and walk to the kitchen. You think about your leftovers from the Thai place down the street. You were craving it right now. You finally made your way into the kitchen and walked to the fridge. You opened it and looked all around. You didn’t see it.

“Hey, did anyone see my leftovers from that Thai place down the stre-” You say as you turn around. But the sentence dies in your throat. You see Sam sitting at the counter eating it.

“Oh, this was yours?” Sam asked seriously, “I’m sorry I wouldn’t have eaten it if I knew it was.” You couldn’t stop yourself. You felt tears well up in your eyes. They began to fall. Sam started freaking out. Then you started babbling in Russian again. You would always take to Russian when you were talking to yourself.

“Почему, черт возьми, я плачу над лапшой. Это нелепо. Я трахнувший мститель, почему я абсолютно плачу над остатками.”

“I need to learn Russian with all y’all damn Russian speaking people around here.” Sam walked over to you and lead you to the couch. You took a deep breath and wiped your eyes. You had stopped crying.

“What is going on here?” Sam asked.

“Nothing” you sniffed. “I am fine. I was just really looking forward to eating the noodles that’s all.” You tell him with a smile, covering up for your outburst.

“Mmmhmm,” Sam said not believing you.

“Sam. Just, I am fine. Really. I don’t want to bother Bucky with this,” you told him.

“Okay. I won’t pry. But you will need to tell him at one point,” Sam tells you.

“Just a few more days. Then it’s over.” You whispered to yourself, “Всего несколько дней”

You couldn’t find anything to eat so you decided to just forget it. You were emotionally exhausted. You have cried more times today than last time, you had snapped at more people than you had intended to, you were just done with today.

You lay on the floor of the training room. Yoga sometimes helped, but today? Forget it. Nat was with you trying to help.

“We can try hitting the punching bag again if you want. That usually helps me,” Nat tells you.

“It doesn’t help me though. This usually helps me. I just don’t get why this is so bad this time. UGH!” You said frustrated flopping onto the floor again, “I am a fucking Avenger for crying out loud! I shouldn’t be stopped by a mealy little amount of blood. I just...” You began to tear up again, “See! I get mad and then I get frustrated because I have no reason to really get mad and I start to cry! I mean fuck me!” Then suddenly out of nowhere Pietro came into the room.

“What do you want?” Natasha asked him as you turned over to look at him.

“Well, I heard the little lady hear say ‘fuck me’ and I couldn’t miss that opportunity,” He said staring at you.

“Pietro, I am dating Bucky,” you say flatly trying not to blow up.

“I am just kidding, Tony wanted to speak with you Natasha,” Pietro told her.

“Then what was the fucking point of falsely flirting with me!?” You yell at him. He looks taken aback. Usually you either played along with his teasing or just ignored him. This was something new.

“I’m sorry Pietro. I shouldn’t have said that,” you told him apologetically as you got up.

“It is okay Princessa. I know you did not mean it. By the way, the Winter Soldier thinks you are mad at him. I would tell him about your current situation” He says knowingly. You opened your mouth to ask how he figured it out but he beat you to it. “I have a twin sister. I know how you females can get during that time.”

You watched him in awe as he followed Nat out the door. Then what he said registered in your mind. You did need to talk to Bucky, he needed to know you weren’t mad at him. You walked through the halls and found Bucky in his room reading. You knocked on the half open door and poked your head in.

“Hey, can I come in?” You ask him softly. He nods and puts his book down. He looks at you as you sit on the corner of his bed.

“You know I really like you and I am not mad at you right?” You asked him.

“Then why the hell have you been snapping at everyone and everything all day?” He quips back at you harshly. You wince as tears began to form in your eyes again. Damn it, not again. His expression softened immediately when he saw the tears fall, “Hey, hey, hey. Hush now, tell me what’s wrong.” He says softly as he took you in his arms.

“Mother nature is what’s wrong.” You tell him as you sniffed and stopped the tears.

“Why? What happened?” He asked clueless.

“I- um…” You didn’t know exactly how to tell him, “Aunt Flo is visiting me this week.”

“Who?” He asked even more confused.

“The Red tide came in?” You told him questioningly. He just tilted his head in confusion, “Shark week? The reds are playing downtown? The red scare? Somebody poisoned the waterhole? A bloody Mary?” You say hoping he would understand one of those.

“Fuck, I’m on my period and I get really bad mood swings and I haven’t been meaning to yell at everyone but I couldn’t stop myself.” You just burst out. You put your head in your hands.

“Oh, oooooh!” He exclaims, “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because you have enough to worry about without you worrying about me,” You tell him with your head still in your hands.

“Look at me,” He says taking your chin in his hand and tilting it up to look at him, “I can handle it. You have helped me with plenty of nightmares in the past, and plenty of my problems. Let me help you.”

“Okay,” You said as you hugged him. He held you in his arms. You both crawled up to the top of the bed. He held you in his arms as you both began to drift off into a nice relaxing sleep.

[valhallansim]

In honour of both Mental Health Month (US) and Mental Health Awareness week (UK), I decided to give back to both my lovely followers and the Simblr community as a whole by sharing parts of my own story surrounding mental health issues. I hope some insight into my struggles, dark thoughts and pain can help someone else through their hardships, even if it is just a little bit.

Content warnings for suicide mentions, mentions of abuse, PTSD, depression, alcohol, anxiety, panic attacks, other mental health-related issues and death of a parent.

In hindsight, now that I am a 24 year old adult, a lot of things about my life make sense. Not in a good way, I’m sad to say, but they do. I cried a lot as a baby. As a toddler, I would be months ahead of my peers, have conversations with adults, but be extremely sensitive to the point where I would dissolve into complete hysterics if I wasn’t given proper time to recharge. Throughout my whole school career, including high school, I was always sick at least one day out of five. Headaches, migraines, cramping, terrible anxiety that kept me up at night.

The first psychiatrist I saw was when I was 12. I lived in a complicated household where I was the only one that was being abused, as the oldest of three children. My dad would hit me for reasons that are still unclear to this day, sometimes so bad that on a few seperate occassions blood was drawn or I was locked up in the bathroom with a throbbing, blue arm. It was strange, since my dad was a very nice man. He loved me, and my siblings, and my mother, and his friends, and his co-workers. He would snap, sometimes, seemingly out of nowhere. We will never know why and how, and why I was the only one taking the beatings, but it happened. I was suicidal to the point where I would grab all of the sharp kitchen knives and hide them in my room. I tried drowning myself in the bath tub, or tried to calculate if I were to die if I jumped out of my bedroom window. I remember feeling so terribly empty that I would hide underneath my desk in my room, and cry for hours. I was diagnosed with depression, sent home, and that was that for years.

Then my dad died when I was 17, a month before I would turn 18. It went so ridiculously fast that I would have dreams about him returning home, even if I knew that he was dead. He was ill for hardly 4 weeks before he passed away, and I couldn’t feel. It put a whole lot of perspective into my life. I was about to graduate that same year, and go to university. I didn’t want to. Art has always been a passion for me. I was numb, but I knew I wanted to go to art school.

I didn’t even make it to the start of the first year before I was sent off to a psychiatrist again. I was angry, sad, but most of all angry - I felt misunderstood by my family, and I would have fights with my mother and sister so bad that I tried to suffocate myself with blankets once in my room. I was diagnosed with dysthymia, a condition that can be described as ‘chronic depression’. Therapy helped a bit, and I started art school.

Art school was tough. Especially the first year, where I wanted to perform well so badly that I never missed a day of class, which is highly unusual for me. The second year started, and I could tell something was horribly wrong right away. I would sit on the train to school, and hear sirens. I would see flashes, get migraines, hear screaming or loud buzzing in my ears. I would come home hysterically crying to my mother, wishing the extreme panic would go away. It was too much, but I didn’t listen to my own body. I would take some pain killers, tough it out, and walk to the train station all the same the next day. Looking back, I lost complete control over myself and who I was, as if held at gunpoint by a giant monster named panic. I remember being so anxious about getting on that train, getting to school, doing what I had to do, that I thought I could outrun a train that was coming. The beams had already closed and both the lights and bells were sounding, signaling the train was coming at a high speed. ‘I can make it’, I thought, and I didn’t really care. I had to be on time to catch my own train. I slipped underneath the beams, and without looking I tried to cross the railway. Someone yelled at me to stop. I startled so bad that I stopped walking, and the train passed by maybe only a few paces away from me. I was shaken for the rest of the day, and by the time I came home, I realised what had happened and I cried. Scared to tell anyone, scared that my head could get so far ahead without me and do something so dangerous.

Things didn’t start looking up for me. I had to take time off from school. I missed a lot of classes and disappointed a lot of classmates who I was working with in groups. I tried to do whatever I could, but I couldn’t make myself go to school every single day, no matter how hard I tried. It felt like I was tied to the floor of my house, as if shackles prevented me from going anywhere I wanted. I felt so tired - even to this day, I feel tired, as if my arms and legs are too heavy for my body. I was given medication. It took me a long time to get used to the pills, and even after that, when things became a little bit better, things were still not looking great. I did a lot of tests, and another diagnosis was made. PDNOS, cluster A & C. The diagnosis itself didn’t change much, but it put a whole lot into perspective.

I had to drop out of school. I felt worthless, disgusting, and absolutely useless. One day, I got a blackout so bad that I was gone for an hour. I ‘woke up’ on my bed, not knowing what had happened. My mom told me how she had crowded up against me from behind in the kitchen, trying to be funny with me by joking around. I remember a wave of panic hitting me, but that is all. The nightmares became worse and worse, my teeth grinding so hard in my sleep that I would wake the whole house. I was diagnosed with PTSD.

That was a little over a year ago. To this day, I am still coming to terms with all these different diagnoses, figuring out how I can live a life worth living with them. Together with therapy, counselling and medication, I’m trying to shape my life into something that is do-able for me. Money is always an issue, and so are the worries for my future and what I need to do to get ‘somewhere’. Suicidal thoughts are still there, but with people to talk to and a psychiatrist to help me, I feel confident in staying alive. It is not only my mental health that is keeping me from studying and finishing my degree, a lot of physical aspects (kyphosis, migraines, cluster headaches) certainly do their part as well. Every day, I try to get out there and do something that contributes to my future. I am lucky to have a house where I am welcome to stay for as long as I need to, a loving family, and a talent and interest in art and writing that I could pursue as a freelance career.

What is especially important for me, is to know that things like these take time. Feeling useless and scolding myself for not being where I want to be, does not help at all. Getting better, seeking help and getting where you want to be takes a lot of time. Some people just do it a tiny bit faster. In my therapy sessions I have learnt that the worst thing for me to do is to hate myself for who I am and what it is that holds me back. Scolding myself and berating myself to do better and be better and to suck it up, are only going to make it worse. Be kinder to yourself, my therapist says. Be kinder to yourself, everyone around me says.

Be kinder to yourself.

I say, to you, even if I still find it hard to apply those words to my own life. It is something to live by, though. Be kind to yourself. Seek help if you need to. Reach out to a friend. Know that there are people out there willing to help.

Thank you for reading. I hope you are doing well, now and in the future, and that my story might help some of you, even if only a little bit. ♥

[mollykittykat]

The Cupboard Game Pt. 1

AU in which Splinter evaded the contents of the mutagen canister and ended up raising the turtles as a human. No real warnings apply. Mostly family fluff with a teeny hint of angst.

There was a knock on the door, signaling the next round of the cupboard game. There was barely a half second’s pause before the four children sprang into action, covering their tracks and scampering in separate directions.

Rule one: no leaving out toys or coloring books. The objects didn’t have to go where they belonged, they only needed to be out of sight; tucked under a couch or shoved between a mattress… whatever got rid of it quicker.

Rule two: remain absolutely silent. This was the second most important rule of the game. Speed and efficiency got you points, but if you tripped trying to get to you hiding spot or couldn’t sit still once you were hidden your chances of winning were practically null. Michelangelo struggled with this rule for a long time, and even now he had some problems refraining from readjusting his position after settling in the cramped storage chest.

Rule three: you have to wait for the signal before you can leave you hiding spot. The signal wasn’t the stranger’s goodbye or the footsteps disappearing down the hall, it was the sound of their father rapping on the wall with his knuckles when he was certain the coast was clear. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. Then they all climbed out and abided by rule four: no talking for five minutes. They were permitted to read and draw, but no spoken words were allowed. Then, when time was up, Splinter decided on who won the cupboard game and the winner would get a piece of candy.

Half the time Leonardo won. Donnie was a close second, as he was very dutiful about putting his things away and always seemed to know the quickest most efficient route to the nearest hiding spot. Michelangelo, as aforementioned, had problems with fidgeting, but he was small and quick, good at fitting into small corners. Raphael was a tad bit more manic, his determination to outdo his siblings causing him behave recklessly every time the game started. Competition had always been a difficult subject for Raphael, as there was practically no grey area separating desperation from indifference. There was one instance when… after a long winning streak from Leonardo… the hotheaded child actually decided that he was no longer going to play The Cupboard Game. There was the knock at the door, and as his brothers began to scatter Raph stood in the middle of the floor, arms crossed, staring at his father in a challenging manner.

Splinter motioned for him to hide, and Raphael stomped his foot and screamed “no!” like only a four year old could.

This immediately proved to be a terrible, terrible decision. One hand was snapped violently over Raph’s mouth, remaining there even as the child bit at his father’s palm. Splinter’s other hand painfully gripped a pressure point in the defiant tot’s neck as he dragged him the final distance to the kitchen area and shut the tantruming child away in the cupboard.

The cupboard was never meant to be a place of punishment. Leonardo’s earliest memory was of him and his four siblings snug beneath blankets, dozing away in the comforting darkness of the space lit alone by the gentle red glow of the light on the baby monitor. That monitor served as Splinter’s only way of knowing if any of them started crying, because otherwise the cupboard was locked tight and completely soundproofed. It was technically their first hiding spot before any of them could properly comprehend the rules of the cupboard game. Now it served as sort of a “tantrum room.” If you couldn’t keep your voice down you’d go into the cupboard, which would then be locked for a set amount of time. Raphael of course slammed his tiny legs against the cabinet doors, but the light thumping and nearly inaudible screaming was soon drowned out by a radio Splinter turned on before answering the door.

It was only a package. The person who had delivered it was long gone, leaving the cardboard box filled with preschool-appropriate reading material on the stoop of the dingy apartment room. Splinter brought the package in, ignoring rule three of the game in order to drag Raphael out of the cupboard and scold him.

“When I tell you to hide, you hide!” he reprimanded, face flushed with anger as he clasped the tiny turtle by the shoulders and shook him “do you understand me?!” Raphael tried to answer, but he was crying too hard to form words, struggling to keep the volume of his own sobs down in order to avoid further punishment. “I said do you understand me!?” “It… it hurts Papa…”

Splinter suddenly stopped. Coming to his senses he realized the terrified expression on the four year old’s face. Raphael had acted like a child, but he was a child, a child who had not yet been told the severity of the situation. Even if the matter had been fully explained, however, it was no excuse for the bruises Splinter found that his clenched hands were leaving on the little creature’s shoulders. At once the fear and the anger was gone, and in it’s place was a suffocating sense of guilt. Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo crept out of their hiding spots, drawn out by the commotion, and were greeted by the sight of Raphael wrapped inside a firm embrace, their father on his knees on the tile floor sobbing out apologies.

Rule 5 of The Cupboard Game: There is no opting out of the cupboard game.   This was the most single most important rule.

Soon after the incident Splinter sat his sons down for tea and a family meeting. There, he explained that if anyone found out there were four talking turtles living in the apartment, there was a chance someone would try and take them away. As far as he knew, the four of them were the only turtles in the world that could walk and grow and interact like humans, and such things often made people afraid. That was why they had to play the game. That was none of them were allowed to leave the apartment. Leonardo brought up the issue that their home was so small, with barely enough room for so much as a game of tag, and Splinter somberly agreed. He promised that one day he’d find a bigger home for them, although he failed to mention that such a thing was easier said than done when one has recently started their life over, working a janitorial job with not a penny to their name, which too had been changed over the course of the move. Of course Michelangelo, unaware of this, never refrained from using his crayons to draw big castles and bright green backyards, basing his idea of what their future home should look like off the cartoons that kept him quiet and satiated.

In the following weeks Splinter seemed to come home a good deal later than normal, acting far sleepier than before, often sore and suffering from bad headaches, falling short on household duties and phonics lessons much to his visible shame. “I can only get us a bigger home if I work harder” was the answer Donatello received after no small amount of prying, though the explanation made the lispy little knowitall fairly indignant. Eight hours of sleep and no more than forty hours of work per week was the healthy statistic, he declared, and here Splinter was pushing seventy hours per week while getting between five and six hours of sleep every night. Unfortunately, the preschooler’s wordy little lecture won him nothing more than a pat on the head and a promise that it wouldn’t last forever.

The knock came one more time, everyone and everything safely hidden away by the time Splinter gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open. Donnie was tucked in the cardboard box under the bed, Leo was buried in shredded newspaper in the wooden chest next to the couch, Raph was behind an ironing board in the coat closet, and Michelangelo was hugging a teddybear behind a wooden panel on the bottom book shelf, when they all overheard a strange high-pitched raspy voice speaking out in a sharp informal manner.

“Aye! if it isn’t ‘The Splinter!’ I was afraid I got the wrong address for a second there!”

“…. Daiki. Or ‘Mister Takara' if you’re trying to sell me something.” Leonardo noted the tone with which his father correct the stranger; the inflectionless mutter of annoyance he usually used when the old lady downstairs reminded him about the rent. “Look, I know what you want. I told you we’ll talk about it another time.”

“Oh don’t pull that stunt again Splints.” The door was jammed by the stranger’s foot, and all of a sudden there were footsteps making their way into the living area. The hiding children tensed, unnerved by this turn of events. Splinter didn’t let anyone into the apartment, not ever, and it was clear by the tone of their father’s voice that he was as uncomfortable as they were. “What do you think you’re-” “Getting your attention”

Despite knowing it would kill his chances at winning, Michelangelo gently shifted aside the wooden panel keeping him hidden, hoping to catch a much-needed peek of the ensuing conversation. He couldn’t see his father through the slit but he could see a stranger with big sunken eyes and the structure of a scarecrow, brightly colored tattoos all down his arm and along his face. Immediately he thought of some of the super villains in the Wingnut and Screwloose cartoons and hugged his teddybear a little tighter.

“Ha! Man, this place looks like a real hunk of garbage, and what’s with all the thrift shop furniture?” The intruder laughed, giving the couch a light kick of disdain “I guess this is what happens when you work in a profession you’re not made for, eh?”

“My job at Channel Six suites me just fine, Nezumi” Splinter returned, “and you need to leave.” He attempted to subtly herd the invader back to the doorway, but the goon saw through the attempt and sidestepped him.

“Yeah, on your knees scrubbing bathroom stalls. Sources say you just got yourself a part-time job loading crates down at the docks too. You’re obviously in need of funds, why didn’t you give me a call?” Nezumi’s insult followed up by the revelation that he’d been snooping left Splinter at a momentary loss for words. “The last time we worked together was three years ago” he eventually answered when he found his voice again, hands clenched at his sides “and I put our partnership to an end at the first opportunity. You know perfectly well that I have no intention of going back.”

“You beat Visioso’s best guy in thirty seconds flat! How am I supposed to let a powerhouse like that just walk away?”

“Listen” There was a light thump. Michelangelo could see Splinter’s hand grip the intruder’s shirt collar, loosely pinning him against the wall. Mikey instinctively flinched, then pressed his ear to the wooden panel, straining to make out his father’s nearly inaudible whisper

“You know what happened all those years ago? You caught me at a moment of desperation. I don’t like fighting for the sake of entertainment, especially dangerous and illegal entertainment, but I had no choice. Now I have a choice, so stop. Haunting. Me.”

Mikey didn’t understand what anyone was talking about, not because he couldn’t hear but because he simply hadn’t Donnie to explain the sentence’s meaning to him in layman’s terms. To him it just seemed like a jumble of standalone words, mashed into sentences that had no coherency. What he did know, however, was that his dad sounded frustrated, and Nezumi sounded like he didn’t care.

“They’ve raised a fifty thousand dollar purse for the final round” the intruder continued, speaking loudly and excitedly as he proceeded to ignore everything Splinter had just said “Some of the baddest of the bad are going to be pitted against each other, and I know you can beat every last one of them. Daiki, we can’t lose!” This time there was no holding back. A firm hand gripped the gangly stranger by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to move toward the doorway

“Thank you for the visit.”

“You- you can’t be content living like this!” Nezumi futilely struggled against the iron grip like a fish writhing on a hook “There’s got to be something that can get you fighting again!”

“Goodbye”

From his corner of the closet Raphael had to bite down on his hand to keep from laughing as he heard Nezumi thrown out into the hallway, stumbling into the apposing wall by the force of the shove, Splinter evicting him with minimal effort. Mikey found it funny too, so much so that he pushed the panel hiding him aside just a bit further to get a better glimpse of the action. The hideous sunken eyes of the man in the hallway glared daggers at Splinter, flicked around in thoughtful frustration, and then suddenly landed upon Michelangelo’s big blue orbs peering out of the gap in the bookshelf. The youngest turtle’s heart leapt as he met the stranger’s dark gaze, a newfound look of shock and confusion overtaking Nezumi’s face before suddenly their silent exchange was cut off by the shut door, which Splinter immediately locked.

Michelangelo scampered to push the panel back in place, his heart still stuck in his throat, stomach twisting as he thought about the ugly man and his startled expression. He didn’t care if Splinter knew that he had broken the rules of the game. As bad as his father’s scoldings were he was now certain that someone saw him. That meant someone was going to come and take him away, and he would never get to see his dad or his brothers ever again. That thought stayed with him, and the more he pondered it the harder he cried, small muffled sobs escaping him as he played out the worst possible outcome in his mind, every detail exaggerated and emphasized by his overactive imagination.

Soft heart shattered by the prospect of separation he stayed where he was even after Splinter knocked on the wall. Shave-and-a-hair-cut, two-bits. The final five minutes passed, then ten after that, but Michelangelo didn’t move.

Finally there was a knock on the wood panel of the book shelf, the hands of his elder brother shoving back the barrier before Mikey could so much as answer. Raph was wearing a smug smile, cheeks puffed up with an arcor strawberry cream candy, arms crossed over his chest as if he’d just defeated the king of the world. “I won! I won I won! Look!…” Raphael stuck out his tongue, the little hard candy balanced upon it, but the taunting gesture didn’t last long when Raphael noticed that Michelangelo was still crying, face pressed into his tear-soaked teddybear, shoulders heaving with every panicked sob.

Confused, then regretful, the hotheaded tot removed the partially eaten treat from his tongue and held it out to his little brother. “Hereyago. Shush okay? you’ can have it if you wannit…” But it was no use. Michelangelo was unresponsive to the offer, and if anything his sobs had only gotten louder since his brother invaded his hiding place. Knowing that the refusal of food was something serious, especially for a turtle like Michelangelo, Raphael backed off and raced to fetch his father, getting his attention with a few tugs on his pant leg. Now hearing Mikey’s sobs himself Splinter removed himself from dinner duty, kneeling down by the bookshelf to examine the situation while Leonardo hopped up on the kitchen counter to keep the ramen noodles stirred, Donatello rattling off the instructions on the cardboard box.

“Michelangelo?” Mikey looked up from his stuffed animal just in time to see familiar hands reach into the bookshelf, pulling him into the light of the living area. “Hush my son, it’s alright”  The deep paternal voice was a million miles off from the sharp angry tone with which Splinter had addressed the stranger. Finding something to tether his emotions to Mikey abandoned his teddybear altogether and gripped the fabric of Splinter’s buttondown shirt like his life depended on it. He buried his face in his father’s chest, tears giving way to light hiccups as strong reassuring palms coarse with callouses rubbed up and down the turtle’s shell.

Splinter picked Mikey up and moved to the couch, cradling the sobbing four year old in his lap as he sat down. “What’s wrong?” Michelangelo found it a struggle to answer. Even though he knew what he wanted to say he was afraid to say it. He wasn’t going to just get in trouble, he was going to make everyone angry and scared, but deep down he knew it was better than them not knowing what had happened all, especially if this was going to put him and his brothers in danger. “…He looked a’me!” “Who?” “The.. the… Th’man!” Mikey hiccuped as his gaze moved to the door, breathing heavily as he was caught in the throes of a fresh crying fit. “I know I- I was s’posed to stay h-hidden but- *hic*… I- I… wanted t’see wh- who- what was… an’ I- *hic*…I… I peeked”

It took Splinter a few seconds to understand just what his son was going on about. Realizing what had happened he looked concerned himself, gaze moving toward the bookshelf briefly before returning to Michelangelo. “And you’re certain he saw you?” “I… I think so. He- *hic* he l-looked over at me th-then his face got all weird, then y’closed the door an… an… an…” Unable to finish his thought Michelangelo buried his face back into his fathers chest, a long sorrowful exhale wetting his parent’s work shirt with snot. Splinter gently rocked back in forth, working to soothe the distraught tot as his gaze coasted back and forth between the bookshelf and the door, a sense of dread building up in the pit of his stomach at the idea that someone had caught sight of one of the turtles. Especially someone like Nezumi.

“Well, he is more likely to think he was imagining things than assume that a talking turtle lives in my apartment” Splinter coaxed, working to reassure himself as well as the kid he clutched in his arms. “Is someone gonna take me away?” “I don’t think so” Splinter smiled pityingly at his son, picking him up and repositioning him on his lap so that he could look him in he eyes. “Now, I am disappointed that you let yourself be seen like that. You know that it would have been safer if you had stayed hidden… but I don’t think anyone’s going to try anything. After all, you’re safe here.”

“Yeah!” Raphael suddenly interjected, climbing up onto the couch next to his father, clasping an egg timer from the kitchen in his large green hands “An’ if he does try somethin’, Papa’s gonna kick him in the mouth so hard, that Noobzumi dork’s gonna poop teeth!” Despite the tears still running down his cheeks Michelangelo began to dissolve into giggles, the mere mention of the word ‘poop’ striking him as the epitome of comedy. Splinter, on the other hand, raised his eyebrows at the surprisingly violent statement coming out of his four year old son.  Seeing he’d accomplished the job of cheering up his younger sibling while recognizing the threat of another oncoming scolding, Raphael quickly twisted the knob of the egg timer, forcing it to ring ten seconds early. “Eggs is done!” He tossed the timer onto his father’s lap and scampered back to the kitchen area, where Leonardo and Donatello were struggling to portion the steaming of noodles and the eggs, threatening to accidentally topple the large pots of boiling water in the process. “Boys, stop! let me handle that!” Splinter immediately put Mikey on the cushion next to him before rising to his feet and hurrying to the stove, leaving the youngest to ponder the conversation while he finished dinner preparations.

Mikey didn’t like that look on Nezumi’s face. In fact he was quite certain he didn’t like Nezumi at all, which was not a feeling he was accustomed to… disliking someone at first glance. However, his father seemed to be confident that this slip-up wouldn’t result in catastrophe. Reassured, Mikey wiped the last bit of snot away from his face with his elbow, then slipped down from the couch to retrieve his teddybear.

“It’s okay. ‘Aphie’s right” he soothed, picking up his stuffed animal and cradling it in his arms much like his own father had done with him just a few moment’s ago “Papa’s gonna make sure nothin' bad’s gonna happen.” “Now come on…”  He looped the tear-soaked teddy around his shoulders, giving it a piggyback ride to the kitchen “it’s time for dinner. Not pizza this time, but chick’n ramen’s super good too, so no whining!”

[evaandnonotlikewalle]

Pirates Have More Fun

His hair is thinning in the back. I never noticed that before. Odd, isn’t it, how I can wake up to that man every day for twenty-three years and not notice how his hair looks in the back? Now, he is turned away from me, and the light from the window makes the room look more sterile, if that is even possible. The hospital gown exposes his back and I can see the faint curve of his spine. I bite my nails and stare at the expanse of his shoulders and the dimples at the base of his neck where his vertebrae begin.

           “How is he doing?” a deep voice whispers from behind me. I turn around and see his ID badge flashing at me nearly as bright as his smile. I had forgotten how bright that smile was.

           “Fine. He’s just sleeping. Been doing it all morning.”

           “You shouldn’t do that,” he orders with a barely hidden smirk.

           “What?” I blurt.

           “Bite your nails. It only ruins them.”

           I pull my hand away from my face, realizing I had been talking through my fingers this whole time. My nails are now jagged and the polish is chipping away.

           “Then again,” he continues, walking toward the bed, “I told you that all the time back in the day. You didn’t listen then and it looks like my words still have yet to resonate with you.”

           “I’m afraid they haven’t. It’s a bad but permanent habit.”

           He picks up the clipboard hanging from the end of the bed and examines it. He squints at it, wrinkles gathering at the corner of his eyes.

           “The nurse came in about an hour ago and replaced his IV,” I inform him.

“I can see that, right here, actually,” he says pointing the paper with his pen.

“Of course!”

I begin to chew at my nails again and tuck my legs under me. “Of course. Of course you can,” I mumble into my hand.

He nods his head, looks at me once, and puts the chart back. “Well, his surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning. So, the nurses will be in and out prepping him for that. As for me, I’ll come before he goes in tomorrow. Expect me around eight. Until then, have a good day.”

           He walks past, but not without gently squeezing my hand as it rests limply on the arm of the chair.

           “No need to be nervous,” he assures me with a slow grin.

He leaves and I am left with Michael breathing deeply in sleep. He doesn’t move for hours, only sighing every half hour or so. I sit and read the novel that everyone at the office had been recommending but I never got the chance to start. As I read, his soft snoring scores the action on the page and an itch begins in my feet. Soon the itch travels to my legs and finally to my scalp. I stare at his balding head, biting the insides of my cheeks to the point of bleeding. I dig my toes into the soles of my shoes and slam the book down on the ground beside me.

           I shuffle over so I can see his face and lean in close. He is still breathing heavily and living with him for twenty-three years, I know he isn’t roused from sleep easily.

“Michael, I swear, if this surgery somehow goes wrong, I might…” I chide with a whisper and stare at the ceiling. I notice a spider, black and quick, crawling toward the window. Just before it reaches the window pane it diverts and scuttles into the corner where a small web has been made.

           I sit and read until visiting hours are over. I could stay overnight and keep him company but I don’t think I could take being here anymore. The suffocating quiet of this room while he struts through the hospital halls gnaws at me and makes me squirm. I have to leave; I just have to. I kiss Michael’s balding head and sigh a goodbye. Heading for the elevator, he is suddenly there walking down the hall, tormenting me with his kind smile and cheerful hello’s to those who pass him. I stand there for a moment and just watch him in action. He spots me and stops almost immediately.  

           “Hi, there! Heading out?” he asks.

           “Yeah, appears so,” I reply, shrugging my winter-jacketed shoulders and turning my gaze slightly away, pretending as if I wasn’t staring.

           “I just have to say, you look just as you did when I left for school,” he marvels.

           Tucking my hair behind my ears, “God, I hope not. I had mascara running down my face and my hair was bigger than Dolly Parton’s.”

           He laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, sorry about that, again,” he sighs.

He shakes his head slightly and smiles once again, “Well, let’s just say you look fantastic. You really do. I’m not putting you on.” He waves his hands and shakes his head fervently. He stares down at me and just grins. I almost wish he would stop. Almost.

           “Thank you.” I can’t bring my eyes to look at his face. Already I can feel the color rising in my cheeks.

           “We should catch up some time. Over coffee, maybe?”

           I can barely contain myself, my calm façade melting away onto the tile floor, “Sure. I would love that.”

           “Good. I don’t know what I would have done if you had said no,” he chuckles to himself. “We’ll arrange it after surgery, then.”

           “Sounds great. Well, good night, Sam,” I say as I fumble to grab my gloves from my pocket, unable to look away from him face, expecting him to take it back, expecting this to be some sort of dream.

           “Yeah. Good night, Marianne.” Hurriedly, he leans down and pecks my cheek. I immediately blush. If that didn’t wake me up, then surely this must be real. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

           “Good night,” I repeat loudly as I nearly run into the open elevator. I shuffle into my spot in the cramped space and peek from under my brow as the doors close. He smiles and gives a half-wave.

           When I reach the car and buckle up, I nearly forget to turn on the heat. The flushing of my face is making my sweat lightly under my coat. During the drive home, every song is either too loud or too soft, so I turn it off and drive the half hour home in silence. This time, this silence is absolute bliss; just the sound of the old engine revving away and the tires spinning over the flattened and salted snow.

I get home and check the voicemail; Mom and Dad say the kids are angels and should visit more often. I stare at the kitchen pantry for a while and roll my eyes at the abundance of not-quite-good-enough food, so I opt out of making myself a decent meal and stuff potato chips and dip into my face while I watch television. The blaring of the actor’s voices and the brightness of the screen soon give me a headache and I decide to go to bed early.

I change into my oh-so-sexy pajamas of an old sorority t-shirt and sweatpants and stagger into the bathroom, covering my eyes from the overhead lights. After teeth brushing and make-up removing, I close my eyes and exit the bathroom, only to nearly slip on Evan’s toy dagger that came with his pirate Halloween costume. I pick it up, staring into the plastic rubies and graze my fingers along the silver carvings. I juggle it between my hands and shake my head. I run my hand along the dull plastic and imagine it slicing the skin of my palm with fearful ease, blood dripping onto the polished hardwood. I cock an eyebrow and stick the dagger into the gap between my pants and hip while swaggering into the bedroom. I observe the empty room, turning in a slow 360, and grin. I whip the dagger out and point it at an invisible foe.

“I have you now, sir!” I cry into the empty space. “You cannot escape!”

I chase the foe around the room with jabs and grunts, finally pinning him to the bed under my weight. His imaginary head rests on Michael’s pillow and sneers up at me, daring me to make the final move. I glare at him and plunge the dagger into the pillow, cackling.

“You thought I couldn’t do it! You thought I couldn’t do it, you smug idiot! But I did! Haha! I did!”

I stare at the pillow, feathers poking out of the hole I’ve made. I pull out the dagger and stare at it once again. The plastic rubies glint at me, and I begin to sob, my body convulsing with gasps. I sob into the torn pillow and smother my face in his scent. I think of coffee and blood transfusions, gagging on my tears and memories. I can’t help but hope, hope for the worst. Is it awful if I were to hope? Is it terrible to hope for such things? I lie there, head buried in his pillow, expecting to dream of sword fights and sea chanteys, and as I drift to sleep, I finger the dagger’s cold, hard plastic and dub myself Captain Mantis.

[cheznieba1b2]

The Building of Greg!!

This is it, 3 days going from 8:30am to 22:30pm of modelling, painting and sewing. I almost feel a bit empty now, you know?? What do I do now?? I’m lost.

Wire Skeleton Making

I printed out two of the most useful drawings I had of Greg (and the the only two at this point) as a place to begin my wire bending. I did this so I could stay mostly true to the drawings of him, since I did really feel the need to fix anything. The only things I did change was the amount of hunch in the shoulders and extremity of the lean. 

For most of the skeleton, I just used two lengths of my craft wire and twisted them together just so that it held it’s shape a bit better when I eventually added clay to it. The base had two holes drilled into it in which the wire sat in to support and keep Greg upright (later found out I didn’t leave enough wire so those holed did neither of those things but whatever). I tried to make the arms with the double but it was just too thick, so single is what I worked with.

I eventually got a wire skeleton I was happy with and just quickly baked some clay to keep the wire in the holes (also didn’t work by the way).

Sculpting

The head was reasonably ok to sculpt, the most difficult part was actually getting the head shape?! For some reason, my hand just didn't want form a very basic egg shape and wanted to go more for a diamond so I had to take my sweet time.

I googled what a 3D Oval is called and it’s apparently egg??

For the structure of the face, I just kind of squashed the egg on one edge/face/side/hemisphere?? so that it indented in and i could then add extra clay to form a brow protrusion. Once that was all done, I made a little rectangle for the nose, cut it to shape, then stuck it on. By sticking on, I mean the I tediously rubbed a silicone cone tipped brush along the edge until it was firmly attached. I then used the same tools to make an indent for some eyeballs and a little pit to put the base of the ear to hold it securely.

The ears are moulded separately because that was the only logical way to do it, then put it into little holes I made in the head and blended until I got a severe cramp. I was a bit nervous that I would bake the whole thing just to open the oven and see the ears, laying on the baking tray, no life in their souls. I added the eyes in the same way.

Because the tummy and shoulders were relatively large, using just clay would not only be too heavy but also take too long to cook in the oven, so I made the basic structure and inside space with tin foil. I covered the tinfoil with the clay like a baker covering a cake with fondant, then pushed in the belly button and formed the chest area with some extra clay.

I baked him each time a finished a section, so the head was baked, then the torso and so one, so that I didn’t disturb and ruin one carefully finished area trying to sculpt a different one. 

After the torso came the legs, which was just flattening two sausages, attaching it to the wire legs and shaping to fit. Following that was the feet which I added some toes too because otherwise they looked silly, the arms and shoulders which were very easy and finally, the hands. I hated the hands, or more specifically, the right hand which just happens to be the second hand I sculpted. Turns out, making a second small hand is even harder than making a first. I made the 

Painting

Due to my clear lack of process shots during this very intense session of painting, I created a very ugly diagram to show you how I went about it. The base of dark green was first, followed by the smaller ‘glowing’ areas, then I added the bigger ‘glowing’ sections followed by highlights and shadows. Quite logical for me shockingly.

So the base was just brushed on in several coats, I kept it thin for quicker drying times and used a hair dryer on medium heat to help me out. The smaller ‘glowing’ areas were done with a small brush, and when blending it out into the darker green, I got most of the paint off of the brush before then jabbing it thousands of times into Greg, leaving me with a stippled gradient. And yes, my small brush was completely dead after that process but whatevs, we all make sacrifices). The larger green areas were done with a sponge, since the paintbrush jabbing would’ve taken a lifetime, and the sponge technique was too uncontrollable for tiny fingers and toes. Once again this was done in many thin layers, and I slowly built up the colour. Highlights and shadows were also done with a sponge, and most of the time dulled down with more dark green sponged over the top, because I struggle sometimes.

Painting the eyes was easy peasy, I just painted them black and then added a small, incredibly light green dot followed by a shiny nail varnish top coat applied with a toothpick to give them that moist vibe.

I’m actually over the moon with the painting, I think the colours worked brilliantly and it suits Greg to a Tee. Hold on tight guys, I might actually be proud of something!!

Glueing Down & Fixing

Somehow, Greg was dropped by me in a rather unfortunate way and snapped his foot off!! There were tears!! Many of them in fact!!

So I used this stuff I found in the garage called ‘no nails’ to glue greg to the base (since the wire was doing literally nothing at this point) just because the back said it could stick non porous materials to porous ones with the strength of nails and to my surprise, it worked absolutely brilliantly!! This was the set up I had to keep Greg upright while the glue took it’s sweet, sweet time to fully dry and set (24 hours, in case you were wondering) and although it annoyed my Mother since I was still using her favourite ramekins, it worked like a treat. 

It all turned out ok in the end!! The foot was fixed!! No more tears!!

Flower Cape

So I started off with a template made of a cut up piece of kitchen roll (it was the first viable thing I saw when I looked around for something to use, don’t judge me) and I set off to work with all my hobby craft paper flowers in a bowl and Zumbos Just Deserts on the TV and hand sewed each flower together. I wanted that real handmade feel so I didn’t worry about patterns or neatness, I just closed my eyes, grabbed whatever flower I came in contact with first then stitched it on. Obviously I didn't sew with my eyes shut, but the amount of times I brutally stabbed myself, I might as well have.

Overall, I sewed together 90 flowers and lost 3 bead things. But when it was done, I sewed on some twine so I had something to attach it to Greg with and called it a day.

Final Flourishes

I decided to go for a nice little bow for the cape, it just looked right you know??

For no particular reason I created a kind of terrible turnaround for Greg just to really show off those angles. I used the icananimate app on my phone, a £3 tripod and my yoga mat pushed up against the wall with random copper pipes I found in my dads study.

No joke.

It’s not the best because it was done at like 9:30pm which for me is getting ready for bed time (I live life on the wild side, I know) so it was a little half assed, but it was literally just for the purpose of getting all those angles with not that many photos so I'm not super fussed.

Materials Used

Craft wire (skeleton)

Pliers and wire cutters (skeleton)

FIMO soft oven bake clay (sculpting)

Silicone nib tools (sculpting)

Metal tools (sculpting)

Pine (base)

Drill (base)

Acrylic Paint (painting)

Various brushes and a dying sponge (painting)

Super shiny nail varnish top coat (the joyful glimmer in the eyes)

Too many paper flowers (cloak/cape)

Twine (clock/cape)

Needle and thread (cloak/cape)

Conclusion

I love this, I honestly think it could be my best work to date?! I worked tirelessly for three days straight and literally bled and cried over this so I feel a bit empty now that it’s done and I have nothing to do. Sure it has it flaws, the fingers are wonky and the hands don't match, not to mention he leans way too far back BUT HEY, I’M REALLY PROUD. I’m so pumped for this unit man, this is what I really wanna be doing with my life, even though I wanted to crawl into a ball on the floor a few times.

05/03/18